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Thb Bart a Piikss, 



The Christian Doctrine of Non-Resistance 

Then and Now 
i^The Nature of the Negro 
i W hat Is Christianity ? 
Dion Boucicault 
Thrown in with the City's Dead 
Patriotism and the Public Schools 
Il)sen*s Brand .... 
.__^ Electoral Reform Legislation . 
The Return of a Private (a Story) 
Two Scenes (a Poem) 
^ The Afro- American . 

The Jewish Question in Russia 
The Various Editions of the Bible 
A Transition Period 
Fronting the Future 


{ Count Leo Tolstoi ) ^ 

t Rev. Adin Ballou ) 

Rev. Mi not J. Savage, D. D. 13 

Prof. N. S. Shaler 23 

Rev. Lyman Abbott, D. D. 36 

A. C. Wheeler 47 

Helen H. Gardener 61 

Pres. E. B. ANDREWS 71 

. Wilbur L. Cross, Ph. D. 81 

Chas. Claklin Allen 91 

Hamlin Garland 97 

Mabel Havden 114 

T. Thos. Fortune 115 

. Victor Yarros 118 

Marcus J. Wright 121 

The Editor . I 125 



"Conservatism and Sensualism an Unhallowed Alliance ) v 126 

Are There Objective Apparitions? Alfred Russell Wallace. D.C. L., LL.D. 129 
Popular Leaders — Grover Cleveland Wilbur Larremore 147 

A New Declaration of Rights ....... Hamlin Garland 157 

Migration a Law of Nature .... Rabbi Solomon Schindler 185 

Was Christ a Buddhist ? Felix L. Oswald, Ph. D. 193 

Silver Coinage £. D. Stark 202 

Would We Live Our Lives Over Again? . . Junius Henri Browne 206 

A Daughter of Lilith and a Daughter of Eve (a Story) Kate Buffington Davis 212 

The Questioner (a Poem) Chas. Henry Phelps 226 

Moncure D. Conway "* 

Prof. Jos. Rodes Buchanan 

Matilda Joslyn Gage 

Elizabeth Cady Stanton 

DoNN Piatt 

Robert C. Adams J 

The Editor 250 
What Are Phantasms and Why do They Appear ? . 

Alfred Russell Wallace, D. C, L., LL. D. 257 
New Discoveries on the Planet Mars . . Camille Flammarion 275 


A Remarkable Book, A Symposium : 

^ 228 

A Disciple of Science 




The Farmer, the Investor, and the Railway . . . C. WooD Davis 291 

Consumption Cures and Microbicides . Prof. Jos. Rodes Buchanan, M. D. 314 

^^]2^£alLrfiL^dafl»> John Welch, LL. D. 329 

Morals and Fig-Leaves . . Helen London 334 

The Froth and the Dregs B. O Flower 34 1 

Woman's Dress Frances E. Russell 352 

His Mother's Boy (a Story) Helen H. Gardener 361 

Deplorable Social Conditions The Editor 375 

The Drama of the Future Prof. Alfred Hennequin 385 

JL Evolution and Morality Chas. F. Deems, D. D^ LL. D. 394 

Nationalization of Land as First Presented . . Prof. J. R. Buchanan 401 

Immigration Rabbi Solomon Schindler 4r5 

Shelley the Sceptic Rev. Howard MacQueary 421 

What Is Immoral in Literature ? Albert Ross 438 

The Unclassified Residuum C. Van D. Chenoweth 446 

The Swiss Referendum W. D. McCrackan 458 

Drunkenness a Crime Henry A. Hartt, M. D. 46^ 

The Malungeons Will Allen Dromgoole 470 

The Test of Elder Pill (a Story) Hamlin Garland 480 

By the River (a Poem) Rev. M. J. Savage 502 

>- The Editor 



Nobility (a Poem) Ella Frances Wellman 

Home Influence and the Child 

An Object Lesson in Freedom 

Class Interests and the Rights of the People 

Herbert Spencer's Arraignment of Medical Class Laws 

The Future of Philosophy .... Geo. W, Winterburn, M. D. 513 

1^ Crooked Taxation Thomas G. Shearman 525 

^ Concerning a Psychic Medium in Hypnotism R. Osgood Mason, A. M., M. D. 541 

Buddhism in the New Testament Prof. J as. T. Bixby 555 

^^Morality and Environment Arthur Dudley Vinton 567 

Popular Leaders Past and Present — Alexander Hamilton , E. P. Powell 578 

Nationalization of Land 

Nationalism veisus Individualism . 

The Burial of Charles Bradlaugh (a Poem) 

The Heart of Old Hickory (a Story) 

The Morning Cometh (a Poem) 

liberal Thought the Safeguard of the Republic 

Has the Command of Jesus Been Revoked ? . 

Extravagance and Penury in our Metropolis 


Prof. Jos. Rodes Buchanan 586 

Rabbi Solomon Schindler 601 

. Gerald Massfy 608 

Will Allen Dromgoole 610 

Rev. W. H. Savage 62 1 


G. W. Weippiert 62c 
A. G. Emery 629 


Leprosy of the Soul \ The Editor . • J 635 

White Slaves df New York ) ( 638 

The Wheat Supply of Europe and America . , . C. Wood Davis 640 

Russia of To-day Prof. Emil Blum, Ph. D. 658 

Julian Hawthorne ( 674 

Is Spiritualism Worth While? | 

Rev. Minot J. Savage* ) 680 




The Anglo-Saxon " Unco' Guid ** Max O'Rell 691 

What is Judaism? Pr^f. Abram S. Isaacs 699 

The Survival of Faith Henry D. Chapin., M.D. 706 

Popular Leaders Past and Present -- Thomas Jefferson . . E. P. Powell 712 
The Inspiration of the New Testament . . Prof. J. W. McGarvey 724 

\ An Interesting Social Experiment ...... Frank L. King 737 

j To M. J. Savage (a Sonnet) Rev. John W. Chadwick 744 

The Family Tree of the Malungeons Will Allen Dromgoole 745 

At a Patriarchs* Ball No-Name Paper 752 

J Is Socialism Desirable .^ ........ H. O. Flower 753 



Count Leo Tolstoi f 
Rev. Lyman Abbott * . 
Helen H. Gardener 
Hamlin Garland 
Alfred Russell Wallace 
Camille Flam MARION . 
Map of Planet Mars 
Albert Ross . 
A Typical Malungeon 
I'rof. Jos. RoDEs Buchanan 
Rev. M. J. Savage . 
Julian Hawthorne 
Prof. Abram S. Isaacs . 































No. XIII. 

DECEMBER, 1890. 




The following correspondence between Count Leo Tolstoi 
and the late Rev. Adin Ballou is, at the present moment, of 
commanding interest. To such as may have supposed that 
the most conspicuous figure in Russian letters and reform 
had no prototype in the championship of Non-Resistance — 
in so far as that doctrine is a result of New Testament inter- 
pretation -^— it will be worthy of note that such a man has 
just passed from our midst at the ripe old age of eightynseven. 
For more than sixty years Mr. Ballou labored earnestly in 
the interests of non-resistance, drawing his inspiration from 
the New Testament, after much the same process of reason- 
ing at present so ably emphasized by the great Russian nov- 
elist and ascetic. And it is a fact worth engaging the 
attention of all students of social advancement, that, during 
the last year, these two men have come into personal intellect- 
ual contact, and the main features of their respective views of 
the above doctrine have been laid side by side before us. 

Two minds of more than ordinary power are here discussing 
the same question. But one is the product of New England, 
and the other of Russian antecedents and traditions. Mr. Bal- 
lou is the offspring of many generations (beginning with the 
remarkable struggles of the Huguenots) of political and reli- 

Copjrlgbt 1890, by Tbe Arena PabllshlDg Co. 1 


gious independence. Count Tolstoi is the subject of an 
extreme reaction against th& surveillance and Oppression of 
the Russian civil and military system. These two men com- 
pare their views upon the subject of non-resistance, and it may 
well be left to the reader whether the one evinces the matu- 
rity of judgment and calm reason resulting from generations 
of unretarded intellectual freedom, or whether the other dis- 
plays the intense and impatient mental condition of one who 
aiTives at the same truths within the space of a few years of 
a single generation. That the reader may also have a just 
idea of the men engaging in this correspondence it will be 
well to present a very brief account of Mr. Ballou's interest- 
ing career. 

As early as the year 1830 Mr. Ballon had espoused the 
cause of "Christian Non-Resistance." To it he gave the 
strength and fervor of brilliant intellectual abilities, and in 
the year 1841, with about thirty foUowei-s, established the 
" Hopedale Community " in the township of Mendon, some 
thirty miles west of Boston. Space will not admit of an 
extended account of the high ideals, gratifying achievements, 
and subsequent failure of this enterprise. In the words of 
its founder it started out under the following principles. 
"It was not designed or expected that Hopedale should 
ever become an incorporated body-politic under any hu- 
man government, however otherwise good, which requires 
its subjects, at its behest, to slaughter human beings in war, 
or to train for that purpose in armies, navies, and militias, or 
to inflict death on criminals, or to resort to deadly force 
against offenders, or, under any pretext whatsoever, to do 
unto any class of mankind what they would not liave done 
unto themselves, or to violate in any respect the plain pre- 
cepts and examples of Jesus Christ. It was strictly a prac- 
tical Christian movement, conscientiously and unselfishly 
regardful of individual, social, and univeraal welfare." It 
received inspiration from the teachings of the New Testament 
as indicated in the beatitudes and kindi-ed instructions, and it 
attempted in itself and in its relations with the world in gen- 
eral to carry out and apply literally such injunctions as the 
following : " All things whatsoever ye would that men should 
do to you, do ye even so to them." " Ye have heard that it 
hath been said. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. 
But I say unto you. That ye resist not evil thus with evil.'* 


" Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy 
neighbor, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love 
your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them 
that hate you, and pray for them that despitefuUy use you 
and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your 
Father who is in heaven." " Put up again thy sword into its 
place ; for all they that take the sword shall perish with the 
sword." " The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over 
them ; and they that exercise authority upon them are called 
benefactors. But ye shall not be so ; but he that is greatest 
among you, let him be as the younger, and he that is chief 
as he that doth serve," etc. This Community continued 
to flourish for fourteen years. " It gradually increased in 
numbers and resources, amid innumerable difficulties," until 
its membership aggregated "three hundred souls, dwelling 
in fifty houses, on a domain of more than five hundred acres, 
with a respectable array of homely, but serviceable mills, 
shops, and conveniences. We had also a schoolhouse, chapel, 
and a library of several hundred volumes. We had a hand- 
some village site with good streets, where rough places had 
been made smooth, and crooked things straight. And our total 
capital had risen to over ninety thousand dollars." 

Without entering further into most interesting details 
concerning the history of the Hopedale Community, let it 
suffice to say that in the year 1856, owing to various compli- 
cations of both a financial and moral nature, it was dis- 
solved. Its property was absorbed by some of its wealthier 
members, and henceforth it became a village, and then a 
municipality of the usual type. Its founder survived all the 
shocks and vicissitudes of the enterprise, and continued for 
many years to apply, in his own dealings with his fellowmen, 
the great moral fundamentals upon which it was established. 
Several books have come from his hand, the most important 
among them being "Chiistian Non-resistance," "Practical 
Christian Socialism," "Primitive Christianity and its Cor- 
ruptions," etc., all of which are now out of print. Some 
time in June of last year (1889), the writer, being impressed 
by the similarity between the teachings and opinions of 
Count Tolstoi and those of Mr. Ballon, resolved to send the 
former some of the above mentioned works, together .with 
a photograph of the latter, a letter of explanation, etc., be- 
lieving that Tolstoi, in his lonely attitude before the world, 


would receive encouragement and strength were he to know 
that, almost upon the other side of the globe there dwelt a 
man who could fully sympathize with him, and had for many 
years been identified, in the main, with the great truths for 
which he stood. That the writer was not mistaken the fol- 
lowing letter from Count Tolsto'i, received in July (1880), 
fully indicates : — 

Dear Sir : — I have seldom experienced so much gratification 
as I bad in reading Mr. Ballou's treatise and tracts. I cannot 
agree with those who say that Mr. Ballou ** will not go down to 
posterity among the immortals." I think that because be has been 
one of the first true apostles of the " New Time " — he will be in 
the future acknowledged as one of the chief benefactors of hu- 
manity. If, in his long and seemingly unsuccessful career, Mr. 
Ballou has experienced moments of depression in thinking that 
his efforts have been vain, he has only partaken of the fate of 
his and our Master. 

Tell him, please, that his efforts have not been vain. They give 
great strength to people, as I can judge from myself. In those 
tracts I found all the objections that are generally made against 
" non-resistance '•' victoriously answered, and also the true basis of 
the doctrine. I will endeavor to translate and propagate as much 
as I can, the works of Mr. Ballou, and I not only hope, but am 
convinced, that the time is come, "when the dead shall hear the 
voice of the Son of God ; and they that hear shall live." 

The only comments that I wish to make on Mr. Ballou's ex- 
planation of the doctrine, are, firstly, that I cannot agree with the 
concession that he makes for employing violence against drunkards 
and insane people. The Master made no concessions, and we can 
make none. We must try, as Mr. Ballou puts it, to make impos- 
sible the existence of such persons, but if they are — we must use 
all possible means, sacrifice ourselves, but not employ violence. 
A true Christian will always prefer to be killed by a madman, 
rather than to deprive him of his liberty. Secondly, that Mr. Ballou 
does not decide more categorically the question of property^ for a 
true Christian not only cannot claim any rights of property, but 
the term " property " cannot have any signification for him. All that 
he uses, a Christian only uses till somebody takes it from him. He 
cannot defend his property, so he cannot have any. Property has 
been Achilles' heel for the Quakers, and also for the Hopedale 
Conununity. Thirdly, I think that for a true Christian, the term 
"government " (very properly defined by Mr. Ballou) cannot have 
any signification and reality. Government is for a Christian only 
regulated violence ; governments, states, nations, property, 
churches, — all these for a true Christian are only words without 


meaning ; he can understand the meaning other people attach to 
those words, but for him they have none, jast as for a business man if 
he were to come in the middle of a cricket party, all the divisions 
of the ground, and regulations of the game, could have no impor- 
tance or influence upon his activity. No compromise ! Christian 
principles must be pursued to the bottom, to be able to support 
practical life. The saying of Christ that, "-Z/^ aj\y man will come 
after mey let him. deny him^self and take up his cross daily and 
follow me," was true in His time, and is true in ours ; a follower of 
Christ must be ready to be poor and suffer ; if not he cannot be 
his disciple, and " non-resistance " implies it all. Moreover, the 
necessity of suffering for a Christian is a great good, because 
otherwise, we could never know, if what we are doing we are do- 
ing for God, or for ourselves. 

The application of every doctrine is always a compromise, but 
the doctrine in theory cannot allow compromises ; although we 
know we never can draw a mathematically straight line, we will 
never make another definition of a straight line than '' the shortest 
distance between two points." 

"Zam com.e to send fire on t/ie earthy and what will I, if it be 
already kindled P"* I think that this time is coming, and that the 
world is on fire, and our business is only to keep ourselves burning ; 
and if we can communicate with other burning points, that is the 
work which I intend to do for the rest of my life. Many thanks 
for your letter, and for Mr. Ballou's portrait and books. Please 
tell him that I deeply respect and love him, and that his work did 
great good to my soul, and I pray and hope that I may do the 
same to others. Your brother in Christ, Leo Tolstoy. 

The foregoing letter, in-so-far as it treated the question of 
non-resistance, appeared to Mr. Ballou to exceed the limit 
of practical good sense. Being somewhat in doubt as to 
whether he fully understood Tolstoi upon cei-tain points, and 
wishing also to make some inquiries concerning several sug- 
gestions in the work, " My Religion," he addressed the fol- 
lowing letter to the Count,, on January 14, 1890 : — 

Dear Sir and Brother : — 

I gratefully appreciate your approval of my work on Christian 
Non-Resistance and your fraternal sympathy with me therein, as 
expressed in your letter of July 6, 1889, to Rev. Lewis G. Wilson, 
of this place. I am an old man of little distinction or fame in 
this world, and must soon pass into the realm of the Invisible 
where the ambitious of this world are of small account. It gives 
me Uttle concern to know that a mere handful of mankind concur 


with me in this sublime doctrine and that the vast multitude, even 
in the so-called Christian church and state, hold it in contempt ; 
for I am none the less certain it is divinely true and excellent, and 
will finally prevail. 

I have candidly considered your exceptions to some of my 
definitions and qualifications of Christian Non- Resistance, and do 
not complain of your frank dissent from them. Such di£Perences 
are to be expected among free and independent minds. But I 
am obliged to say with the same fraternal frankness, that I am 
confirmed in my persuasion that on the minor points of difference 
between us I am in the right. I desire therefore, briefly, to defend 
my positions as against yours. In this I am sure you will indulge 

1. You say, ^' I cannot agree with the concession that he makes 
for emplojdng violence against drunkards and insane people : the 
Master made no concessions and we must make none." I made 
no concessions for employing violence in any case ; but for em- 
ploying uninjurious, benevolent physical force, in the cases alluded 
to, where the absolute welfare of all the parties concerned should 
be scrupulously regarded. I make no concession to killing, injur- 
ing, or harming any human being. What I approved, is not only 
sanctioned but dictated by the law of pure good will. This class 
of cases includes all cases of delirium, partial delirium, and pas- 
sional outrage wherein the assailant, as well as the victim, will 
have reason for thankfulness that beneficent restraint and preven- 
tion was imposed. There are multitudes of such cases in human 
experience ; and the employment of beneficent physical re- 
straint in such cases must not be confounded with the popular 
doctrine that it is right to employ deadly physical force against 
human offenders and eneoiies. This is the resistance of evil 
which Christ forbade. 

2. You say, " The Master made no concessions and we must 
make none." True, he made no concessions allowing us to em- 
ploy vindictive, or deadly, or harmful force against our human 
offenders and enemies, and we must make none. The use and 
employment of such forces had been sanctioned by law and cus- 
tom from time immemorial as necessary and right for the resist- 
ance of evil doers. It is still the fundamental assumption of all 
legislators, governments and worldly-minded individuals. But 
Christ uncompromisingly prohibited it. What then? Did he 
ever prohibit the resistance of evil by uninjurious and beneficent 
forces of any kind, physical or moral ? Never ! And to construe 
his precept, " Resist not evil," as meaning absolute passivity to all 
manner of evil, because he made no specific qualifications, is to 
ignore the context and make him the author of self-evident 
absurdity. The context clearly shows what kind of resistance of 


evil had beeA sanctioned by law and custom, and what he meant 
to abrogate. And it shows exactly the application and limita- 
tions of his precepts. It means neither less nor more than the 
context plainly indicates. And enlightened reason goes the same 

3. Yon say, " The application of every doctrine is always a 
compromise, but the doctrine or theory cannot allow compromise, 
etc.'' I am not sure that I understand this statement. If I do, 
it means that no doctrine, theory, or precept can be carried out in 
practice without con^promise. If this be your meaning, I must 
dissent. In ethics, I think no doctrine, theory, or prescribed duty 
is sound that cannot be put in practice uncompromisingly. And 
it seems to me to be a dangerous concession to make to human 
tergiversation, that a moral precept strictly right is expected to 
be compromised in application to actual practice. Religionists 
and moralists the world over, have ever been professing to hold 
sacred many great precepts — such as the Second Commandment 
and Golden Rule — yet wholly violating them on this very ground 
that, as the world is, they cannot be applied and lived out with- 
out compromise. Should we — non-resistants — go and do like- 
wise? — be rigid in statement of our doctrine, yet lax and in- 
consistent in practice? 

4. You say, " True Christians will always prefer to be killed by 
a madman rather than to deprive him of his liberty." And by 
parity of reason from the same principle, I suppose you must say, 
a true Christian, if watching with a delirious sick man would 
prefer to see him kill his wife, children, and best friends, rather 
than restrain or help restrain him by unin juiious physical force of 
his insane liberty. What precept of Christ makes insane liberty 
thus sacred ? Or what dictate of enlightened reason, humanity, 
or fraternal love demands such conduct towards the insane ? 

6. You say, " A true Christian not only cannot claim any 
rights of property, but the terra 'property' cannot have any 
signification for him ; all that he uses, a Christian only uses until 
somebody takes it from him." But food, raiment, and shel- 
ter are necessaries of mortal existence to Christians as to all 
human beings. They are indispensable material goods to this 
extent at least. Jesus said, " Your heavenly Father knoweth 
that ye have need of all the«e things." If they are necessaries 
of mortal life, they certainly have a very important " significa- 
tion." Jesus said, " Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his 
righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." 
When they have been " added " to true Christians according to 
the will of the Father, whose are they ? Are they not the right- 
ful property of those who possess them? — to whom God has 
" added " them ? as truly theirs as their bodily faculties — for the 


just use of which they are morally responsible — and which no 
human beings have any right to deprive them of by fraud or force ? 
Yet, you say, "A true Christian cannot claim any rights of 
property. . . . All that he uses, a Christian only uses till some- 
body takes it from him." But has anybody a right to take 
it from him at will ? Is there no such thing as theft, robbery, 
extortion, or crime against property, against which a true Chris- 
tian may protest ? On the other hand, is there no such thing as a 
true Christian having any property to give away in alms or charity, 
according to Chiist's injunction ? I do not so understand Christ 
or the dictates of reason, or the law of love. 

6. You say, ** Grovemment is, for a Christian, only regulated vio- 
lence . . . governments, states, nations, projierty, churches — all 
these for a true Christian are only words without meaning, etc." 
But these are realities, we cannot ignore them as nonentities. 
They are outgrowths -from nature, however crude and defective. 
Man is a social being by natural constitution, he is not and never 
can be a solitary, independent, individual being. He must, and 
will be inevitably more or less a socialist. Families, governments, 
states, nations, churches, and communities, always have existed, 
and always will. Christ came to establish the highest order of 
governmental association, a purely fraternal social order — a 
church *< against which the gates of hell should not prevail." For 
this he lived and died. No-govern men tism, non-organizationism, 
sheer individualism, is no part of true Christianity. It is impos- 
sible, unnatural, irrational — a chaos. We should aim with our 
Master, to transform by the moral forces of divine, fundamental 
principles uncompromisingly lived out, all barbaric, semi-barbaric, 
and unchristian social organizations into his ideal one, the true 
church, wherein the greatest are least and all in unity of spirit 
with him, as he with the universal Father. If in this holy aim 
we must dissent from the selfish and warlike multitude, let us 
follow him even unto death, till the final triumph arrive. These 
are my highest convictions of truth and righteousness. 

Permit me to add a few queries on some positions assumed in 
your work entitled "My Religion." 

1. Concerning the Son of Man you say, — "The son of man 
is homogeneous (of the same race) with God." (p. 1'25.) " The 
son of man is the light in every man that ought to illuminate 
his life." " This light is reason, which alone should be the object 
of our worship, since it alone can show us the way to true well- 
being." (p. 126.) " The son of man, endowed with true kingly 
authority will call upon the faithful to inherit the true life ; they 
have fed the hungry, given drink to the thirsty, clothed and con- 
soled the wretched, and in so doing they have ministered to the 
son of man who is the same in all men. They have not lived the 


personal life, but the life of the son of man, and they are given 
the life eternal." (pp. 142-3.) 

Query. If the son of man is " homogeneous with God,'* is the 
light from heaven given to illuminate — is reason^ which alone 
should be worshipped — how is it in any sense of man ? Is it 
not of God, or rather the very God himself? But if it is God 
how can it need or receive ministrations from men, for which it 
should return compensation ? Are not these ministrations said to 
be rendered, by human beings personally, to human persons? 
Are not givers and receivers said to be personally blest ? . Again, 
did not Christ uniformly represent himself as personally the son 
of man? Once more, — Is reason really and absolutely God, 
alone to be worshipped ? Is it not rather a faculty of God, and 
also finitely of the human soul ? Pardon these queries of an un- 
mystical mind. 

2. Concerning individual conscious existence. after death, etc., 
you say — "Strange as it may seem, Jesus, who is supposed to 
have been raised in person, and to have promised a general 
resurrection — Jesus not only said nothing in affirmation of individual 
resurrection and individual immortality beyond the grave, but on the 
contrary, every time he met with this superstition, he did not fail 
to deny its truth." (p. 143.) "Jesus affirmed only this, that who- 
ever lives in God will be united with God ; and he admitted no 
other idea of the resurrection. As to personal resurrection, 
strange as it may appear to those who have never studied the 
Gospels for themselves, Jesus said nothing about it whatever." 
(p. 144.) I have diligently studied the Gospels for myself more 
than seventy-five years, and these assertions are so utterly con- 
trary to the sense in which I have understood many passages in 
those Gospels, that had I familiar opportunity to question you, I 
fear I should be troublesome. But as I have no such opportunity, 
I will content myself with the following inquiries, " Will the 
most righteous derive any conscious good from their faithfulness, 
except here in this present mortal existence? If united to God, 
as you express it, will they have any consciousness of it after 
physical death? And as the vast majority of mankind abide in 
spiritual death, disunited from God, and have no opportunity for 
improvement after death, of what value is their personal existence 
at all ? And what credit does such an abortive existence reflect 
on their Creator ? 

Trusting that your Christian consideration will make generous 
allowance for the freedom with which I have addressed you and 
for even any seeming impertinences, I remain, with high esteem 
and Christian affection, 

Your friend and brother, 

Adin Ballou, 



In answer to the foregoing, Mr. Ballon received the fol- 
lowing letter on March 26, 1890, from Count Tolstoi. 

Dear Friend and Brother : — 

I will not argue with your objections. It would not bring 
us to anything. Only one point which I did not put clearly 
enough in my last letter I must explain to avoid misunderstand- 
ing. It is about compromise. I said that compromise, inevita- 
ble in practice, cannot be admitted in theory. What I mean is 
this : Man never attains perfection, but only approaches it. As 
it is impossible to trace in reality a mathematically straight line, 
and as e.very such line is only an approach to the latter, so is 
every degree of perfection attainable by man only an approach 
to the perfection of the Father, which Christ showed us the way 
to emulate. Therefore, in reality, every deed of the best man 
and his whole life will be always only a practical compromise — 
a resultant between his feebleness and his striving to attain 
perfection. And such a compromise in practice is not a sin, but 
a necessary condition of every Christian life. The great sin is 
the compromise in theory^ is the plan to lower the ideal of Christ 
in view to make it attainable. And I consider the admission of 
force (be it even benevolent) over a madman (the great difficulty 
is to give a strict definition of a madman) to be such a theo- 
retical compromise. In not admitting this compromise I run the 
risk only of my death, or the death of other men who can be 
killed by the madman ; but death will come sooner or later, and 
death in fulfilling the will of God is a blessing (as you put it 
yourself in your book ) ; but in admitting this compromise I run 
the risk of acting quite contrary to the law of Christ — which is 
worse than death. As soon as I admit in principle my right to 
property, I necessarily will try to keep it from others, and to 
increase it, and therefore will deviate very far from the ideal of 

Only when I profess daringly that a Christian cannot have any 
property, will I npt in practice come near to the ideal of Christ 
in this instance ? There is a striking example of such a deviation 
in theory about anger (Matt. v. 22) where the added word 
" without any cause " has justified and justifies still, every intol- 
erance, punishment, and evil, which have been and are so often 
done by nominal Christians. The more we keep in mind the idea 
of a straight line, viz., the shortest distance between two points — 
the nearer we will come to trace in reality a straight line. The 
purer we will keep the ideal of Christ's perfection in its unattain- 
ableness, the nearer we will in reality come to it. 

Allow me not to argue upon several dogmatical differences of 
opinion about the meaning of the words " son of God," about 


personal life after death and about resurrection. I have written 
a large work on the translation and explanation of the Gospels 
in which I exposed all I think on those subjects. Having, at 
the time — ten years ago — given all the strength of my soul for 
the conception of those questions, I cannot now change my 
views without verifying them anew. But the differences of opin- 
ion on these subjects seem to me of little consequence. I firmly 
believe that if I concentrated all ray powers to the fulfilment of 
the Master's will which is so clearly expressed in his words and in 
my conscience, and nevertheless, should not guess quite rightly 
the aims and plans of the Master whom I serve, he would still 
not abandon me — and do the best for me. 

I would be very grateful to you should you send me a line. 
.... Two of your tracts are very well translated into Russian 
and propagated among believers, and richly appreciated by them. 
With deep veneration and tender love, I remain, 

Your brother and friend, 

Leo Tolstoy. 

In accordance with the request in the closing paragraph of 
the above letter, Mr. Ballou sent a reply filled with friendly 
sentiments, and closing with the following words : — 

It [the doctrine of non-resistance] is leavening many minds, 
but the bewitching influence of politics and the temporal advan- 
tage which the old system, founded on deadly compulsion, 
affords to multitudes of professional aspirants, are almost omnip- 
otent. The one and almost only argument I encounter is. Your 
doctrine is heavenly, grand, and Christ-like, but it is impractical 
as society is. We must have government, hold office, and make 
money. So church, state, and the political multitude are anchored 
securely in compulsory civilization until the millennium ! 

But none of these seductions swerve me a hair's breadth from 
Him who is " The Way, the Truth, and the Life." And I am con- 
fident of two conclusions. First, that Christianity will never 
enter its promised land till the nominal church re-embraces 
non-resistance as its capstone ; and second, that this doctrine 
will finally be thus re- embraced. It is now accounted foolishness, 
but will prove to be the " Wisdom of God." It is now set at 
naught by the buildei^s, but will yet become " the headstone of 
the corner." 

Wishing you benedictions, divine and innumerable, I remain 
your friend and brother in Christ Jesus, evermore, 

Adin Ballou. 

After a brief illness, Mr. Ballou breathed his last on Aug. 
5, 1890. He retained his mental powers, undiminished in 


vigor, up to within a short time of his death. The foregoing 
correspondence was his last utterance upon a subject to 
which he had given more than half a century of earnest 
thought and labor, and for which he had suffered a vast deal 
of persecution and misrepresentation. " Your tidings," wrote 
the daughter of Count TolstoY, upon hearing of Mr. Bailouts 
death, " are very sad, and my father is deeply grieved." 



The New York Nation some time since made the com- 
prehensive remark tliat the difference between the hut of 
the barbarian and the modern lady's drawing room marked 
the whole advance of human dvilization. It means all the 
difference between a talking animal, and a cultured, noble, 
Christian woman. The hut was only a place to eat and 
sleep in, and to keep out the weather. The home is for 
head, and heart, and spirit. Every noble faculty is appealed 
to to be satisfied. 

If any creature on earth has reason for exultant, tearful, 
heavenward-rising thankfulness, it is the modern woman. 
Never in all the world's history has she been so free from 
burdens, so exalted in privileges as to-day. This nineteenth 
century is the era of her coronation. To-day she stands 
queen of herself and of the world. 

In the palmiest days of the " good old times " the only 
' woman who was allowed any privileges or culture was the 
courtesan. The wife's home was a prison, and her hands 
alone were of value. Whether or not she had any brains 
she was not permitted to discover ; and this has held sub- 
stantially true, the world over, until within the last hundred 
years ; and the most convincing proof of this is the character 
of the boolcs of the best society. You would not dare to 
read aloud in mixed society any book of the last century. 
Books were not made for women ; and so whether they were 
decent or not, was a small consideration. Even the old 
preachers indulged in coarseness of language that would not 
now be permitted in a political harangue. Some of Martin 
Luther's sermons could not be read in a modern school. 

It is not so long ago that the custom was universal of 
women leaving the table as soon as dinner was over, while 
their husbands, fathers, brothers, and friends remained behind 
to revel in drinking, profanity, and obscene jesting and story- 
telling. Imagine such a thing here in Boston to-day ! 



Swearing in the drawing room, and in the " best society," 
was no uncommon thing ninety years ago. Even the ladies 
themselves not rarely indulged in it. Dean Ramsey tells an 
anecdote that well illustrates bow it was regarded. A sister 
was speaking of her brother as much addicted to the habit ; 
and she said, " Our John sweers awfu', and we try to correct 
him for it ; but," she added apologetically, " nae doubt it is 
a great set oflf to conversation." The " double-intendre " 
and indelicate allusions, such as now no respectable company 
would endure, were then quite common in mixed society. 
Governor Strong, of Massachusetts, relates having heard John 
Hancock make a remark that caused the ladies at his table to 
rise and leave the room, amidst a roar of laughter from the 
gentlemen left behind. 

Eighty years ago, eminent lawyers would use language in 
the court room, in the presence of ladies, for which they 
would now be arrested by the sheriff. Then, women were 
punished by being publicly whipped on the bare back. 
Prisoners in pillories were pelted with eggs, and jeered and 
taunted by the bystanders. The whipping-post, the stocks, 
cropping and branding were common. It was no very rare ^ 
sight to see a man and his wife, from the first society, sitting * 
on the gallows for an hour, with ropes round their necks. 

And those who favor the harsher forms of punishment 
might profitably take notice of the fact that milder councils, 
fewer crimes, and the general elevation of society are invari- 
ably accompaniments of each other. 

To be poor and insane then was worse than torture or 
death. The poor were " sold " at public auction, their board 
and keeping knocked down to the lowest bidder, who was 
left to treat them very much as he pleased. Almshouses 
were almost unknown. The insane wife of a prosperous 
man was sometimes fastened in a room in the house, and 
kept there for years, her screams making hideous the public 
i-oad on which he lived. I preached, not long since, to two 
hundred insane persons ; and they were so well-kept, well- 
cared for, and well-behaved, that I told a friend that the 
principal difference I could see between them and the rest of 
us, was that they had been caught and shut up, and we were 
at large. 

And then the schools of the "good old times" and ours. 
In some parts of the land, there were no free schools at all. 


Governor Berkeley, of Virginia, in the "year of grace" 
1675, said, '* I thank God we have no free schools nor print- 
ing presses. . . . God keep us from both." 

But when they did have them, even their colleges were 
behind our city high schools. I can myself remember when 
the first qualification sought for in a new master for our old 
village school, was that he should be able to thrash all the big 
boys ; and he was counted a success if he could make a good 
quill pen, and get through the winter without being pitched 
through the window; whether we learned anything was a 
minor consideration. 

As for the girls, a hundred years ago, their sphere was so 
definitely settled, and was so very narrow, that what and how 
much they knew, was counted as of very little importance. 
No provision was made for their education at the public ex- 
pense. If they could knit, and work their " samplar," all inves- 
tigation into tiiie state of their brains was indefinitely postponed. 

But, thank God, they are now learning to make their own 
sphere, according to the brain and power that has been given 
them. I rejoice to see the day approaching, when they may 
stand up, head, heart, and hand beside their brothers. 

The common school-girl of to-day is better off, in all that 
makes life desirable, than was any queen of two hundred 
years ago. She stands not out conspicuous among her com- 
panions because all have gone up together on to a higher 
plane. Picture to yourself the " Good Queen Bess " break- 
fasting with her friends off a piece of boiled beef, in a palace 
where there were no cjarpets, almost no books, no gas, no 
coal, no piano nor sheet music, no thousands of things that 
go to make up the common comforts of an ordinary home. 
Then call up the surroundings of your own lives. 

More comfort, more purity, more intelligence, more refine- 
ment, more everything worth having, — these mark the ad- 
vance of our social life. Never were houses so good, never 
was furniture so convenient and abundant, never was dress 
so comfortable and healthful, never manners so simple and 
sensible, never the means of all enjoyment and development 
so common, and so universally accessible as to-day. 

If one is to judge by common remark as to what the world 
is coming to, i% might be thought useless to look for any- 
thing in our religious condition, unless to find reason for new 
editions of Jeremiah. 


Only a few years ago a prize essay was published that 
had a wide circulation, called " Primitive Piety Reviewed," 
and every little while a wail is lifted up over church degen- 
eracy; the "good old times" are sighed for; and it is pro- 
posed to cure the ills of the present by reverting to the 
thought and life of the past. 

Now I would not claim that the religious world of to-day 
is all it ought to be, or might be. But I hazard little in 
saying that this is true, — the church has made definite and 
sensible progress from the first, and never was better than 
to-day. Glance up the line of the ages and see. 

Take an inside look at the church in Corinth, that Paul 
founded and established. Hepe is a man, retaining for a 
long time his standing, and threatening a division in the 
church, who is guilty of a crime so flagrant that now, not 
only would no church think of retaining him, but no decent 
society would tolerate his presence. Look again into the 
same church. It is Sunday morning. Disorder and revelry 
are heard. Can it be possible? Yes, they are drunk, and at 
the Communion table. They have turned the Loid's Supper 
into the banquet of the pagan temple. 

Come down to the year 350. The church historian, 
Eusebius, says the church, pastor, bishop, and i)eople, are full 
of strife, rivalry, hypocrisy, and every form of wickedness. 
Then a little later, the Golden-Mouth, Chrjrsostom, says the 
church of his time is more like a market or a theatre than a 
church. People come there on the Lord's day to buy and sell 
and gossip. Wanton women come there openly to ply their 
ti-ade. He closes his lament by saying " Everything is filled 
with their abounding corruption." The church's own pic- 
ture of the tenth century is drawn in no brighter colors. 

The General Assembly in Scotland in the year 1596 tells 
of drunkenness, gaming, and del)auchery as characteristic of 
the religion of their times. I have traced it down from the 
first, and, for the life of me, cannot find any " primitive piety " 
that I am at all anxious to see "revived." The brightest 
period of the Church wliich I can discover is somewhere 
about December, 1890. I hardly care to go back even a hun- 
dred and fifty years. Then the minister and deacons took 
their regular toddy between sermons. It wi#,s no infrequent 
tiling for reverend gentlemen to go home after an evening 
out with the wrong hat on ; or to be picked up in the street, 


finding the brick in it heavier than they could conveniently 
cany. Then the people in New England were seated in 
church by the selectmen of the town, according to their 
wealth and social rank. Single men and women were put in 
separate galleries by themselves. It was common for the 
tithing men to speak to disorderly persons in church, or to 
rap over the heads with their canes tiie careless urchins who 
forgot their behavior. There were no fires in churches, and 
the minister had sometimes to preach in great coat and mit- 
tens. Benevolent and missionary societies were either un- 
heard of, or put aside as questionable novelties. Slavery 
was supported from the Bible, North as well as South. Even 
President Jonathan Edwards could buy a boy in Connecticut, 
and take him home behind him on his horse, and when remon- 
strated with by a pestilent abolition deacon, could preach a ser- 
mon in defence of slavery. There were no Sunday schools, 
no religious magazines or newspapers, — and of the thousand 
benevolent enterprises of the age, hardly one was existent. 

And yet, in spite of these facts, there are large numbers of 
people perpetually bemoaning our degeneracy, and sighiing 
over the departure of the " good old times " of our early 
American life. 

The reason of the present distressing state of affairs I 
heard explained not long ago. One man thought it was be- 
cause the "good old doctrines" were now-a-days not preached 
at all, and the other was equally sure that it was because 
they were preached all the time. Never was a grander fallacy 
than this whole idea. Never was more ignorance of the past 
displayed than by those who talk of the falling away of 
modern times. Never was the church so bright and fair as 
now, and never did the sky of the future redden with a more 
glorious* promise of the coming day. In those "good old 
times," men lived under the horrid shadows of frightful 

An educated young lady was in my house not long ago. 
When it was time to leave, remembering that she came in at 
the back door, she must go out by the same. She was super- 
stitious about entering one way and going out another. Thou- 
sands of persons even yet shrink from beginning any important 
work on Friday. Many will twist their necks almost into an 
attack of rheumatism rather than see a new moon over their 
left shoulder. Multitudes still believe in the magic of the 

18 !rHE ARENA. 


witch-hazel for finding water. Grown women and mothera 
can be found who do not dare to go upstaira alone in the 
dark. Dreaming a thing three times is a sign of something. 
A dog barking under the window at night is a sign of some- 
thing else. Lord Byron would jump and leave the table if salt 
was spilled. Dr. Johnson always wished to leave the room 
right foot first ; and by many, even to-day, moons and stars 
are supposed to affect all sorts of house, and farm, and shop 
ariungements. I know a man who will stick his jack-knife 
in the headboard of his bed at night, to keep liim from hav- 
ing the cramp. 

All these are but broken remnants of superstitions that, but 
a little while ago, refgned in awful supremacy of supernat- 
ural horror over the whole world. Think what kind of a 
world this was only a century or two since ! Hell was just 
underground ; and tlu'ough the mouths of caves, devils came 
and went at will. Fairies and gnomes, spirits of earth, and 
air, and water were everywhere, working mischief at pleas- 
ure. Graveyards and oI& ruins were generally haunted. 
Every midnight the belated traveller, or wakeful watcher, 
shuddered at the thought of all terrible overhanging calamities 
and frights. A swimmer might be dragged under by a water 
spirit. The baby in the cradle might be carried off by some 
spiteful spirit, and a fairy child, without any soul, left in its 
stead. A witch could make a compact with Satan, and use 
all her fearful power against any she chose to injure. She 
could make an image, and then by pounding it, or sticking it 
full of pins, she could rack you with suffering. When a 
man dreamed, his soul was off on a journey, leaving his body 
behind, and while he was away a demon might come and take 
possession of it, and keep its right owner out. Cmzy persons 
were "possessed." A black dog, or cat, or hen, might be 
cither witch or devil ; and so the whole life was lived under 
a lurid cloud of superstitious terrors. God was far off, and 
the devil was nigh. Old Cotton Mather thought the Indians 
were a people whom the Devil had lured off into the wilder- 
ness away from Christianity, where he could have his own 
way with them unhindered. 

Now it is to modern science only that we owe our eman- 
cipation from the yoke of this awful tyranny. Scientific 
explorers have been over the earth ; and finding no mouth 
of hell, that is gone. Science has explained earthquakes 


and volcanoes ; and now devils fight no longer in the bow- 
els of the earth. -/Etna and Vesuvius are no longer vent- 
holes of the pit. Astronomy has shattered the follies of 
astrology; and people have found out that the stars are 
minding their own business instead of meddling with theirs ; 
and eclipses, no longer moon-swallowing monsters, are only 
very natural and well-behaved shadows. Since psychology 
is studied we know that witchcraft is folly, and insanity is 
only a disease to be treated and cured. 

Thus Science, — like a mother going upstairs to bed with 
her frightened boy, — has been with her candle into all the 
old dark corner that used to make us creep, and cringe, 
and shiver with terror. 

And now, for our final outlook, let us glance at the politics 
of other dayB. 

I presume that, by this time, the most of us are ready to 
give up our Golden Age in the past, that histoiy has never 
been able to find, and to admit the fact that the world has 
been making slow but definite progress from the first crude 
patriarchal government down to the election of President 
Harrison. Whatever may be the evils of any department 
' of our government, there never has been a time when gov- 
ernment, the world over, was so good as to-day. 

But while most persons may agree to this, they find it 
very hard to rejoice in special and recent changes in our 
own national history. It is a curious fact that at any par- 
ticular period, most of the really great men have just died oflF. 
It is still the fashion to think that most of our brilliant 
statesmen died about the time of the Revolution ; or at any 
rate to think they did not survive Clay, Calhoun, Webster, 
Douglass, and Lincoln. But I will stake my reputation as a 
prophet on the statement that history will credit this £tge 
with some as great men, as wise statesman, as noble patriots, 
as have ever drafted resolutions or made speeches. Hancock, 
and Adams, and Jefferson, and Jackson are greater than living 
men, cliiefly because they have been idealized, and lifted up 
as historic pedestals that remove them in our thought from 
the atmosphere of common life. 

The Hartford Courant^ some time since, indulged in some 
interesting historical reminiscences. Among other things, it 
recalled some of the criticism on Washington, as significant 
at this time, on the occasion of his retirement from the Presi- 


dency. The following was from a Philadelphia paper. " The 
man who is the source of all the misfortunes of our country- 
is this day reduced to a level with our fellow citizens, and is 
no longer possessed of power to multiply evils upon the United 
States. Every heart in unison with the freedom and happi- 
ness of the people ought to beat high with exultation that 
the name of Washington from this day ceases to give currency 
to political iniquity and to legalize corruption. A new era 
is opening upon usi — an era which promises much to the 
people ; for public measures must now stand upon their own 
merits ; and nefarious projects can no longer be supported by 
a name." 

Would you like just a glimpse at the inner life of Hancock? 
A recent and responsible writer says, — " No man has proba- 
bly been more overrated than John Hancock. He was rich, 
lived ostentatiously, and was very generous; but he was 
vain and unscrupulous. Almost everybody with whom he 
traded was obliged to sue him. You could seldom pass the 
court-house during term-time without hearing some case cried 
against him. He would present a clergyman, on election day, 
with a suit of clothes, and the tailor would have to sue the 
Grovemor for payment. His widow related that he invited the 
whole Senate of Massachusetts to breakfast with him one day, 
without giving her any notice, and when she said, ' We have 
no milk for the coffee of so many persons,' he replied, ' Send 
the servants out to milk the cows on the Common.' But 
Hancock was not the only man who, in those days, dishon- 
ored his position. Chancellor Livingstone remarked to the 
father of the late Judge William Jay, * Jay, what a set of 
rascals there were in the old Congress. ' " 

Yet we worship these as political saints, for the not very 
conclusive reason that they are dead, and their faults are lost 
sight of in the blaze of their glory. Our living heroes will 
be lifted up by and by, and, their blemishes being hidden, 
they shall show grand and fair in the splendor of the renown 
that posterity shall accord them. 

We can do very fairly, when we lay ourselves out, at call- 
ing names in politics even now. But all the bitterness of our 
partisanship is the very honey of sweet fellowship compared 
with the fierce hatreds of the olden times. In the days of 
Queen Anne, it was a common thing for fashionable ladies to 
wear little patches on their faces to indicate which faction 


they belonged to ; and the shillaleh days of an Irish Borough 
Election hardly carried the party conflict farther than they did. 

Even in this country, only a little while ago, members of 
different parties were hardly on speaking terms with each 
other, and their wives and daughters had no social intercourse. 
The leading inn-keeper of Northampton, Mass., when adver- 
tising a house to be sold or let, could add, " No Democrats 
need apply." I know the newspapers haven't quite forgotten 
the traditions of Billingsgate yet ; but the loud barking is 
mostly stage show. Their teeth are pasteboard. They shake 
hands and laugh behind the scenes. And whatever may be 
the secret plots and machinations of which each party is 
always accusing the other, it is a hopeful fact that both 
parties are compelled to base any hopes of success at the polls 
on justice, integrity, and a noble devotion to the welfare of 
the whole people. Croakers always have had a special faculty 
for seeing " breakers ahead," and smooth water behind. But 
the sober facts of history justify the statement that never was 
the ship of human hope in stauncher trim, and never was a 
fairer, broader sea ahead. 

What then ? Why, this. In spite of present ills, and 
difficulties, and corruptions, and discouragements, learn to see 
things as they are. ' How many a curse has this servile, un- 
reasoning worship of the past fastened upon us I As if an 
evil that has stood a thousand years was not as abominable 
as one sprung up to-day I We ought indeed, in church, soci- 
ety, and state, to reverence the past, as father of the present. 
But not so blindly as to keep errors and fallacious systems, 
simply because our ancestors endured them. I'll not carry 
my grist to mill with the corn in one end of the sack, and 
stone to balance it in the other, simply because grandmother 
did. . From the ease with which the popular chariot gets into 
ruts in following the " good old ways," comes most of the 
difficulty of making the world give up its wrongs. So evils 
stand, because they are old. So old good grows not to new 
better. So reformers are persecuted, and the world's proph- 
ets are cast out. 

The past — of our own lives, and of the world — seems 
fair and sacred to us, because we forget and lose the reality 
of its roughness and difficulties. Just as one on a mountain 
summit sees not the irregularities of the way, that with 
unspeakable toil and difficulty, led him there. It looks a 


smooth, winding sweep of path, even as a river. Or, things 
past become good, because one likes to remember difficulties 
and dangers when they are over ; as a storm at sea, in which 
life itself was perilled, lives only as a pleasant excitement in 
the memory ; and there is a sort of self-heroism produced by 
the thought of dangers gone through and overcome. 

But, for whatever motive, let those who will, sigh over, 
long after, and worship the " days of yore." Put me down in 
the fore-front of radical progress. I care for what has been 
only as it can serve me as a schoolmaster. Give me the 
solid rocks of fundamental principles to build on, in rearing 
the walls of a better future. Of all the years, the da)rs, the 
hours, since animal climbed up into man, give me this year, 
this day, this hour, and a wise foresight, and a fearless strength 
to grapple with the issues of to-morrow's dawn, and shape 
them to the lifting up of man, and the glory of Him who has 
led us on our way. The van of the nineteenth century is the 
noblest place of the time. Humanity is a giant just waking 
from an age-long sleep. When he learns the use of hand 
and brain, we may expect to see the city of earth-wide civi- 
lization builded as fair as that which John saw coming down 
from Grod out of heaven. 

Instead then of reversing the engine of progress and going 
back to some former station, I would keep up steam, and 
have an engineer with an outlook toward the future. I can- 
not believe that God is suffering the Universe to grow to 
worse ; and if to better, then let us not cling so close to the 
past as to have no hands with which to grasp the coming. 

" Through the shadow of the glohe we sweep into the younger day: 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. 
Not in Tain the distance heckons; ^rward, forward let us range ; 
Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change.*' 

It sails onward, in the stream of God's wise and loving 
providence, toward the great ocean of a pacific and blessed 
future. It swings and rolls upward, attracted by the " Sun 
of Righteousness " the sun of the time to be, into a higher 
air, a clearer light of intelligence, and a warmer atmosphere 
of love and human brotherhood. 



It is evident that the greatest questions of national con- 
duct which our race has ever had to consider, are to come to 
its American representatives from the presence of Africans 
in their States. In other lands and times, these problems 
presented by the association of very diverse races in one 
society have often been encountered. They have been vari- 
ously dealt with, but the adjustments have usually been 
determined in the way which suited the momentary purpose 
of the conqueror ; extermination, subjugation by slavery, by 
caste gradations, or by military rule have been the normal 
means by which the superior dispose of the inferior races. 
Our British kindred have, on every continent, assayed these 
several methods of mastering inferior peoples ; we, too, have 
had our turn with them, and have, in our management of the 
matter, provided ourselves with a heritage of painful memo- 
ries by the enslavement of the blacks and the extermination 
of the Indians. We are all now alive to the fact that the 
ancient way of dealing with the lower varieties of human 
beings will not satisfy the modern man. This century of 
exceeding changes has in nothing else so far departed from 
the past, as in the conceptions of public duty by lowly and 
oppressed men. In no other country is this modern and 
beneficent motive so well developed as in our own ; no other 
people, indeed, has in this generation had such opportunities 
of humanitarian culture forced upon them. The civil war 
which, in its final and truest motive, was a struggle for the 
emancipation of the subjected race; the perplexing difficul- 
ties of the Indian question, which have led our citizens to an 
effort to remedy the evils due to centuries of ill-doing, have 
afforded us good and timely education concerning the obliga- 
tion which binds the strong to help the weak. 

Almost as characteristic of our time as its humanistic 
spirit, is the motive which leads men to a scientific study of 
the problems which are presented by human relations. Of 



old these relations appeared to most men as merely common- 
place, or if a higher view of the subject was taken, they were 
regarded as matters to be regulated by divine prescription. 
This religious view of human interests has somewhat re- 
strained the ardor of men of science, wno have been disposed 
to essay investigations into, the constitution of society by 
their critical methods of inquiry ; in larger part they have 
been kept from this field, by the exceeding complication of 
social phenomena which made it seem impossible to secure 
the well-affirmed data on which all truly scientific work 
depends. Lately, however, these reasons for not approach- 
ing such questions, have in good part disappeared ; the stu- 
dent of nature is no longer the obnoxious person he was 
thought to be a generation ago ; his true character as a helper 
is at last made clear ; all nature is, therefore, now free to him ; 
he may wander where he will, over sea, and land, and into the 
depths of the heavens. Moreover, the men of science have at 
length found a clue to unravel a part of the mysteries which 
surround the matter of human lelations ; the knowledge of 
the laws of inheritance, one of the affirmed triumphs of mod- 
ern biology, has led us to understand the extent to which the 
conduct of men is determined by the habits of their ancestors. 
This view of the conditions of the human quality is novel 
only in the measure of affirmation which modern knowledge 
has given it ; " the parents have eaten sour grapes and the 
children's teeth are on edge " is a sufficient text for all the 
naturalist's discourse on heredity, if he but allow himself 
the usual exegetical mnge and the ordinary conjectural emen- 
dations of the pulpit. In fact, in this, as in many other of its 
widest conquests, science has only fathomed the deeps of 
which the surface was well known in common experience. 
The Hebrew bible and all similar harvests of knowledge is 
full of these ideas as to the fixedness of racial attributes. 
Investigators have only extended the conception by showing 
that the varieties of men, following a common original law, 
hold fast to the ways of their forefathers, and that the moral 
as well as the physical characteristics of a race are to a 
greater or less degree indelible, whether the given kind l)e- 
loug to the human or to lower creatures. It is evident that 
this well affirmed theory is of the utmost importance to us, 
when we have to consider the nature of any people who have 
been placed in new conditions. If we trust to this view as 


all naturalists do, the first object of our inquiry should be to 
trace, as far as we may, the origin and nurture of the race 
which is the object of our inquiry ; to see what their historic 
environment has been, and to ascertain the peculiarities which 
their habits of life have bred in them. I, therefore, propose 
briefly to consider the state of the Africans in their parent 
land, so far as information is at hand, and on this foundation 
endeavor to build a better knowledge of their state in this 

The peoples of Africa, whence the greater part of our 
negroes have been derived, have been well known to us for 
but a short time ; about all the trustworthy information con- 
cerning them has been secured within a century. As they 
are quite without historic records and apparently not rich in 
traditions, there seems no chance of ever constructing a his- 
tory of their social development. The type of the Central 
African races is very provincial, it is distinct from that of 
other peoples, and is therefore almost necessarily ancient, for 
it is almost an axiom with naturalists that well isolated 
organic forms have a relatively great antiquity. Moreover, 
the negro type of to-day is almost certainly nearer to the 
anthropoid or pre-human ancestry of men than the other 
marked varieties of our species, such as the Aryan, Tartars or 
Semitic folk. The measure of this approach to the lower 
being whence men came, is less great than it is commonly 
assumed to be, but the closer affiliation seems clear. This 
also supports the presumption that the negro has been much 
longer in about the state in which we now find him than is 
the case with these other races of men. Some historic evi- 
dence of this fixed character might seem to be found in the 
existence of characteristic delineations of negro^ faces and 
forms in the oldest monuments of Egypt; but we cannot 
give overmuch weight to this argument, for the reason that 
the Hebrews and perhaps Aryan varieties of men also find a 
place in these ancient galleries of portraits. They serve at 
least to attest the existence of the negro in substantially the 
same shape in which we now find him some forty centuries 
ago. It seems likely that if we could look back for twice or 
thrice that term, we should find the equatorial Africans in 
form and habits much like their descendants of to-day. 

The conditions of these African tribes of to-day is that 
which characterizes all people who have taken the first rela- 


tively easy step above the lowest savagery and show no clear 
signs of ability to climb the next round of the ladder. They 
have learned a number of the earlier lessons of deliberate 
associated action and in so far are lifted above the level of 
the least advanced men, such as the Andaman islanders or the 
Bushmen. They have acquired the habit of subjection to 
chiefs, of the chase, of rude war, and of simple husbandry. As 
yet there are no conceptions of formal law, no organized com- 
merce, no trace of any education of youth, no beginnings of 
the literary motive. Religion, save that derived from foreign 
sources, is in the most primitive form of nature worship in 
which men have conceived of the forces which can do them ill, 
but have in no way organized this vague conception. In this 
vast aggregate of population which the negro district of Equa- 
torial Africa contains, there is not and probably never has been 
any trace of organization above the level of the tribe held 
together by the power of a chief. Here and there a strong 
chieftain secures a certain temporary control over several 
clans, as it often happens in this state of the social develop- 
ment, but the relation seems in no case to rise above the 
tributary stage. We must not, however, infer too much from 
this simplicity of the governmental system, for it was the 
state of all the higher races a few thousand years ago. It is 
doubtful if much advance above this level was possible before 
the use of records began, and the art of recording is the most 
difficult of accomplishments. There are some reasons for 
Iwlieving that the social conditions of the negroes in Africa 
are rather above the level of their political organization; 
here and there certain arts are well advanced, and almost 
everywhere the people normally subsist by a deliberate and 
rather careful agriculture. They are clearly laborers beyond 
the level of most other savages, and are undoubtedly by far 
the most given to systematic toil of any primitive tribes of 
the tropical, or perhaps any other districts. From the de- 
scriptions of travellers it appears that, while there are great 
differences in the physical development of the diverse tribes 
of these dark-skinned people, the essential form of tody remains 
alike ; the same adherence to a general type is observable 
in the habits. There seems, for instance, in all the districts 
which have not been harried by the slave hunters, the same 
forms of the simple architecture, and the processes of the 
arts are very much alike in all the tribes. The crops which 


are tilled generally belong to peculiar varieties of plants ; 
these have apparently been developed by ages of tillage ; 
their number and diversity indicates long continued culture. 
The moral status of these people is exceedingly primitive. 
While they are less cruel than most men of their general 
conditions, the sympathies are not much developed ; they are 
limited to a moderate devotion to the chief, in which fear 
plays the largest part; and to a love of their children. 
Friendship between equals, which is the flower of a higher 
civilization, is unknown. All the negroid races are rudely 
polygamous, and the wife has not risen above the grade of 
a chattel. The result is that there are no enduring families 
with their store of traditional pride, which has done so much 
to promote the advance of the races where marriage has a 
higher form. The general tone of the people is shown by 
the fact that cannibalism is rather common among them. 
Although rather too much importance is assigned to this 
habit, which is singularly revolting to the higher races, it is 
doubtless an effective measure of the advance to which a race 
has attained. It seems probable that all the lower races of 
men have been given to this custom. Sometimes it has been 
founded on the idea that the flesh of the valiant enemy was 
likely to give courage to the victor who ate it. Primitive 
war means frequent and dire hunger to the combatants, and 
feeding on the slain must be an obvious resource to men 
who have not developed civilized prejudices. In a broad view 
of humanity, cannibalism appears not as a mark of degrada^ 
tion but as an index of a primitive and lowly SBsthetic state. 
It is a valuable bit of evidence as to the degree to which 
the people have* developed their respect for the body of the 
fellow-man, which is an important but little recognized feat- 
ure of the more cultivated races. In this state of mind of 
the man with reference to the fellow-being, depends in large 
measure all that is best in our higher life. It would be 
interesting to trace the history of anthropophagism farther, 
but we must here dismiss it with the statement that it is of 
value to us in our inquiry only for the reason that it shows 
how near the negro of Africa is in his motives to the ele- 
mentary man. It would of itself suffice to show that a 
large part of the spiritual advance which forms the veiy 
foundation of civilization which, indeed, separate it from 
savagery, had not been won by these children of the dark 


continent when they gave their unwilling colonists to the 
new world. 

If the Africans had come to the Americas in the ordinary 
course of migrations ; if they bad been free to. develop their 
tribes on these new fields, there is no reason to believe that 
they would have in any way departed from their ancient type 
of Ufe. The conditions of the Congo and the negro countries 
would have been repeated along the Amazon and the Missis- 
sippi, and would have endured there indefinitely. Coming 
as slaves they were, however, at once subjected to a change in 
many of their important habits of life. Tlieir simple yet 
strongly inherited motives remained with them, undergoing 
such changes of adjustment, but not in nature, as the exigen- 
cies demanded. The uncomplicated, social framework of slav- 
ery made it easier for the blacks to accommodate their ancient 
habits to the new life, than we might at first suppose would 
have been the case. The master took the place of the chief, 
to whom the black for immemorial ages had been accustomed 
to render the obedience and loyalty which fear inspires ; un- 
der this white lord's control, he was hardly more a slave than 
before. On the whole this lowly man gained by the change 
in the quality of the servitude : by the contact with the new 
master he gradually acquired some sense of the motives of 
the dominant race. Christianity was imposed upon him by 
the superior will ; at first he secured little save its external 
forms, but gradually some parts of this persuasive religion 
entered his mind and enlarged his conceptions of spiritual 
things. The discipline of orderly, associative labor, though 
the field of the activities was limited, had a civilizing influ- 
ence, for it tended to subjugate the passions of the savage, 
and to make him more of the routine man which civilization 

The effect of the external manners of the dominant race 
has also had a great influence on the negro. While the bear- 
ing of a people is naturally the revelation of their inner mo- 
tives, the external action when imitated, tends in a way to 
arouse the impulses which the action expresses. ; The negro 
is a very imitative creature 5^ in no other feature ^loes he so 
well show the strong, sympathetic quality of his nature; in 
this apeing of his social superiors, he has greatly helped his 
advance. We see the essential difference between the African 
and the Indian in the measure of this faculty. The Ameri- 


can aborigines are content with their ways, and slow to take 
on the manners and customs of the whites ; they have thus 
never reconciled themselves with their conquerora. The ne- 
gro is contented only when he feels that he has brought him- 
self into accord with his superiors. A proof of this proposition 
may be found in the sometimes very droll, but often singularly 
effective efforts of the blacks to use the complicated phrases 
which they have picked up from the whites, even though it 
be with little sense of their true meaning, une Indians ix 
never do this ; th ey are unsympathetic and, therefore, not at J^^(\ 
all imitative, ) ^X^^U^iMA-X, •, ^-y^^JL^ f-^ jUa-^^x^ A*^ \J 

Another important influence came to the blacks through 
their contact with the English language. The peculiar rich- 
ness of this speech, the call it institutes upon the mind for 
contextual thoughts makes it to the savage perhaps the most 
educative of tongues. It cannot be compassed by any lowly 
people without a decidedly developing effect. The negro 
has mastered this language in a very remarkable manner, and 
without deliberate instruction by any form of schooling, and 
by so doing has given better proof of his natural capacity than 
by any other of his accomplishments in this to him very new 
world. There are tens of thousands of untrained blacks in 
this country who, by their command of English phrase, are 
entitled to rank among educated men. I believe that in 
general our negroes have a better sense of English than the 
peasant class of Great Britain ; they seem to me to use more 
connotative words, though they often have twisted their 
meaning, than the humbler people of our race. I have often 
been amazed at the way in which an illiterate negro preacher 
would seize on the great monumental words of our language 
with a tolerable grasp of their deeper sense, catch their ap- 
piopriate stimulus to thought and under their guidance go 
forward in his discourse. It may seem to some that tliis is 
parrot work, but the intonation and gesture, which is all their 
own, shows the attentive observer that they have come very 
near to our race over this way of speech. 

The struggle of the African with tMe difficulties of our in- 
completed, open-structured English speech is one of the most 
interesting features of his history. His inherited habits of 
mind framed on a very limited language, where the terms 
were well tied together and where the thought found in the 
words a bridge of easy passage, gave him much trouble when 


be came to employ our speech where the words are like widely 
separated stepping-«tones which require nimble wits in those 
who use them. It would require a separate essay to deal 
with this interesting subject, so I can only note a few of the 
most instructive examples of the devices to which the negroes 
have resorted in their difficult intellectual task. In the man- 
ner of children, they often adopt the plan of using phrases 
rather than single words, f raniing their speech by these larger 
units, each serving them as does a separate word the educated 
man. Our verb with its imperfect denotation of time and 
number gives them at first much trouble ; to help themselves 
they have adopted some new but imperfectly defined tenses ; 
*'gwine done," **gone done," "done gwine done," seem to me 
to be natural efforts to give clearness to our indices of action, 
which we are able to supply from our grasp of the context, — 
a mental habit to which the lower races with difficulty attain. 

So, too, the prefix "uns" to denote the persons of the 
plural helps the primitive mind. " You uns " is from their 
point of form a neat addition to our language. How far 
these and other modes of speech may be the invention of the 
African, and how far they have been adapted from the speech 
of the whites of a century ago, I am unable to say ; being no 
philologist I must leave this to others ; but whatever the 
origin, though I believe them to be the inventions of the 
negro, their use by this people is, from the point of view of 
their intellectual history, most interesting. 

After the African race had been to school to the English 
language and literature and the Protestant religion of this 
country for about two centuries, they were subjected to a 
most searching examination by the trials which befel them 
in the civil war ; no other test could have been devised which 
was so well calculated to prove the measure of their gain by 
their life in contact with the whites. It is almost needless 
to tell any person who knows even in outline«the history of 
the blacks of both North and South, how well they met this 
test ; but, as the point pf view is one that, so far as I know, is 
new, it may be best to recapitulate the leading facts in this 
extraordinary chapter of our national records. At the time 
when the civil war began, there were about six million blacks 
in the South, whose ancestors two centuries or less ago were 
savages, accustomed to violent outbreaks of passion such as 
lead all primitive peoples to brutal orgies. These included 

• l^ffl: KATtfRE OF THE NEGRO. Si 

over a million of men employed on large plantations whei*e 
they saw little of the master class, and were apparently not 
much subjected to their influences. It was commonly sup- 
posed that these people were ground down by the slavery 
that was to them oppressive and revolting. It is certain that 
the more intelligent of their natura^ race chieftains to the 
number of many thousands, chafed greatly in their bonds. 
Even those who know the negro as well as men can know 
others from afar, supposed that, the first sound of our war 
would be the signal for a general revolt among these slaves. 
They were right in their supposition that the greater part of 
the negroes knew that the northern armies were fighting to 
free them : they were wrong in their estimate of the moral 
state of the race in this country. Most intelligent judges 
expected from the slaves, of the southern States, action like 
that which took place in Hayti and St. Domingo, when 
under apparently similar conditions, the negroes rose and 
massacred their sometime masters. But during the long 
years of the rebellion, the negroes of the South remained as 
peaceful and law abiding as did the poor whites. I have yet 
to learn of the slightest beginnings of armed revolt among 
them. Their own masters trusted them entirely, leaving to 
their care the helpless women and children with no fear as 
to the treatment which they would receive at their hands. 

The riddle of the singular difference between the conduct 
of the West Indian slaves and those of our own country is, 
it seems to me, tolerably easy to read. The slaves of St. 
Domingo and Hayti, were largely new comers from Africa ; 
they had, probably on the average, not been for more than 
one generation in their pupilage as slaves ; the greater part 
of them were plantation hands who had little or no contact 
with the superior race. Moreover, their masters were of a 
lower moral and intellectual grade than those who held the 
slaves of the southern States. Our African people had 
probably been in their new educative conditions on the 
average for four or five generations ; during this time they 
had generally been domesticated with their masters, for the 
large plantations of the Gulf State type were very new 
features in the economic history of the South. Moreover, 
their masters were of the race which has the capacity of domi- 
nating alien people, and impressing them with its motives in 
a way possessed by none other. The schooling of the negi*o 


in the households of the South, was such as no . savages had 
ever received from a superior race ; it is unlikely that a 
lowly people will ever again secure such effective training. 

When we properly estimate the meaning of the conduct of 
the negroes during the war, and in the period which has 
elapsed since their enfranchisement, we perceive that this 
race, during their residence in this country, have made a 
moral advance of really surprising extent. It is doubtful if 
any equally large body of men, so short a time parted from 
savagery, have ever gone so far in certain of the paths which 
all civilized people have to follow. It is hardly too much to 
say that the negro has been thoroughly dissavaged. He has 
been accustomed to associative labor which he has learned to 
pursue with no more spur to his interests than impels the 
whites. I know that there is much talk concerning the in- 
dolence of the negro, but the statistics show pretty clearly 
that he does as much productive work per capita under the 
conditions of freedom as he did under those of slavery. He 
is fairly faithful in his contracts, and is generally law abiding. 
Although the conditions of slavery were most unfavorable to 
the growth of the economic motives, the freedmen have rapidly 
developed a disposition to save money and acquire property. 
They show a great desire to own land, — a disposition which is 
most likely to lead to their advancement, for it favors the 
evolution of the domestic instincts which slavery necessarily 
depressed, or at least did not foster. 

In considering the directions in which the negro has ad- 
vanced during his life in this country, we must note the fact 
that he has mainly gained by the growth of those virtues, the 
seeds of which were planted in his African experience. Re- 
spect for authority, however it came to be set over him, la- 
boriousness above the level of common savages, a kindly 
humor, were all native in him, and have here merely extended 
by his American training. His gentleness and decency of 
conduct are the principal moral gains which he has made. 
The intellectual advance which he has acquired is hardly to 
be measured, but it is evidently great; there are hundreds, if 
not thousands, of black men in this country who in capacity 
are to be ranked with the superior persons of the dominant 
race. And it is hard to say that in any evident feature of 
mind they characteristically differ from their white fellow 
citizens. Good, however, as is this record of advance, there 


are many and exceeding diflBculties which the negro has to 
overcome before he can claim a permanent place in the civil- 
ization with which it has been his good fortune to come in 
contact. We must now consider this part of the problem. 

It seems to me that the greatest difficulty with the negro 
in his present state of social development arises from his in- 
ability to combine his work with that of other men. This 
feature is well shown by the almost entire absence of part- 
nership relations between them. I have never been able to 
find a trustworthy instance in which the black man of the 
purQ race had entered on this relation which is almost the 
foundation of our modem business life. So far as I have 
been able to learn, this form of economic association, though 
perhaps not coeval with civilization, is yet very old, and the 
lack of it among the negroes probably indicates the absence 
of confidence in their neighbors which is characteristic of 
primitive people. It is a singular fact that, although the ne- 
groes do not form partnerships, they readily enter on con- 
tracts in certain of which they have labor which they specialize. 
All those familiar with the race can probably recall instances of 
this sort wliich have come within their own experience. I have, 
indeed, recently noticed a case in which, in one of the old slave 
States, a negro contractor, engaged in mining ore, employed a 
number of white men in the task, the relation giving rise to no 
remark. I know of no industrial partnerships among the 
negroes of the North, many of whom are from stocks which 
have been long free. It is in just such ways that we should 
expect the lack of the inherited motives which are the source 
of power in the English race, to manifest itself in the Afri- 
cans. The success of the white people has been due to the 
coincident development of many different capacities, any one 
of which failing, the race could not have attained the large 
measure of success which it has won. 

Among these many moral features, which are spun together 
into the strong bonds of our society, we must count the 
monogamic motive. On the sacredness of the marriage 
relation depends the development of the stocks of families, 
with their inheritances of traditions from generation to 
generation. The value of this feature, in the social economy 
of the higher races, is not properly appreciated. Whether it 
is exhibited in the form of the worship of ancestors, as 
among the Chinese, or in the more general sense of ances- 


tral worth, as among our own people, the effect is to develop 
the altruistic motives, and to make the man less isolated in * 
his actions than in the savage state. All this family sense 
remains to be developed among the negroes. In a long and 
intimate connection with this folk, I have never heard a man 
refer to his grandfather, and any reference to their parents 
is rare. The negro must be provided with these motives of ^ 
the household ; he must be made faithful to the marriage 
bond, and taught the sense of ancestry. This, it is plain, is 
a difficult task to accomplish, for the reason that the regard 
for the forefathers was mainly developed in a state of society 
through which the negro did not pass, and to which he 
cannot be subjected. It came from a time when, as in the 
feudal period, men inherited privileges as they do not in our 
existing commonwealth. Marital faith, however, may be 
inculcated by social laws, and the ancestral sense may 
possibly be re-enforced and extended by the diffusion of 
knowledge concerning the laws of heredity. It is difficult 
to see how we can assist the blacks in this perplexing ques- 
tion, but it is clearly one of the points where they most need 

Another department of education in which the negro 
greatly needs training is in politics. It has been a matter 
of surprise to many people who conceive the Africans as 
differing from the men of our own race in color alone, that 
the negroes have, in all their political action so far, disappointed 
what seemed to be reasonable expectations. At the time 
just after the war when they were in control of the States 
where they had just been slaves, they made most ignominious 
failure in government. Since the white people regained 
power, they have submitted themselves in all political matters 
to their control. In part, this resubjugation of the blacks ' 
has doubtless been due to their fears ; thej'' are indeed an 
exceedingly timid people, their race education, both in the 
African ages and in their relatively brief American life, has 
altogether tended to make them fearful : in larger part it is 
due to the lack of those instincts of government which a 
peculiar series of experiences have developed in the English 
folk. To give the ballot any meaning whatever, the man 
who casts it must have a keen and intelligent interest in pub- 
lic affairs ; he must be brave enough to force this expression 
of his will against the obstacles which he is sure to encounter 


in his efforts. This combination of political interest, fore^ 
sight, and valor in the use of the electoral franchise is so 
rare among those of our own race that we can barely main- 
tain the institutions which depend upon it for their support. 
We need not, therefore, be surprised that these people, who 
have had no trace of the training necessary to develop this 
combination of capacities, are as yet unfit for this peculiar duty 
of the citizen. The ballot is as dangerous a plaything as a 
gun, and until the negro acquires the habits of thought and 
action which make it an effective arm, he will be impotent 
to use it to any good effect. It is more than absiird to 
devise legislative plans for making him free to use his vote. 
The enfranchisement can only come by education ; until he 
is properly developed as a citizen, his ballot wUl represent 
his inmiediate personal needs, and have no relation to states- 



When a reformer demands our support, we ask him four 
questions ; not always formulating them carefully, but always 
instinctively demanding an answer to them. 

1. What do you propose to accomplish? 

2. What means do you propose to employ? 

3. How can these means work out this result ? 

4. On what power do you rely? 

For example : Forty years ago the Garrisonian abolitionists 
demanded the attention and the sanction of the people of 
the United States to a proposed reform. These questions 
and their answers might be formulated thus : What do you 
propose? The abolition of slavery. By what method? 
By the withdrawal of the Free States from the Union. 
How will this accomplish the abolition of slavery ? It will 
take all Federal support from slavery, and leave the negroes 
to secure their liberty by fighting or flight. On what power 
do you then rely for their emancipation? On the power of 
their own self-asserting manhood. Mr. Henry George now 
demands the attention and the sanction of the people of the 
United States to a proposed reform. Apply to this reform 
the same test questions. What do you propose? The 
abolition of poverty. By what means ? By the abolition of 
all taxes except a tax on land values. In what way will this 
tend to abolish poverty? It will emancipate the poor from 
their bondage to the land-owners. On what power do you 
then rely for the abolition of poverty? On the power of a 
self-asserting manhood when the present serfdom is abolished. 
Some critics may think these answers inaccurately or inade- 
quately here reported. Perhaps they are. It is difficult to 
state the principles of reforms so large in so limited a space. 
But they will serve to illustrate the general proposition that 
these are the test questions to which any proposed reform 
must give adequate answer, and by which any proposed reform 
must be tried. The critics of Edward Bellamy generally 



regard his picture of Boston in the twentieth century as un- 
attractive ; they do not believe in his purpose. The critics 
of the prohibition movement generally agree that universal 
temperance is desirable, but they do not believe that prohibi- 
tory legislation is the best means of accomplishing it. They 
do not believe in the method. The critics of Henry George 
would be glad to see poverty abolished, and perhaps may not 
doubt that the State has a right ta>all land values, but they 
do not believe the results which Mr. George anticipates will 
follow from such change in taxation. They do not believe 
in the process which he foretells. And finally, most Christian 
believers are of the opinion that the power of self-asserting 
manliood is insufficient for any considerable social or moral 
reform. If a man proposes an undesirable reform, he is called 
a crank. If he proposes a desirable reform by inadequate 
methods, he is called impracticable. If the process which he 
anticipated appears to us improbable, we doubt his foresight. 
If he relies upon powers unreal or inadequate, we think him 
visionary. Their respective critics are unconvinced by 
Edward Bellamy's answer to the first question, by the prohi- 
bitionist's answer to the second question, by the abolitionist's 
answer to the third question, and by the answer of all three 
to the fourth question. 

Now Jesus Christ has given in the New Testament a 
definite answer to these four questions. It is given in four 
discourses reported by his contemporaries and friends. There 
is indeed some question among Biblical critics whether these 
discourses were delivered as reported, or whether they were 
composed by his reporters from scattered utterances of their 
Master upon the same general theme. It is not necessary 
for my purpose in this paper to consider this question. In 
the one case we have the formal and uninterpreted answer of 
the Master himself, to these crucial questions ; in the other 
case we have his answer as it is interpreted to us by those 
nearest to him and best able to understand the object, 
method, process, and power of their Master. And these 
answers, therefore, if we can correctly apprehend them, 
will serve at once to tell us what is Christianity and to givd^ 
us some test of its truth and value. 

1. The first question Christ answers very explicitly in his 
first published discourse. Going up from Jerusalem to 
Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went into the 


synagogue ; his fame as a preacher at Jerusalem had pre- 
ceded him ; and the ruler of the synagogue, following the 
custom of the times, invited him to address the people. Only 
a brief report of the sermon has come down to us, chiefly 
that portion of it which aroused the ire of the auditors and 
incited them to mob the speaker. But enough of the open- 
ing is preserved to give us clearly the Master's answer to the 
question, What is the object of Christianity ? The roll con- 
fining the prophecy of Isaiah was handed to him ; he turned 
to the following passage and read it. 

** The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because he hath anointed 
me to preach the Grospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the broken- 
hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives and recovery of sight to 
the blind; to set at liberty them that are bruised; to preach the accept- 
able year of the Lord." 

This writing he proceeded to say was fulfilled in his 
advent. It was for this he was anointed, on this mission he 
was sent. The end of Christianity then is philanthropic. It 
is to promote the well-being of mankind. It is to comfort the 
afSicted, to inspire with new hope the despairing, to set free 
the enslaved, to give light to the darkened. Light, liberty, 
life, are its ends. A few months later Jesus appointed twelve 
men to carry on his mission in the smaller villages while he 
carried it on in the larger towns. He gave them instructions 
exactly in the spirit of this opening discourse. " Heal the 
sick,'^ he said ; ^^ cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out 
devils. Freely ye have received, freely give." His example 
enforced these expositions of the object of his mission. ^^ He 
went about doing good." He healed the sick, comforted the 
sorrowing, fed the hungry, instructed the ignorant. 

To this work he gave the whole and undivided energies of 
his*life. He organized no society, no church, which confes- 
sedly was not established till after his death. He framed no 
liturgy, unless the one prayer which he gave his disciples in 
answer to their specific request, can be regarded as a liturgy. 
He certainly oi^anized no order of public worship. There 
is nothing, literally nothing, in his instructions correspond- 
ing to the LeviticaJ legislation of the Old Testament. He 
^ founded no scheme or system of philosophy ; and the philos- 
ophy which undoubtedly, underlay his teaching, as some 
philosophy imderlies all teaching which has in it any unity, 
must be gathered from the counsels which he gave concern- 
ing practical life. 


The reader may, perhaps, think that time expended in 
showing that the object of Christ was the well-being of 
mankind, is time wasted. But^if he will consider for a 
moment the object of other religions, or even of much what 
has passed in the world for the Christian religion, he will, 
perhaps, see that it is not unimportant to get clearly the 
Master's own answer to this great fundamental question, 
What do you propose? Buddhism, for example, does not 
propose the well-being of man, but the cessation of being. 
I have come, says Christ, that they may have life. I have 
come, says Siddartha, that they may have death. The 
objects are not only not the same; they are antipodal. 
To-day thousands of consecrated women, wearing the black 
veil and the white cross, are working in hospitals and schools, 
nursing the sick, or teaching the ignorant. They are attempt- 
ing to carry out Christ's object, the well-being of mankind. 
But also thousands of priests are saying mass, that is, offer- 
ing anew the sacrifice of Christ for sin ; and their object is 
not, except remotely, to promote the earthly welfare of 
men ; it is to appease the wrath of God. In thousands of 
Protestant pulpits, next Sunday, ministers will be heard, 
whose sermons will be, in some form, a reflection of Saint 
John's favorite text, "Little children, love one another." 
Their instructions will have the object which Christ declared 
at Nazareth to be the object of his mission. But other 
thousands of ministers will be preaching for a very different 
purpose : to exhibit their system of theology, to build up 
their church order and organization, to make men content 
with their present condition, — not discontented and desirous 
to improve it, — to teach men to be willing to be poor and 
blind here, and look for riches, and liberty, and light hereafter. 
This is ecclesiasticism, not Christianity. It is not Christianity, 
because its object is not Christ's object, which was simply 
and solely to promote the well-being of mankind. 

2. The second question. By what method do you propose 
to accomplish this result ? he answered equally explicitly in 
his second reported sermon, known as the Sermon on the 
Mount. That sermon began where the other left off. The 
first sermon declares his object : I have come to make men 
blessed; the second declares in what blessedness consists: 
Blessed are the poor in spirit, the meek, the merciful, the 
pure in heart, the peacemakers. In other words, Christ's 


method for improving the condition of mankind is by the 
improvement of character ; and in the main, the Sermon on 
the Mount is an amplification of these its opening sentences. 
It is a sermon on chai'acter-building. What is purity ? Not 
so much as looking on a woman to lust after her. What is 
peacemaking ? Loving your enemies. 

Reformers may be roughly divided into two clasi^es : those 
who hope to improve the character of men by improving their 
condition ; and those who -hope to improve the condition of 
men by improving their character. These two reforms go 
together; but the socialist puts improvement of condition 
first, both in time and in importance, and the Christian dis- 
ciple puts the improvement of character first, both in time 
and in importance. Jesus Christ lived in a time of slavery, 
and said nothing about emancipation; of low wages, and 
said nothing about raising them ; of dirty streets, and said 
nothing about sanitary reform ; of bad government, and said 
nothing about political reform; of drinking and drunken- 
ness, and did not, like Mohammed, proliibit the wine bottle 
to his followers; of the loosest possible divorce laws, and 
gave instruction concerning divorce only in answer to a 
question of the Pharisees. It may, indeed, be said that if 
Christ had lived in our own time, when his auditors would have 
been directly responsible for slavery, low wages, dirty streets, 
bad food, the open saloon, and lax divorce laws, he who 
rebuked the Pharisees for their sins would have rebuked 
these public and organic^ sins also. Christ's silence when 
preaching to men and women under corruption and des- 
potism is not a justification for the silence of his followers 
when preaching to men and women responsible for coniiption 
and despotism. But there can be no question in the mind of 
the candid reader that Christ's method of reforming society 
was, primarily, the reconstruction of the individual, in con- 
trast with the method of much of modern social reform, 
which aims at the reconstruction of the individual by a refor- 
mation of society. The negro is deprived of suffrage by 
fraud or force in some sections of the South. The method of 
socialism is to send Federal troops to protect his right to the 
ballot box ; the method of Christianity is to send the school- 
teacher to develop in him a manhood strong enough to make 
him self-protecting. Drunkenness is a disease in America 
with the proportions of a pestilence. The method of social- 


ism is to send the constable to close the saloon ; the method 
of Christianity is to send the teacher and the preacher to 
make the man strong enough to cofitrol his own appetite. I 
am not here discussing which of these methods is the better ; 
and, what I have said above I repeat, that they are not 
mutually exclusive. It is legitimate, however, even if hardly 
necessary, to say that I have more faith in education than in 
the Force bill, in the methods of John B. Gough than in 
those of Neal Dow. 

Jesus Christ is sometimes called the first Socialist. If 
every man who desires the social improvement of his fellows 
is a Socialist, Jesus Christ certainly should receive from a 
grateful humanity that honorable designation. But if a 
Socialist is one who depends on a change of environment to 
change human character, then Jesus Christ was not a Social- 
ist, because he depended on human character to change 
environment. He believed, and his followers believe, tlmt 
the way to get clean streets is to make clean men, the way 
to make pure government is to make pure men, the way to 
make men free is to make free men. 

3. Christ's forecast of the process of Christianity is 
afforded by his third great discourse, or it may be by a series 
of fragmentary discourses gathered by Matthew into one, 
known as the parables by the seashore. In these parables 
Christ compares Christianity to a husbandman, sowing seed 
in various soils with harvests as various ; to a field in whicn 
an enemy sowed tares which grew up together with the 
wheat ; to a mustard seed, the smallest of seeds but growing 
up to be a great herb. In short, he declared that the reform 
which he proposed would have very small beginnings ; it 
would grow gradually ; its growth would depend upon the 
reception given to his teachings by the individual or the com- 
munity ; it would come to its perfection by forces working 
from within outward, not by forces working from without 
inward; and that, finally, along with the growth of good 
would go a like growth of evil. Now these are the principles 
of evolution. Christianity has been sometimes called by its 
friends revolutionary ; it would be more correct to say that it 
is evolutionary. It has emancipated the slave, raised the 
condition of the laboring man, improved the condition of 
women, ameliorated the corruptions and vices of govern- 
ment, exercised a restraining influence on the appetites and 


the passions of mankind. Yet there is still serfdom, if not 
absolute servitude in Christian communities ; wealth is still 
inequitably distributed ; woman is still in many households a 
servant in the kitchen, or an ornament in the parlor, and the 
subject, not the equal, of her husband ; government is both cor- 
rupt and despotic, even in democratic America; and drunken- 
ness in time of peace, and passion in time of war, vie with each 
other in producing desolation upon the earth. These facts 
ought not to surprise the believer in Jesus Christ, for Jesus 
Christ foretold them to his own disciples, who expected that 
the kingdom of God would immediately appear. They afford a 
ground rather for believing in his methods than for attempt- 
ing some other, as the gradual recovery of a patient affords 
added ground for confidence in the physician who has told 
him that only by gradual process can he recover his health, 
and for distrust in the success of dealers in patent medicines, 
each of which has offered him a new nostrum, and all of 
whom have successively promised him an immediate recovery. 
Reforms of social order can be quickly and easily executed ; 
reconstruction of individual and race character requires long 
periods of time for its accomplishment. An edict of the 
slaveholder can in a day abolish tobacco from his plantation ; 
but it cannot prevent the slaves from substituting more 
deleterious clay for the tabooed tobacco. The pen of Abraham 
Lincoln can proclaim the negro as free, and the sword of Gen- 
eral Grant can in two years achieve their emancipation ; but to 
create in the enfranchised race such a manhood as yfUl make 
them free men, capable of maintaining the rights and exer- 
cising the duties of free men, requires years if not centuries. 
Of this truth Jesus Christ abundantly warned his followers ; 
and those of them who believe in his teaching and follow his 
leadership are not surprised that the progress of the race is 
slow, and are not inclined to abandon his slow but thorough 
methods for others which are more superficial and are prodi- 
gal in their promise of more immediate results. 

4. Jesus Christ had ideals so high, that to a considerable 
proportion of his followers, they seem to this day quite 
impracticable. What a social transformation if we treated 
each other as brethren, if we did to others as they would have 
us do to them, were as ambitious to lie peacemakers as wc 
have been to be warmakers, and habitually loved our 
enemies, and did good to those who had done evil to us I 


But such were some of the characteristics of the kingdom 
which Jesus Christ said it was his object to establish on the 
earth. By what power did he hope to accomplish so great 
a result ? 

By the power of God. 

Let not the reader cast aside The Abena at this point, 
with the emphatic exclamation, Theology ! No ! Not by 
theology. Theology is the knowledge of God; and the 
world, according to Christ, is to be set right, not by the 
knowledge of God, but by God himself. Life is dependent 
on the sun, not on optics. The city Arab, who never once 
thinks of the sun, may derive more health from it, than the 
self-conscious invalid in his sun-bath. 

The method of the modern school for etliical culture is the 
method of personal contact. The moral physician goes into 
the region which he wishes to improve, builds his Toynbee 
Hall, or his Palace of Delight, in the East End of London ; 
or takes up his quarters in Forsyth Street, in New York 
City, and lives with the men and women whom he hopes to 
transform. Not long since, I was in conversation with a 
lady who has had rare success in the organization and 
administration of a boys' club. " Some of my critics," said 
she, " find fault that I do not teach the boys more. But I 
put no emphasis on any particular teaching. I want ladies 
and gentlemen to come and spend an evening or two a week 
with my boys, and out of the contact the boys will get 
life." . 

Christianity is an enlarged application of this modem 
philosophy. It is the faith that God has entered thus into 
human life, still enters into it, is in touch with mankind, 
and by that touch, more than by any particular teaching, 
mankind receives life. This is the truth sententiously 
expressed in the phrase sd common with Jesus, the Kingdom 
of God. It is a kingdom whose power comes from the 
Divine Spirit. This is the truth reaffirmed by Paul's " Not 
the righteousness of the law, but the righteousness of God 
through faith," That is, character is formed not by a self- 
conscious endeavor to conform conduct to some external 
standard, but by fellowship with the Divine Being. This is 
the centre of Christ's Sermon on the Bread of Life, deliv- 
ered at Capernaum, and reported in the sixth chapter of John : 
^^I am the living bread which came down from heaven. 


. • . Whoso eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood 
hath eternal life." 

Life comes not through law, enforcing obedience by reward 
and penalty, nor through philosophy, affording a knowledge 
of life and its laws ; but chiefly through personal contact, — 
of the lower nature with the higher, of the city Arab with 
the gentleman, of man with Grod. This is the meaning of 
Christ's constant declarations such as, "The words that I 
speak, I speak not of myself ; " "I am in my Father, and my 
Father is in me ; " " he that receiveth me receiveth Him that 
sent me ; " "I have come that they might have life, and that 
they might have it more abundantly." It is the universal 
law, " Life begets life," applied in the spiritual realm. 

It is this truth which underlies and gives their value to 
many doctrines dear to the followers of Christ, — dear, not 
because of their philosophical relations, but because they are 
expressions of this vital experience. Revelation is our faith 
that God is not unknown, but has been and is an unveiled 
God, whom to know is life eternal. Incarnation is our faith 
that God has dwelt in the One Man, that He may dwell in 
all men, and by that indwelling fill all humanity wHth His 
own life of patient love. Atonement is our faith that there 
is not a great gulf fixed between us and our Father, but that 
we may be at one with Him, having the inspiration of His 
presence and sharing His life. Regeneration is our faith 
that character can be reconstructed on the divine pattern 
by this divine indwelling. There are some of us who cannot 
bear to drop these words out of our vocabulary, or the 
articles which they represent out of our creeds; but it is 
because we cannot easily recognize a new language or new 
forms of thought. There are others of us who are quite 
willing to let both the words and the credal statements go, 
because use has dimmed and in -some cases distorted tlieir 
meaning ; but to both, the faith which those words expressed 
to past generations is equally dear. 

It is in its answer to this fourth question that the modem 
school of ethical culture diverges from Christianity. Some 
years ago I sat down to a quiet conference with an honored 
friend belonging to that school, a gentleman of scholarship 
and culture, who was about to make his home in one of the 
poorest wards of New York City. " What are you going 
there for ? " I asked him. " To do what I can to make the 


boys and girls who live that dull and sunless life, truer, 
better, nobler of soul, more truly men and women." " It is 
a slow work.'* " Very slow," he replied, " I expect no 
great results ; I want no reporting of my work. If I can 
make one boy at a time take one step upward at a time, I 
shall be content." " And how do you expect to accomplish 
this ? " I said ; " on what power do you rely, — you who do 
not believe in God, in immortality, in Christ?" "I should 
not exactly say that," he answered ; *' I think it probable 
that there is a God ; I hope that there is an immortelity ; I 
have the greatest respect and admiration for Jesus of Naza- 
reth. But I want to teach these men and women in Forsyth 
Street to rely upon themselves ; not on any helper, human or 
divine. I shall appeal to no rewards here or hereafter; 
direct them to no arm of man or God outstretched to help. 
I shall appeal directly to the sense of right and wrong in 
every soul. I shall try to throw them upon their own 
resources." Here we were at the parting of the ways. Our 
object was the same, — his in his school of ethical culture, 
mine in my Christian pulpit and my Christian press : the 
welfare of humanity. And our method the same, — the trans- 
formation of character. And our anticipated process the 
same, — the slow process of gradual growth. But the power 
on which we severally relied was ,different : he on the self- 
asserting rectitude inherent in man's nature ; I on the help- 
fulness of a revealed and helpful God. Civilization differs 
from barbarism not because the Anglo-Saxon can run more 
miles in an hour or more hours in a day than the North 
American Indian, but because he lays hold on a power not 
himself to carry him, a power of which the Indian knows 
nothing. Christianity is civilization carried into the spiritual 

And yet, was the difference between my friend and myself 
so great after all? Were we not both relying upon the 
same power? That sense of right and wrong which is 
inherent in every man, is it not the power of God coming 
gradually to human consciousness ? If it be true, as Herbert 
Spencer says, that we are ever in the presence of an Infinite 
and Eternal Energy from which all things proceed, do not 
all the highest and best experiences of the human soul pro- 
ceed from Him also ? And does not the teacher who appeals 
to truth in man appeal to God as truly as he who appeals to 


steam or electricity to do his toil or light his path ? The 
condition of receiving the divine help is not understanding 
correctly about God, but thinking His thoughts, partaking 
and living His life of love; a ti-uth which was declated 
nearly thirty centuries ago by the Hebrew poet, 

** Who shall ascend to the hill of the Lord, 
And who shaU stand In His holy place ? 

He that hath clean hands and a pure heart: 
YHio hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity. 

And hath not sworn deceitfully; 
He shall receive a blessing from the Lord, 

And righteousness from the God of his salvation/' 

What, then, is Christianity? The answer which the Master 
makes to that question is to be found in his answer to the 
four critical questions which we ask of any reformer: What 
is your object ? Your method ? Your course of procedure ? 
The secret of your power? The object of Christianity is 
human welfare; its method is character-building; its process 
is evolution ; and the secret of its power is Grod. 



Dion Boucicaitlt brought the stage romanticism of Vic- 
tor Hugo and Dumas down to our day. 

But the transit was not made in Victor Hugo's vehicle. 

That which was a conviction with the Master, became an 
expedient with the imitator. 

To fix the status- of this indefatigable worker, who was 
always felicitous without being fecund, is not an easy matter. 

His repertoire affects the student of stage literature now, 
like a long twilight which gets its glory from what has de- 

And yet it is in Dumas and in Klopstock that we must 
find the prototypes of this inspired activity, rather than in 
Lope de Vega. 

If he was not endowed with that reflex of the Infinite, 
which creates by an inbreathing, he was at least gifted with 
the wonderful finite craft which can fashion by an onlajring. 

This is always the playwright's function, in contradistinc- 
tion to the dramatist's. 

But Dion Boucicault had something more than the play- 
wright's craft. He possessed the swift instinct which appre- 
hends the aberrations of the public pulse, and can seize and 
use for its own purposes those vague emotions which sweep 
over a community, and are at once irresistible and evanescent. 

Let us acknowledge that such men are as apt to be brain 
brokers as brain workers. 

And any survey of Dion Boucicault's restless career wiU 
convince us that he was often both. 

His recorded confession is the exultant one, not that he 
achieved greatness in literature, but that he wrought success 
in the theatre. 

Contemporaneous criticism has agreed with him, and it 
does not become the observant mourners now to rob him of 
the only chaplets for which he fought. 



With the audacity of a Dumas and the dexterity of a 
Cagliostro, he despoiled genius only to make the mob worship 

One is justified in saying that he carried Aaron's rod, 
chiefly known to us by what it swallowed, and not the mi- 
raculous metawand of Moses. 

For although he made the waters of refreshment to flow in 
abundance along the waste places of life, there is a general 
agreement of opinion that the water was in the rock before 
he struck it. 

To estimate correctly such a magician, one must under- 
stand not only the materials that he worked with, but the 
sensibilities that he worked upon. 

We have got to regard that multitudinous monster, the 
amusement public, before we can recognize its masters. 

It is at its best the most selfish, the most tyrannical, and 
the most servile of all aggregates. Nowhere but in the 
temple of entertainment does man so completely and so 
shamelessly abandon himself to his susceptibilities. 

It is here alone that he collectively and avowedly has no 
purpose beyond his immediate gratification, and here at least 
the abeyant desire to be tickled and not taught is coddled 
into something like authority. 

Elsewhere in the world one is compelled by invisible 
forces to tolerate and respect what one does not understand 
and does not want. A discreet conformity makes continual 
acknowledgment that perhaps our appetites are not the best 
arbiters. We must be toleraftit of the abstract, and patient 
with the poetical. 

In the theatre, the world shall be fashioned as our senses 
desire, or we will have none of it. 

It is the Bourse where the fatigued meet to exchange sensa- 

Perhaps the stress of our grinding life makes such an 
asylum for our pet emotions a necessity. It is just possible 
that the unending pressure of our duties makes the hour's 
affranchisement of the playhouse into a necessity of our 

At all events I can very well concede that without some 
such refuge where the man about town can escape from his 
obligations into his desires, and the drudge, to whom Nature 
has denied an imagination, jcan find one ready furnished by 


the carpenter, one would become a martyr and the other a 

It is quite true, that in the domain of literature, there is 
another theatre for wliich literary dramatists write and of 
which literary critics descant. It is, however, an ideal and 
always impending theatre \»lth an ethical and not an ethno- 
logical substructure. 

This exemplary mirage in whose behalf gi-eat pigeon-holes 
are forever stuffed with great dramas, that will not act; for 
which Byron and Browning and even Tennyson wrote, is not 
the playhouse of the people, simply because — as Goethe saw 
and said, — the monster cannot be made to think in its mo- 
ments of abandonment. It is satisfied to see something 
going on. 

What Goethe postulated, Dion Boucicault demonstrated. 

No such adaptation of means to ends, wears such a fruit- 
less intellectual glory as this. 

Dion Boucicault, more than any man who wrote in English 
(after borrowing in French), fitted the playhouse quickly and 
exactly to the restless and superficial needs and moods of the 
public in our time, and he did this, not by being abreast of 
the thought of our time, but by being abreast of its desires. 

In looking at this career of prodigious activity, one is 
amazed to find so many sparks and so little internal fire; 
always a coruscation without a core; meteoric splendors 
trailing glory through the night and ending in darkness and 
silence ; recurrent spectacles that fill the hour with romance 
and fade away like mist frescoes. 

Somewhere now, perhaps, an enormous repertory of cin- 
ders, that once glowed, and sputtered, and irradiated. 

One finds it difficult, indeed, to believe that such a pallid 
bed of ashes leapt and wreathed its passions, and hissed its 
emotions once, as if it were a bed of human hearts. 

How is one to measure such a cold equilibrium ? We ask 
ourselves helplessly what has become of those energies which 
were said to furnish perennial delight. 

What has become of the three hundred plays ? 

Is it possible that those friends who looked into the grave 
of Dion Boucicault were sad when they came away because 
the bulk of the repertory was buried with him ? 

If so, properly sad. 

For Nature herself, who made man with the capacity to be 


amused, appears to have made no provision of perpetuity 
for the merely professional amuser. And she inflects her 
vengeance on work which has no abiding purpose, by denying 
it an abiding place. 

No one faced this fiat with a more candid acknowledg- 
ment and a more careless audacity than Dion Boucicault. 

His talents were epicurean. *' Immortality," he said, " is 
tedious. Success is at least ante-mortem and calculable. 
LfCt us see what the monster wants for to-morrow, and then 
let us go to dinner ! " 

This was at least French. 

Proteus, and not Prospero, was here, with a facile adapta- 
bility, an instant understanding of the public maw and a 
modem journalist's skill to rake the materials together. 

No, he did not rehabilitate the drama. 

He edited the theatre. 

And it is^ this feat that we are able for the first time, to 
take in his proportions. 

Before that he is uncertain, almost mythical, without 
antecedents or genesis. Vainly shall we search for the 
record of school days or any of those formative and predis- 
posing circumstances of heredity and education. 

He is not subject to biographical evolution. He makes a 
theatric d^but. The lights flash, the band plays. At eigh- 
teen he has written " London Assurance." 

Some unverifiable traditions of him cling to the theatre. 
They are not interesting and are mainly ungracious. What 
he haa left on record of his early life is marked by the charm 
of the romancer, but is not dulled by the veracity ^i the 

To attempt to pluck the young author's heart out of his 
first comedy is not now a satisfactory experiment, for time and 
searching have failed to show that he put his heart into it. 

Already it is with him a matter of calculable glitter, and 
of celerity of action. But that comedy and relatively the 
other, written at the same stage of development and known 
as " Old Heads and Young Hearts," have shown a tenacity 
of stage life that keeps them wholly apart from the romances 
of his later condition. 

It is only just in recognizing this to remember that these 
early plays have not cut entirely from the past. They follow 
in the main the laws laid down in what the theatre of that 


day Witt the stock companies and " lines of business " clung 
to as " old comedies." It is less the glittering contrast of 
personages in " London Assurance," than the distribution of 
strong acting parts that made it a favorite with stock com- 
panies. And the moment it got fairly into the English rep- 
ertory it began to accrete a special sparkle from the actors 
who identified themselves with the principal roles, and finally 
succeeded in giving them a memorial importance by mere 

Nevertheless, the order of talent shown in " London 
Assurance " and "Old Heads and Young Hearts," whatever 
the sources of the material, was sufficient, under discipline 
and with patience and the self-denial of an artistic ambition, 
to have won an honorable and lasting recognition in the 
annals of English dramatic literature. But Dion Boucicault 
did not choose to subject himself to any academic or aesthetic 
restraints, and did not care a fig for the annals of English 
di-amatic literature. He broke with the past, and began a 
flirtation with the present. 

His series of painstaking comedies suddenly ends, and the 
long line of romantic melodramas begins. 

He has furnished the hints of a pei'sonal drama that must 
have been played at tliis time. The drama in three acts : 
Impatience, temptation, and final choice. It is the oldest 
drama extant and every worker enacts it for himself. 

Its prologue is sunny and expectant enough. Its denou- 
ment is ushered in by the " Heralds of the pale repose." 

Its audience stays when our lights are out. 

We can see this eager-eyed, chameleon-souled, young man, 
bursting with vital forces, and breaking his way into the 
English comedy repertory. He leaped at once to an eminence 
to find that it was not a throne but a barricade, and that he 
would have to fight to stay there. 

There must have been voices counselling him to stay, and 
persevere, and wait, and work upon a crust for the begrudg- 
ing few who knew. 

Equally certain is it that there were siren voices calling 
from the theatre to him to be enterprising and successful on 
French wine for the many who did not know and did not care. 

This is not a Carlyle who can live on his own conscience 
and a plate of oatmeal, so that he is permitted to growl 
undauntedly and unbought. 


Rather a nature ill disciplined, wholly sensuous, and Alto- 
gether restive under the weight of its own schemes. 

In no sense a reflective but an operating brain, and it was 
not in the nature of mercuiy diluted with mother wit to sit 
down humbly and write the praise of folly like an Erasmus, 
w^hen it might fly from capital to capital with its Feliciana 
like another Count Balsamo, and furnish the multitude with 
what they are willing to believe is the elixir of life. 

Seer? No. 

Sorcerer? Yes. 

And the gap between a mystic and a magician is immeas- 

It is the chasm that separates a conviction from a con- 

Here, then, passes out of our cogitations the dramatist that 
might have been. 

There is nothing left to us but to turn on the lights, 
strike up the Irish music, and contemplate the playwright 
who was. 

The Dion Boucicault of " London Assurance " is an un- 
known quantity. The Dion Boucicault of "The Colleen 
Bawn " is within the measurement of most of us. 

And here it should be said at once that "The Colleen 
Bawn " is probably the most romantic, as it was certainly 
the most successful, Irish play that had been written, up to 
the time of its production. 

The success was Dion Boucicault's. The romance 
belonged to another. 

As this play was perhaps the determining triumph in the 
playwright's career, it is well to consider a moment the 
methods employed in its fabrication. 

You have only to listen to the raeorUeur to discover the 
quality of the dramatist. 

Mr. Boucicault has told over and over again how he made 
that play, and " Jessie Brown ; or. The Siege of Lucknow," 
and he has told it with an entire absence of literary pride 
and an overweening amount of stock jobbing vanity that 
shows how fatally his intellectual and moral judgment had 
been debauched by the theatre. 

He tore the plot bodily from Gerald Griffin. He pur- 
loined a " situation " from a French play, he scissored some 
of the scenes from an illustrated journal. He snatched, 


pasted, dovetailed. He swept together, pieced out, painted, 
and produced. By his own evidence he was the prince of 
chiffoniers. ( 

But he bowed in acknowledgment of the charge, proudly, 
and said, " So was Shakespeare." 

Alas that such candor should run into a nan sequitur! 

It is allowable to think — though hardly permissible to say 
what is so obvious, — that Shakespeare imitated the divine 
method, and when he took the dust of Plutarch or of Boc- 
cacio, he breathed into it the breath of life and it became a 
living soul. 

Mr. Boucicault invariably marshaled the already breathing 
children of the brain and thus addressed them : — 

" I am not your parent, but, sacre bleu^ I am your pat- 
entee. I did not procreate you, but I can parade you. 
Therefore are you mine.'* 

Gerald Griffin, who wove the poetry and pathos of " The 
Colleen Bawn " out of the precious fabric of his brain, died 
poor and neglected. Dion Boucicault, who exhibited it, was 
laurel crowned in a night. 

It was not possible to drink the wine of this success and 
remain sober enough to respect the other goods that were 
lying about, unguarded save by the very vague and eternal 

To run down the schedule of two hundred or tw6 hundred 
and fifty plays that came after " The Colleen Bawn " is to 
sth* up the whole modem French repertoire. The task is 
profitless. For the most part these plays are " pot boilers," 
make-shifts, and transcriptions with Dion Boucicault's name 
on them. Some of them are scarcely disguised at all. 
Others are literal translations with a sui^eifluous interpola- 
-tion in the middle ; such is " Led Astray," Taken in the bulk 
they make a tiresome i-esiduum of futile and faded expedients, 
reminding the theatrical chronicler of fiascos, disappointments, 
managerial rows, broken contracts, and newspaper abuse. 

Separated from this mass, not so much by their originality 
as by their applicability to the several periods of produc- 
tion, and by their adjustment of color and conduct to the 
popular apprehension, are " Arrah na Pogue," " The Octo- 
roon," " The Siege of Lucknow," " The Long Strike," and 
" The Shaughraun," the latter closing the playwright's career 
as a successful playwright. 


To deny the necromancy of these stage pictures would be 
foUj* Thej were most cunningly contrived to catch the 
sense of the public, and to stir the surface nerves with their 
rapidity and variety of action. ** The Sbaughraun '" is one 
of the most remarkable examples the stage affords of abso- 
lute non-originality, dove-tailmg and building itself int6 a 
composite cogency that defies criticism ^nd overwhelms senti- 

To read these plays without the actor's knowledge of the 
margin of possilnlities in the "^ business " is to wonder at 
their vogue and yawn at their literature. 

To see them produced under the supervising eye and hand 
of the necromancer himself, was to thrill imder successive 
waves of color and sound, and give way supinely to what 
was a nervous vibration of delight. 

Mr. Boucicault knew that these heart strings of the pub- 
lic have to be tuned to a certain responsive pitch by events 
and ideas, before they will answer the demands of the mere 
stage necromancer. 

He did not claim to be the master who could at all times 
go deep enough to move the imchangeable passions and emo- 
tions and sympathies that are imbedded in the nature of the 
human animal. Living on the periphery of social experience, 
it is doubtful if the motion and glitter of his environment 
ever suggested the deeps and truths of the eternal centres. 

It was just like such a necromancer to take events them- 
selves into {partnership. The press was his barometer. He 
watched it» movements and prognostications with a keen eye. 

When ** The Siege of Lucknow " appeared, the public mind 
had been thrilling with the Sepoy rebellion for days. The 
play was a realization in action of a great unexpressed emo- 
tion of horror and admiration. 

I recall now the instantaneous public recognition of this ; 
the wild delight of the town over the wizard who could thus 
bring within the grasp of the indolent senses what had been 
only a conjecture of the intelligence. 

The praise of the audiences found an echo in the 
press, and nothing can be more surprising than to turn back 
now and read that in the devices of this play " the great dram- 
atist had proved again how searching and thorough was his 
knowledge of the human heart." 

It remained for Mr. Boucicault to prove how foolish and 


fallacious all this was, and how absolutely the play rested for 
its efficacy upon transitory conditions. 

Long afterwards, in one of those desperate moments when 
he took down an old manuscript and put his judgment in its 
place, he resolved to revive '* The Siege of Lucknow.'* He 
had the most beautiful theatre in New York at his disposal, 
and the once beautiful favorite, Agnes Robertson, who was 
the first to hear the pibroch, was with him. Those injudicious 
friends who always insist that in reviving an old play, you 
can restore the original impressions made by it, recounted the 
original triumph ; rehearsed the original effects, and recalled 
all the enthusiasm and glory of the original production. 

Then it was done. 

What was once an " inspiration " was now a reminiscence. 

The apathy of the public was ghastly. The wizard who 
had appealed to events and to the senses, had to feel the 
pressure of one and the contempt of the other. Other sieges 
like those of Vicksburg and New Orleans had intervened. 
Lucknow as an event had been pushed into the uninteresting. 
And the senses rested at the conclusion that Agnes Robertson 
Was no longer beautiful. 

In some of these later exploits, the playwright disappears 
almost entirely, and the showman fills the scene. Our admi- 
ration for his fertility of device begins to give way, and an 
astonishment at his audacity takes its place. 

Like the sensational journalist, when he found that events 
%did not happen in obedience to his wants, he believed it to 
be a privilege to construct them. 

And thus the talent which, with singular modesty, had 
declined to invent plots, expended its force in inventing 

Whatever Celtic inheritance he had, came to his assist- 
ance at this juncture, and we grew accustomed to seeing the 
shiUalah, long before we were called upon to pay our shilling. 

To recount the Tipperary experiences of a Dion Bouci- 
cault would make an amusing theatrical book ; but they 
would not be edifying in an essay. 

One may recall a few of the more astonishing escapades 
of the showman as evidence of the Baniumizing effect of 
a purely theatric influence upon a man of Boucicault's tem- 

The effrontery of his pen in London when he produced 


** Formosa," is perhaps unequalled by anything the elder 
Dumas accomplished after he had announced his doctrine of 
" The Right of Conquest.'* 

On that occasion Mr. Boucicault brought his shillalah 
with a resounding thwack squarely across the face of public 
decency and boldly announced in the Pall Mall Gazette^ 
over his name, that he proposed to open a pathway for the 
theatre through the sewers of London. 

This piece of wholly conscienceless bravado brought all 
the voluble conservative pens to his aid in denouncing the 
play and packing the house. 

When he went back to London later, to produce " The 
Shaughratm," the premier of England did not so readily fall 
into his snare. The Fenian excitement was then at its 
height, and the playwright wrote an open letter to Disraeli, 
demanding in the name of the Irish nation and the name of 
the author of " The Shaughraun," the instant release of the 
prisoners then under sentence for treason. 

The only recorded response of the prime minister is given 
by the late F. B. Chattertou, who says that some time after- 
wards there was a party at Lady Waldegrave's and Bouci- 
cault's name was mentioned. Disraeli, who had heard it, 
turned round to his Secretary and said, " Boucicault, Bouci- 
cault. A strange name ; where have I heard it bef oi*e ? Is it 
some one in the conjuring business ? " 

On the night that "The Shaughraun" was produced at 
Wallack's Theatre in New York, it is well known that he 
had a vituperative and scandalous speech " fixed " for the 
cabal of critics who had banded together to slate his play, 
and it required all the persuasion and authority of Mr. Lester 
Wallack to prevent its explosion. 

The next day, when " The Shaughraun " was known to be 
a success, he laughingly acknowledged that the play " didn't 
need it." 

On another occasion he made a flaming announcement that 
he had come back to the country to organize the theatre. 
The age was ripe, but the stage was rotten. The author of 
" London Assurance " had been diverting himself with melo- 
drama. It was his duty now to rehabilitate dramatic literature 
with a Congreve comedy. His public words were, " Hitherto 
I have given you bunting. I propose now to furnish you 
with point lace." 


It would be difficult to say what became of " Marriage." 
It was more perishable than point lace. 

Like frost-work filagree it disappeared when the hot breath 
of the multitude touched it. 

There is reason to believe that Mr. Boucicault desired in 
this play to overcome the prevalent notion that he did not 
write " London Assurance " unaided, by bringing his native 
wit and sagacity back to intrinsic chaiucter and elegant dia- 

The play was not \vithout indications of a strain in this 

It is to be regretted that we cannot bring back tlie sponta- 
neity and sparkle of youth, by an effort of the will. The 
public did not care for '^ Marriage." 

One is compelled now to accept " Marriage," " Belle La- 
mar," "Mimi," "Mora," and "Daddy O'Dowd," as Mr. Bou- 
cicault's successive catastrophes, furnished in behalf of a 
rehabilitated stage. 

These are days in his later career when it would seem that 
he cannot adjust his skill to the appetite of the monster. One 
after anotlier his contributions to the public maw are spurned. 
He flies about the country with a company of his own, play- 
ing these pieces, but tliere is not much money in it, and lie 
returns to New York for a basis of operations. 

We observe him as lessee and manager of Booth's theatre 
with astonishment, and we regard his brief career as the 
partner of Mr. William Stuart in the Park theatre, with 
ennui. Has his facile muse deserted him ? Where, one asks, 
is the rehabilitated theatre ? Is it Booth's, shorn of its Pom- 
peian beauty and debased from its original purpose ? 

Evidently it was not in the organization, nor in building 
up by patient labor, the character of a house, that Mr. Bouci- 
cault's talents were to be awakened and employed. 

We must find a manager in a dilemma, and, needing a 
quick expedient, see Dion Boucicault operate. 

One day Mr. A. M. Palmer appealed to him to come to 
the help of the Union Square theatre. Nobly and promptly 
the response was made. " We want a new play," they said, 
" to fit our company." " You shall have it," was the answer. 

Mr. Boucicault heard the bugle call of a hundred battles. 
He went to Chiisterh's and bought a copy of Octave Feuillet's 
" La Tentation." He translated it, and inserted an Irishman 


in the middle. He made his usual terms ; — a percentage of 
the receipts. 

It was produced with an extraordinary company as " Led 
Astray, by Dion Boucicault." It was an instant success. It 
saved the theatre. On an investment of twenty-five cents, Mr. 
Boucicault probably made fifteen or twenty thousand dollars. 
In this transaction, the ethics are not as urgent as the 
exigency. The claim of the piqued management that it 
could have bought and translated the book and secured the 
same results without paying an author's royalties, does not 
hold. In the first place it never would have thought of the 
book. In the second place, something, perhaps everything, 
was due to the supervising sagacity expended on the produc- 
tion rather than on the translation. 

This experience is, however, not at all unique in this man's 
history, and it is in a sense repeated in the production of his 
final success " The Shaughraun." 

It may be difficult to understand the ethics, but to com- 
prehend the exigency, you have only to put yourself in the 
manager's place. 

His problem too often is, not How shall I find wings to soar 
into literature? but. Where shall I find a plank to keep me 
from going to the devil? 

He tries to coax the public with the past, and revives the 
English classics. Broadway swims past these ivied restora- 
tions indifferently on the rushing present. 

Mr. Wallaok's later experience was that whenever he put 
the moss-covered comedies on his stage, the grass began to 
grow in his corridor. 

Antique loveliness on Broadway was found to entail con- 
temporaneous loneliness. 

In less than three weeks the management is figuring with 
a pencil, how long it will take him to reach the poorhouse or 
the insane asylum, on the narrow and exclusive path. 

This in the abstract may be pusillanimity. In the con- 
crete, it is self-preservation. 

The moment the public stay away from a theatre, these 
apparitions of failure begin to skulk in the box office. The 
very enthusiasm of a *' small but select " audience is ominous. 
It is too sympathetic. It seems to indicate to the manager 
that these people know he is in the woods and are doing the 
whistling for him. 


At such despondent moments there is apt to be wafted 
back to his recollection the historic platitude of the Necro- 
mancer. " Shakespeare spells ruin, and Byron bankruptcy." 

With the recollection almost invariably came the in- 
duction that to write " Boucicault " across any of the dead 
leaves of the French drama was, for the theatre, to be born 

The foyer is as superstitious as the forecastle. 

The temple which always had a horse shoe nailed over its 
door in its prosperity, always kept a shrine for Boucicault in 
its adversity. 

He had a habit of walking into the temple, accidentally, 
at such crises. 

He walked into Wallack's at this particular crisis. He 
was somewhat impecunious, but self reliant. At the moment 
public attention was diverted to other gods. There was a 
dumb sense in the community that "Mimi" and "Mora" 
and '^ Belle Lamar " had marked the limits of his exploits 
with exhaustion, and " Led Astray " had proved that adapta- 
tion ended at last in literal translation. 

I say he walked in. Perhaps I should say he sidled in 
without authority and without goods. 

But he stayed a year and came out like ep. army with 

He had produced " The Shaughraun." 

Greater and nobler plays lie like wrecks all along the 

A more phenomenal public triumph cannot be mentioned. 

Surely Disraeli was right. A conjuror. In twenty-four 
hours after the final rehearsal of the play, all the conditions 
of the house were changed, and all its traditions violated. 

The management retired with a show of horror to the 
privacy of chuckling satisfaction. The theatre which yes- 
terday was regarded as behind the age, strode over night 
into the van of success, and the conjuror himself, trans- 
formed into " Con," had not only saved the management, 
but had renewed his own youth. 

In the blare and blazon of success, it was vain to ask 
."Where did he get it ? " The exultant voice of the multitude 
cried " See where he has landed it 1 " 

The anima was of no account in the face of the animation. 

It is a matter of approximate verification that Dion Bouci- 


cault received as his share of the profits of the " Shaughraun " 
over eight hundred thousand dollars. 

It is beyond the mathematics of even those who knew him 
best, to tell what he did with the money. 

Nor is it a gmcious inquiry to make. At this point of 
view, when his good fellowship, his profligate generosity, his 
magnificent recklessness, are not yet cold in our contempla- 
tion, one may be excused for giving way to a dazed wonder 
not unmingled with admiration at the strange career and the 
stranger endowment of this extraordinary man. The world 
that called him profligate and purloiner, was quick to recog- 
nize him as a prince, and whatever his vicissitudes or his ab- 
errations, he still carried the lamp of Aladdin. Criticism is 
confused in following the eccentricities of such an orbit, and 
biography must borrow patience of time. To separate the 
Bohemian from the Boetian is child's play to the synthetic 
task of finding the philosopher, the adventurer, the cynic, the 
wizard, and the wit in the dazzling corona of this meteor. 

We are in the habit of speaking of " men of the world " as 
if we wished to distinguish them from the enfans perdus who 
are not of it. But here we encounter the cosmopolite, the 
bon-vivant, the master workman, the litterateur whose pen 
veas always sharpened by his wits, the operator who made a 
boui;se of the playhouse, and turned the capitals of the 
world upside down, and while we are contemplating him, the 
memory of the tears and laughter, of the people makes us 
wonder if there was not somewhere in him the pathos of 
Berangerand the sportiveness of Aiistophanes. 

It were premature arrogance for me to draw the moral of 
Boucicault's career. Let me at least wait until the smell of 
the trampled grass is out of my sense. Mankind makes its 
cenotaphs of justice slowly. 

Some sadness in all the splendors, that is enhanced by the 
mere effort to trace them. 

The subject of this paper may have shared it, for T have a 
letter from him written only two weeks before he died. In 
it he says : — 

" It has been a long jig, my boy, and I am just beginning 
•to see the pathos of it. I have written for a monster who 



I BEAD that headline. Then I asked myself : Why should 
the city's dead be thrown in f 

Where and how are they thrown in? Why are they 
thrown in ? 

Why, in a civilized land, should such an expression as 
that arouse no surprise, — be taken as a matter of course? 
What is its full meaning? Are others as little informed 
upon the subject as I ? Would the city's dead continue to be 
thrown in if the public stopped to think ; if it understood the 
meaning of that single, obscure headline? Believing that 
the power of a free and fearless press is the' greatest power 
for good that has yet been devised; and believing most 
sincerely, that wrongs grow greatest where silence is im- 
posed or ignorance of the facts stands between the wrong 
doer, or the wrong deed, and enlightened public opinion, I 
decided to learn and to tell just the meaning — all of the 
meanmg — of those six sadly and shockingly suggestive 

Suppose you chanced to be very poor and to die in New 
York ; or suppose unknown to you, your mother, a stranger 
passing through the city, were to die suddenly. Suppose, 
in either case, no money were forthcoming to bury the body, 
would it be treated as well, with as humane and civilized con- 
sideration as if the question of money were not in the case ? 
We are fond of talking about giving "tender Christian 
burial," and of showing horror and disgust for those who 
may wilfully accept other methods. We are fond of saying 
that death levels all distinctions. Let us see. 

The island where the city's dead are buried — that is, all 
the friendless and poor or unidentified, who are not cared for 
by some church or society — is a mere scrap of land, from 
almost any point of which you easily overlook it all, with 
its marshy border and desolate, unkempt surface. It con- 
tains, as the officer in charge told me, about seventy-nine 



acres at low tide. At high tide much of the border is sub- 
merged. Upon this scrap of land — about one mile long and 
less than half a mile wide at its widest point — is concen- 
trated so much of nusery and human sorrow and anguish, 
that it is diflBicult to either grasp the idea oneself or convey 
it to others. 

There are three classes of dead sent here by the city. 
Those who are imbecile or insane — dead to thought or 
reason ; those who are dead to society and hope — medium 
term criminals ; and those whom want, and sorrow, and pain, 
and wrong can touch no more after it stamps its last indig- 
nity upon their dishonored clay. I will deal first with these 
happier ones who have reached the end of the journey which 
the other two classes sit waiting for. Or, perhaps some of 
them stand somewhat defiantly as they look on what they 
know is to be their own last home, and recognize the estimate 
placed upon them by civilized. Christian society. 

Upon this scrap of land there are already buried — or 
" thrown in " — over seventy thousand bodies. Stop and think 
what that means. It is a large city, we have but few larger 
in this country. Remember that this island is about one 
mile long and less than a half mile wide at the widest point. 
In places it is not much wider than Broadway. 

The spot on which those seventy thousand are "thrown 
in " is but a small part of this miniature island. This is laid 
ofif in plots with paths between. These sections are forty-five 
feet by fifteen, and are dug out seven feet deep. Again, stop 
and picture that. It loo^ like the beginning of a cellar for 
a small city house. But in that little cellar is buried one 
hundred and ffty bodieSj packed three deep. Remembering 
the depth of a coffin, and remembering that a layer of earth 
is put on each, it is easy to estimate about how near the sur- 
face of the earth lies festering seventy thousand bodies. They 
are not in metallic cases as may well be imagined ; but I need 
only add that I could distinctly see the corpse through wide 
cracks in almost every rough board box, for you to understand 
that sickening odors and deadly gases are nowhere absent. 

But there is one thing more to add before this picture can 
be grasped. Three of these trenches are kept constantly 
open. This means that something like four hundred bodies, 
dead from three days to two weeks, lie in open pine boxes 
almost on the surface of the earth. 


You will say, " That is bad, but the island is far away and 
is for the dead only. They cannot injure each other." If that 
were true, a part of the ghastly horror would be removed, 
but, as I have said, the city sends two other classes of dead 
here. Two classes who are beyond hope, perhaps, but surely 
not beyond injury and a right to consideration by those who 
claim to be civilized. 

Standing near the " general " or Protestant trench — for 
while Christian society permits its poor and unknown to be 
buried in trenches three deep ; while it forces its other poor 
and friendless to dig the trenches and " throw in " their 
brother unfortunates ; while it condemns its imbeciles and 
lunatics to the sights, and sounds, and odors, and poisoned 
air and earth of this island, it cannot permit the Catholic 
and Protestant dead to lie in the same trenches! — standing 
near the general trench, in air too foul to describe, where five 
*' short term men " were working to lower their brothers, the 
officer explained. 

" We have to keep three trenches open all the time, be- 
cause the Catholics have to go in consecrated ground and 
they don't allow the ' generals ' and Protestants in there. 
Then the other trench is for dissected bodies from hospitals 
and the like." 

*' Are not many, indeed most of those, also. Catholics ? " 
I asked. 

" Yes, I guess so ; but they don't go in consecrated 
ground, because they aint whole." This with no se^e of 

" Are not many of the unknown likely to be Catholics, 

" Yes, but when we find that out afterward, we dig them 
out if they were not suicides, and put them in the other 
trench. If they were suicides, of course, they have to stay 
with the generals. You see, we number each section ; then 
we number each box, and begin at one end with number one 
and lay them right along, so a record is kept and you can dig 
any one out at any time." 

** Then this earth — if we may call it so — is constantly 
being dug into and opened up ? " I queried. " I should think 
it would kill the men who work, and the insane and imbecile 
who must live here." 

"Well," he replied, smiling, "prisoners have to do what 


they are told to, whether it kills 'em or not, and I guess it 
don't hurt the idiots^ and lunatic5s none. They're past hurt- 
ing. They're incurables. They never leave here." 

" I should think not," I replied. " And if by any chance 
they were not wholly incurable when they came, I should 
suppose it would not be long before they would be. Where 
does the drinking water come from ? " 

'' Drive wells, and — " 

'' What ! " I exclaimed, in spite of my determination when 
I went that I would show surprise at nothing. 

He looked at me in wonder. 

" Yes, it is easy to drive wells here. Get water easy." 

There is one road from end to end of the island. The 
houses for the male lunatics and imbeciles are on the 
highest point overlooking at all times the trenches and at all 
times within hearing of whatever goes on there. The odors 
are everywhere, so that night and day, every one who is on 
the island breathes nothing else but this polluted air, except 
as a strong wind blows it, at times, from one direction over 
another. The women's quarters — much larger and better 
houses — are at the other end of the island. Not all of 
these overlook the trenches. 

Every fair day all these wretched creatures are taken out to 
walk. Where ? Along this one road ; back and forth, back 
and forth, beside the " dead trenches." To step aside is to 
walk on " graves " for about half the way. We sometimes 
smile over the old joke that the Blue Laws allowed nothing 
more cheerful than a walk to the cemetery on Sunday. All 
days are- Sundays to these wretches who depend on the 
'* civilized " charity of our city. All laws are very, very 
blue ; all walks lead through what can by only the wildest 
abandon of charity be called by so happy a name as a * 'ceme- 
tery," and even the air and water the city gives them is nei- 
ther air nor water ; it is pollution. 

A gentleman by my side watched the long procession of 
helpless creatures walk past. One man waved his hand to 
me and mumbled something and smiled — then he called 
back, " Wie gehts? Wie gehts ? " and smiled again. Several 
of the wretched creatures laughed at him; but when I 
smiled and bowed, nearly half of the line of three hundred, 
turned and joined in his salutation. They filed past four 
times (the whole walk is so short), and they did not fail 



each time to recognize me and bid for recognition. If they 
know me as a stranger, I thought, they know enough to 
understand something of all this ghastliness. The line of 
women was a long, long line. I was told that in all there 
were fourteen hundred women, and nearly five hundred men 
on the island. The line of women broke now and then as 
some poor creatures would run put on to the grass and pluck 
a weed or flower, and hold it gayly up or hide it in her 
skirts. One waved her hand at us, and said in tones that 
indicated that she was trying to assume the voice and man- 
ner of a public speaker : " The Lord deserteth not His 
chosen 1 " I did not know whether, in her poor brain, they 
or we represented the chosen who were not to be deserted. 
Another said gayly and in the assumed lisp and voice of a 
little girl (although she must have been past fifty), 
" There's papa, oh, papa, papa, papa 1 My papa 1 " This 
to the gentleman who stood beside me. He smiled, and 
waved his hand to her. Then he said, between his teeth : 

*' Civilized savages I To have them here ! " 

" It don't hurt 'em," said the officer beside us. " They're 
incurables. They won't any of 'em remember what they 
saw for ten minutes. People don't understand crazy folks 
and idiots. They're the easiest cowed people in the world. 
Long as they know they're watched, they'll do whatever you 
tell them — this kind will. They're harmless." 

" But why have them here ? " I insisted. *' If they are to 
be poisoned, why not do it more quickly and — " 

" Poisoned I " he exclaimed, astonished. " Why, if one of 
the attendants was caught even striking one, he'd be dis- 
missed quick. They get treated well. Only it is hard to 
keep attendants. We can't get 'em to stay here more than a 
month or so — ^just till they get paid. We have to go to the raw 
immigrants to get them even then. Nobody else will come." 

" Naturally," remarked the gentleman beside me. 

" Yes, it's kind of natural. This kind of folks are hard 
to work with, and the men attendants get only about seven- 
teen to twenty dollars a month, and the women from ten to 
twelve dollars." 

"So the attendants of these helpless creatures are raw 
immigrants," I said ; " who, perhaps, do not speak English, 
who are constantly changing. The water they get is from 
driven wells, the sights and exercise are obtained from and 


in and by the dead trenches. The air they breathe is like 
this, night and day, you say, and no one ever leaves alive 
when once sent here." 

" No one." 

" Who does the work — the digging, the burying, the hand- 
ling of the dead, the carting, and the work for the insane? " 

" Medium term prisoners. All these are from one to six 
months' men," waving his hand over the men working below 
us in the horrible trench. 

" Do you think they leave here with an admiration for our 
S3rstem of caring for the city's dead — whether the death be 
social, mental, or physical ? Do they go back with a desire 
to reform and become like those who devise and conduct this 
sort of thing ? " 

He laughed. 

" Why, it's just a picnic for them to come up here. You 
can't hardly keep 'em away with a club. Of course, the same 
ones don't work right here long ; but when a fellow gets sent 
up to any of these places, he comes over and over until he 
gets ambitious to go to Sing Sing and be higher toned." 

I thought of the same information given me at the Police 
and Criminal Courts a little while ago. I wondered if there 
might not be some flaw somewhere in the whole refoi-matory 
and punitive system. From the time a fourteen year-old 
boy is taken up for breaking a window ; sent to the reform 
school, where he is herded with older and worse boys, until he 
passes through the police court again, — let us say at sixteen, 
as a " ten-day drunk," — to herd again in a windowless 
prison van, packed close with fifteen hardened criminals (as 
I saw a messenger boy of fifteen on my way to the island), 
and taken where for ten days he enjoys the society of the 
most abandoned ; returns to town the companion of thieves ; 
and goes the next time for three or six months for petit lar- 
ceny, then for some graver crime, on and up. At last, 
when he has no more to learn or to teach, he is given a cell 
or room alone until the State relieves him of the necessity of 
following the course which has been mapped out for and 
steadily followed by so many. He knows when he is a three 
months' man where he is going at last. Has he not helped 
to dig the trenches for the men who looked so hard and vile to 
him when he broke that window and stood in Police Court by 
their sides ? 


Perhaps you will ask : " Why did he not take the warn- 
ing, and follow another course, turn the other way ? " 

Perchance it might be asked on the other hand — since 
court, and morgue, and cemetery officials unite in the asser- 
tion that the above record is almost universal, and that our 
present methods not only do not reform, but actually prevent 
the reform of offenders — why this system is still followed 
by the State, and if the warning has not been ample and 
severe here, also. 

Are we to expect greater wisdom, more far-eeeing judg- 
ment and a loftier aim in these unfortunates of society than 
is developed in those who control them ? 

Since it is all such a dismal failure, why not plan a 
better way ? Why not begin at the other end of the line to 
keep offenders apart ? W hy herd them — good, bad, and in- 
different — together, in the jtage of their career when there 
is hope for some, at least, to reform ; and begin to separate 
them only when the last mile of the road is reached ? 

Why, if the city must bury its dead in trenches and under 
the conditions only half described above (because much of 
it is too sickening to present), why, if cremation or some 
better mode of burirJ. is not possible — and certainly I think 
it is — why, at least, need the awful, the ghastly, the inhu- 
man combination be made of burying together medium term 
criminals, imbeciles, lunatics, and thousands of corpses all 
on one mere scrap of land? If a seven-foot mass of cor- 
ruption exhaling through the air and percolating through 
land and water must be devoted to the poor of a great city, 
why in the name of all that is civilized or humane, permit 
any living thing to he. detained and poisoned on the same bit 
of earth? 

I saw a woman who had come to visit her mother who was 
one of these poor, insane creatures. " I can't afford to keep 
her at home," she said, "and then at times she gets snags 
and acts so that people are afraid of her, so I had to let her 
come here. It is kind of a^vful, isn't it? " 

I thought it was " kind of awful," for more reasons than 
the poor woman could realize, for she was so used to foul air 
and knew so little of sanitary conditions that she was merci- 
fully spared certain thoughts that seem to have escaped the 
authorities also. 

"It is her birthday and I brought her this," she said, 



showing me a colored cookie. " She will like it. We can. 
visit here one day each month if we have friends.^' 

" How many bodies do you carry each week ? " I asked 
of the captain of the city boat. 

"About fifty," he said. But later on both he and the 
official on the Island, told me that there were six thousand 
buried here yearly, so it will be seen that his estimate per 
week was less than half what it should have been. 

I looked at the stack of pine boxes, the ends of which 
showed from beneath a tarpaulin on the deck. 

They were stacked five deep. There were seven wee ones, 
hardly larger than would be filled by a good sized kitten. 

I said : " They are so very small. I don't see how a baby 
was put inside." 

The man to whom I spoke — a deck hand who was a 
" ten-day-self-committed," so the captain told me later — 
smiled a grim, sly smile and said : — 

" I reckon you're allowin' fer trimmin's. This kind don't 
get pillers and satin linin's. It don't take much room for a 
baby with no trimmin's an' mighty little clothes." 

" Why are two of them dark wood and all the rest light ? " 
I asked of the same man. 

" I reckon the folks of them two had a few cents to pay 
fer gittin' their baby's box stained. It kind of looks nicer 
to them, and when they get a little more' money, they'll 
come and get it dug up and put it in a grave by itself or 
some other place. It seems kind of awful to some folks to 
have their little baby put in amongst such a lot." 

He said it aU quite simply, quite apologetically, as if I 
might think it rather unreasonable — this feeling that it was 
" kind of awful to think of the baby in amongst such a lot." 

At that time, I did not know that he was a prisoner. He 
showed me a number of things about the boxes and spoke of 
the open cracks and knot holes through which one could see 
what was inside. I declined to look after the first glance. 

" You don't mind it very much after you're used to it," 
he said. " Of course, you would, but I mean i^." 

I began to understand that he was a prisoner. 

" When you're a prisoner, you get used to a good deal," 
he said, later on, when they were unloading the bodies and 
some of the men looked white and sick. " They're new to 


it," he explained to me. ^^ It makes them sick and scared ; 
but it won't after\i while." 

*' Why are most of them here ? " I asked. " Most of them 
look honest — and — " 

" Honest 1 " he exclaimed, with the first show he had 
made of rebellion or resentment. "Honest! Of course 
most of us are honest. It is liquor does it mostly. None 
of us are thieves — yet ! " 

I noticed the " us," but still evaded putting him in with 
the rest. 

"Why do they not let liquor alone, after such a hard 
lesson ? " 

He laughed. He had a red, bloated, but not a bad face. 
He was an Englishman. 

"Some of us cau't. Some don't want to, and some — 
some — it is about all some can get." 

Later on, I was told that tUs man was honSst, a good 
worker, and that he was " self committed to get the liquor 
out of him. He's been here before. When he gets out, 
he will be drunk before he gets three blocks away from 
the dock, and he'll be sent here again — or to the Island 1 " 

"And has this system gone on for a hundred years," I 
asked, " without finding some remedy ? " 

" Well, since the women began to take a hand, some little 
has been done," the officer replied. "They built a coffee 
and lodging house right near the landing, and take return- 
ing prisoners there, and give them a chance to work if they 
want to — in a broom factory they built. Some get a start 
that way and if they work and are honest, they get a letter 
saying so when they find better places. It is only a drop in 
the bucket, but it helps a few." 

"It looks a little as if women were to take a hand in 
public, municipal, or governmental affairs, that reform, and 
not punishment, might be made the object of imprisonment 
if imprisonment became necessary, doesn't it ? " 

He laughed. 

" Politics is no place for women. This they are doing is 
charity. That is all very well, but they got no business 
meddling with city government, and courts, and prisoners 
only as charity." 

" Yet you say that, for a hundred years, those who look 
after the criminal population, thought very little of helping 



the men who came out, much less did they think of begin- 
ning at the other end and trying to keep them from going 
in. Women have been allowed to devise public chanties, 
even, for only a few years past. They had no experience 
in building manufactories and conducting coffee and lodging 
houses ; they have but little money of their own to put into 
such things and yet they have bethought them to start, in 
embryo, right here where the returning convict lands, 
what appears to have vast possibilities as you say. Now 
if this effort for the prevention of crime and want were 
at the other end of the line in municipal government, 
don't you think it might go even nearer the root of the 
matter and do more good ? " 
j "How would you like to be a ward politician and a 

j heeler?" he inquired, wiping a smile away and looking at 

I my gloves. 

" I should not like it at all." 

" Well, now, look at that I Of course no lady would, so — " 

*' Do you think it possible that the world might get on 
fairly comfortably without having * heelers ' and ' ward poli- 
ticians ' — in the sense you mean — in municipal or state 
government? And that it might be better without such 
crifne producers ? " I added, as he began to laugh. 

"You women are always visionary. Never practical. 
You — " 

" I thought you said that the one and only really practical 
measure yet taken to reduce the criminal population as 
it returns from the Islands was invented and is conducted by 
women and — " 

" You can just make up your mind that in every family of 
six there'll be one hypocrite and one fool, either one of 
which is liable to be f , criminal, too, and the state has got 
to take care of 'em somehow. But the prisons are getting 
too full and the Almshouses and Insane Asylums are 
growing very large. But there is the Two Brothers' Island. 
I've got to attend to my business now. Take the trip with 
! me again some time." 

But it seems to me, I shall not need to go again, and that 
no judge or legislator would need to take the journey more 
than once, unless, perchance, he took it in the person of 
either the hypocrite or the fool of his family ; which, let us 
hope, no judge and no legislator is in a position to do. 



All will agree that patriotism is a very important interest, 
that the public schools can be made greatly to promote it, and 
that they may of right be employed for this purpose, nay, 
ought to be so employed. There is, in fact, special fitness in 
effort to stimulate patriotism among pupils in these schools. 
It is part of the business of the public school to make good 
citizens. Under our theory of government, the public school 
does not exist for the sake of any man as man, but to com- 
plete each pupil's civic character, because, without education, 
he cannot be a perfectly safe or useful member of the body 
politic. Only when this is understood and emphasized can 
we defend our school system from the common charge of 
being socialistic. Only so can we show a clear right to tax 
for the purpose of public education. It cannot be too ear- 
nestly impressed upon us that our schools exist for a public 
purpose?, and that they fail, as public schools, save as they 
subserve this purpose. 

The interesting question is : How can such a beneficent 
result be brought about? Touching more exactly our present 
discussion, how can the public school instruction, which so 
many of us are engaged in imparting, be made to minister in 
the highest degree to true patriotic sentiment and purpose in 
our pupils, and through them in a great body of our citizens ? 

We err if we expect to attain this end to any veiy helpful 
extent by Fourth of July oratory, or by the purchase and 
raising of fiags, according to the pleasant fashion now so in 
vogue. Indeed, while I heartily commend this custom not- 
withstanding, I fear that there is some danger in our day 
lest, to many, the United States flag shall become a fetich. 
As the mere wearing of the cross cannot constitute one a 
Christian, simply to fly the national emblem over our school- 
houses will never, by itself, make us staunch devotees of this 
nation's weal. Not the stars and stripes, but what the stars 
and stripes stand for : liberty, union, rights, law, power for 
good among the nations — tiiese are the legitimate spurs to 
our enthusiasm as citizens. And in speaking up for these 



and for the other exalted attributes of our national character 
on anniversary days and at other times, we need no hysterical 
eloquence. The naked truth, soberly told, will do better. 
The soaring periods, the turgid rhetoric, the pulmonary 
athleticism with which Independence used to be celebrated, 
but which has now transferred itself mainly to Memorial 
Days and to flag raisings, tells for exceeding little. 

Of stiU less avail is it to inculcate a partisan or a sectional 
spirit, or to try and. make boys and girls believe that the life 
of the nation depends upon the prevalence of this or that 
petty policy. From all such special pleas much is to be feared, 
nothing of value to be hoped. 

We have quite too many citizens who identify the good of 
their party or section with that of the nation, and can find no 
patriotism in anything which antagonizes their pet views or 
interests. Holders of national bonds, we notice, are always 
very patriotic. They wish the nation to live and prosper ; 
and I have heard of those among them that doubted the love 
of country of other people who urged refunding at a lower 
rate of interest, and the speedy extinction of the national 
debt altogether. 

There are Protestants who would deny Catholics their 
rights, because blind to the fact that this is not legally any 
more than it is religiously a Protestant land ; and there ^re 
Catholics whose zeal for their church would lead them fatally 
to neglect the public and civic elements in the proper educa- 
tion of their youth. 

The Socialist is convinced that we are lost unless we accept 
his system ; and although certain that evolution's steps are 
all that way, spares no pains to aid on the process. The 
Anarchist sees no hope unless the state shall disappear utterly. 
The Communist would have us " divide and conquer." Many 
think that poverty would go, and with it all manner of social 
ills, did we did not tax land alone. From all such narrow- 
ness, whether its basis be geographical, ecclesiastical, political 
or social, good Lord, deliver us I 

Nor do we gain aught by overlooking the vices which 
fasten upon our politics and upon our distinguished citizens, 
past or present, or by portraying our country's possibilities or 
virtues as greater than they are, either absolutely or in com- 
parison with those of other nations, or by belittling or deny- 
ing the very grave dangers with which our political and 


social outlook is beset. To deify Jefferson or Franklin or 
even Washington is bad. Do not falsify about old Federalists, 
Democrats, or Whigs, either in the way of slander or in that 
of idolatry. It will not profit. 

One hears a great deal of perfervid speech concerning the 
grandeur of our country and its institutions which, power- 
fully as it may build up national self-conceit, can never 
advance genuine patriotism. There is not another thoroughly 
civilized country under the sun whose cities are so ill ruled 
as ours. There is not another in whose government the laws 
of political economy and public finance are so little studied 
or so flagrantly defied. (Our methods of taxation are in fact 
so unreasonable and unjust that if the people understood 
their oppressiveness our government would, I believe, be 
overthrown in a day, as was the old regime in France.) There 
is not a second country tins side of Turkey whose civil service 
is so corrupt as ours, or where special fitness is so little re- 
garded as by us in selections for public office. In no other 
land upon the planet is poverty so common or so dire in pro- 
portion to national resources. Our system of pensions is 
costlier in dollars and cents than the very worst of those 
European military systems which we are so often and so 
properly bidden to deplore, and its total effect in creating 
poverty is ten times as bad. Our mail system is far from the 
best. So of our school organization. So and more also of 
our electoral arrangements, which happily we have just begun 
to amend. Let the good work go on ! In several other 
lands, I think, common justice between man and man is surer 
and speedier than with us. 

There are further infelicities which we simply share with 
other peoples, being no worse off than they. Here as else- 
where is it in a very sad sense true that the rich are growing 
richer and the poor poorer. That is, the sills of society, the 
masses of common people, blest by no special genius, art, 
craft, or position, but forced to gain their living by the basal 
industries, count for less and less as the years pass. The 
conflict between labor and capital, circling the entire horizon 
with cloud, badly blackens our sky, too, and I do not mark in 
that cloud aught of tendency to lift. 

A portentous danger, peculiar to ourselves as a nation, 
confronts us in the size of our country and the complexity of 
our civilization. It seems a strange thing to find, so soon 


after a four years' civil war which succeeded in preventing 
the dismemberment of our union, a feeling that it is still 
uncertain whether these States will permanently continue a 
single nation. Yet many at this moment share that feeling. 
We hoped after the war that railways and telegraphs between 
sections, with the increased mingling of populations and of 
interests, would henceforth perpetuate in our people that 
sense of unity which, as history has shown, must characterize 
the inhabitants of any nation destined to maintain its integ- 
rity. This is still the hope, but with many thoughtful men 
it is little more than hope. The sectional spirit which killed 
Rome is powerfully at work among us. Hardly ever, even 
before our war, was it more manifest than now. The East, 
the South, the West, the Centre, each works for itself as if it 
were the country. The majority of the people in one part 
have little concern for those elsewhere. 

This perilous decentralization in feeling not only co-exists 
with the legal centralization which might at first be thought 
likely to counteract it, but it is actually helped on thereby. 
Centralization of power in our national arm is in many things 
advantageous. Our trouble is that, in important points where 
centralization is most desirable, we are, in one way and 
another, prevented from carrying it out, while it is most bane- 
fuUy carried out in other directions. The taxing of inter- 
state railways, for instance, ought to be effected by the 
federal tax machinery, but cannot be without a change in 
our constitution. On the other hand, the worst inroad upon 
local self-government yet recorded — a perfectly needless one, 
moreover, — was the ruling of the Supreme Court in the 
recent case of Marshal Neagle, who killed Judge Terry in 
California.* Your neighbor is shot dead at your feet. The 

* It occurred on Aug. 14, 1889, at Lathrop, San Joaquin Co., where Justice 
Field, of the U. 8. Supreme Court, with Neagle for his body-guard, having 
stopped for breakfast, was attacked by Terrv, who had previously threat- 
ened him. Ko one doubts that Neagle acted legally in killing Terry. The 
question is whether to justify him by State or by United States law. He 
was acting under United States law only in the sense that the Attorney- 
General, on behalf of the President, who is bound by the constitution to 
execute the law, had ordered him to protect Justice Field. It is, I believe, 
the feeling of most lawyers who have examined the case, that, in its decision 
clearing the Marshal an having shot Terry in obedience to " the laws of the 
United States," our highest Court violently widened the meaning of this 
phrase. All will admit that the powers of the general government ought to 
oe interpreted liberally; but to transfer judgment upon such a crime as homi- 
cide from State to Federal tribunals is a very serious matter. Had the affair 
occurred in Massachusetts or New York, or had Terry been a less influential 
desperado, the case would probably have been left to the State courts. 


shooter is arrested, but no sooner is his trial begun than every 
wheel of local justice is stopped by the simple notice that 
the shot was delivered in obedience to orders from Washing- 
ton. The fact that in this instance essential justice was done 
does not deprive the case of its enormity. Sometime it will 
be otherwise, at least in the public opinion of a dozen States. 
The justice of the vicinage, that fine old feature of Anglo- 
Saxon law, will then be felt to have vanished ; and it will be 
a wonder if some new Jeroboam shall not raise the cry : 
" What portion have we in David ? To your tents, O Israel ! " 

As in the disruption of Rome, so always: When the 
central authority of a vast empire, encroaching little by little 
upon dear local prerogatives, grown bolder and rougher, too, 
through its might and its immunity, comes to make itself felt 
in the remoter sections in a hard and unsympathetic way, 
people begin to feel toward it as toward a foreign power, and 
you soon have the best sort of a foundation for a civil war, or 
an attempt at revolution. 

Pardon so long discussion upon this sombre side of our 
affairs. What I wished to come at is this, — that it is of no 
use to keep on ignoring or extenuating these national dis- 
eases and dangers. It would be far better to tell the truth 
about them in any event, as we cannot permanently keep up 
the illusion. It is immensely better in view of the fact that 
such falsity distracts alike our own thought and that of our 
pupils from the most cogent reasons for insisting upon 

Peace needs its love of country as well as war. The honesty 
which shall recognize the ills that threaten us, the courage 
to fight them, the eternal vigilance which is the price of 
liberty, the dogged patience required to hunt out of office 
the political trickster, the zeal to bestir oneself early and late, 
in the face of apathy and contumely, in order to get faithful 
and competent men elected to office and to raise the entire 
plane of the civil service — these are quite as needful as 
the bravery which sends men to the battlefield, and they are 
indefinitely harder to find. 

How, then, shall we best promote patriotism in our public 
schools and through them in the State? ^Before following up 
this inquiry in a more positive way, it is necessary to remark 
that patriotism is of various kinds. Much patriotism is 
simply practical or interested regard for one's country, spring- 


ing from more or less selfish considerations. Mere bondholder 
patriotism will illustrate. Another variety is sentimental 
patriotism, like that of Leonidas and his Three Hundred, in 
which, — owing to persistent education and association, — coun- 
try has come to stand before the patriot's soul as the veritable 
chief good, to be fought for to the death if need be, he 
knows not why. And there is, thirdly, rational patriotism, 
like that of Washington, Franklin, and Madison, which is 
part of general philanthropy, a love of one's country, begotten 
of the reasoned conviction that such country has been called 
by the Power above to an eminent role in the upward evolu- 
tion of humanity. 

These different patriotisms are all good. Interested patri- 
otism itself is better than none. English public financiers 
argue for perpetuating the British national debt on the 
ground that, in case of war or rebellion, its holders would 
rally with all their influence and resources to save the state. 
Now, bad as it would be for any number of us to have that 
sort of public spirit and no other, all citizens, the most unself- 
ish with the rest, share and must share to an extent that low 
form of zeal for the state. Such an affection need not and 
could not be wholly wanting in any commonwealth, however 
insignificant, unstoried, and ignoble. The Portuguese might 
possess it as well as the Englishman : the Norwegian as truly 
as the German. Patriotism of this kind needs less cultiva- 
tion than the choicer varieties, yet, as it is a useful and in- 
dispensable quality in its place, it should, like the brute 
instinct of self-preservation, be fostered so far as it stands in 
the way of nothing nobler than itself. 

But, mark it well, this is not the patriotism that begets he- 
roes. It is not the kind that a nation can depend upon in 
the hour of mortal peril. The higher varieties are then 
imperatively needed, the kinds which do not spring up or flour- 
ish spontaneously. How can these diviner species of patriot- 
ism be had? How are they to be kept ever present, strong 
and vigorous in the Republic ? 

I answer that neither the patriotism of Leonidas nor that 
of Washington can be made to germinate in the human breast 
on simple notification. Neither comes as the mere result of 
teaching. There must be in the character of the country a 
basis for the teaching. Exhoit me as you may, I cannot per- 
manently and at cost to myself be an enthusiast for my coun- 


try, unless it is worthy of my enthusiasm. Lofty, almighty 
love is to be steadily evoked only for the country which can, 
and that in some moml sense, either boast a great past, or 
exhibit a great present, or promise a great future, or two or 
all of these at once. 

Whatever we can do to perfect the schools will of course 
tend to make those who go forth from them thankful if not 
enthusiastic citizens. The school, we have seen, is an agency 
of the state. Every pupil, with more or less clearness, so 
understands. Make the blessings of his school days as rich 
and as colossal as you can. Give him reason to remember 
his schooling with gratitude, and to remember it forever. 
Crowd good things upon him ; recognition as youy peer, uni- 
formly kind treatment, the power of noble examples, the best 
of teaching. The good thus done to pupils they will always 
tend to ascribe to the state. But the gratitude hence arising 
will be about equally strong, whatever rank the nation in 
question holds, whatever the efficiency or the moral quality 
of its government. It will conduce to patriotism, but will 
not of itself engender high patiiotism. 

Again, schools can do a great deal for common patriotism 
by more and better lessons touching the theory, the facts, 
and the duties of civil life. 

Instruction in the rudiments of political and social science 
ought to begin in the primary schools, as soon as scholars can 
read well, and it ought never to cease till they graduate. 

As to theory, we might well insist more than has yet been 
done that government is a necessary good, not a necessary 
evil. Infinite misconception still prevails upon this point. 
How can children, or men either, be radical patriots, think- 
ing of the state so meanly as many do, and as our fathers of 
the revolutionary epoch quite unanimously did ! Evils gather 
about our political life, of course, and they are not at all to 
be excused, because associated with what is so vitally essential. 
But, accursed indeed must be the state, if such a state can 
be imagined, which would not be infinitely superior to 
anarchy. Not a man among us duly appreciates the daily, 
hourly, perpetual blessings derived, and to be derived from 
the civil order about him. As to facts, we ought in oui* 
public school instruction to dwell more on the history of 
liberty in early and modem times, as well as upon the slow 
grow^ and the cost of liberty. And touching duties, we 


might point out not only the obligatoriness of activity in 
politics, but the possibility and the duty of honest participation 
in political office. Very many of our fellow-citizens cannot 
fully discharge their calling in relation to the state simply 
by regular and honest votmg. They must hold office. A 
political career should be looked upon as something to be 
f openly sought and aspired to by any properly qualified man : 

not as a gift, gratuity, or honor, from politick friends. For 
the man to seek the office, if only he is the right man, ought 
to be considered no disgrace, but a thoroughly honorable 
and thankworthy thing. 

Such lessons would do great good — the same among 
American youth as for those of any other civilized land, say, 
France, Chili, or Belgium. 

Were we to stop here, however, we should have done little 
to build patriotism of the higher orders. If, without supply- 
ing this lack, we should try to rally our pupils to truly 
splendid patriotism, they would turn upon us with the 
demand to be shown something splendidly inspiring about 
the American Republic, its history, its present life, its out- 
look. Thank Heaven, we should have a long and eloquent 
story to recite. Without exaggeration, I am sure, we could 
tell what would fire every ingenuous young heart, about the 
proud career of free government in this our land, the rise of 
the United States into a single political power, the Revolu- 
tionary War, and the creation, the adoption, the stiengthen- 
ing, and the preservation of our Federal Constitution. With 
stUl better warrant and effect might we dilate upon our 
country's work in growing the noblest manhood yet seen, in 
educating Europe to a belief in free institutions, in demon- 
strating that a republic can conduct both war and finance 
with sobriety and vigor, and in literally creating many of the 
most humane and valuable parts of modem inteiiiational law. 
Then, sweeping down into the present, one could asseverate 
in all truth and soberness, that in spite of whatever stains 
assoil our politics, and notwithstanding the volume of poison 
from Europe which infects our population, the popular heart 
is still sound, the common will, like the will of God, slowly 
and patiently but with awful vigor, making for righteousness. 

So strong a plea could any one of us urge for great patri- 
I otism in our pupils, and it would be a strong plea indeed. 

Further, believe me, it would avail much. 


And yet, somewhat would be lacking after we had said all 
that. The pupil would stiU rejoin : My life is mainly m 
the future. If I am to devote myself to my country after 
the example of Leonidas, or of Washington, tell me not only 
of its past and of its present, but i)articularly of its future. 
Will our beloved America continue to tread the exalted road 
which has witnessed her career thus far, or is she one day to 
halt in her mighty march, and then droop and perish like all 
the republics before her? 

In face of that question we should, of course, if thoroughly 
temperate and discreet, somewhat lower our tone, and fall to 
speaking of hopes and beliefs. But we need something 
mightier than hope. The final motive for supreme patriotism, 
can be present only in proportion to one's moral certainty of 
the nation's perpetual grandeur. Let me be convinced, let 
me even suspect, that the Republic of my love has had its day, 
and is soon to be numbered with Athens, Rome, Venice, and 
the rest, I cannot present you the virile patriotism which 
after all my conscience calls upon me to render. 

My hope of this country's perpetuity is immensely strong, 
as strong as it can possibly be and not transcend its character 
as hope ; but hope, at best, lacks the red color of ripened 
certitude. * 

This last, crucial condition to high patriotism, consisting in 
assurance that the Republic is to live forever, it devolves 
upon the schools of America largely to create, by making the 
nation worthy of a permanent career. The nation will live if 
it deserves to live. The fittest will survive. If, as " human- 
ity sweeps onward," we as a nation can offer it the proper 
vehicle, the Eternal Spirit will never dismiss us from his 

Here, then, is the crowning work of our schools in aid of 
patriotism ; to make this already worthy nation worthier 
still. On the schools of this land, high and low, depends in 
eminent degree the question of its eternal life. In conjunc- 
tion with the Church they must see to it that righteousness 
abounds more and more among the people. Out of them in 
great part must come that spiritual life, which shall quench 
our huckstering temper, shame into the abyss our base politics, 
and broaden our thought from sectional to national themes. 
The schools must grow the public men, ^vith inspiring policies, 
who shall dare to speak again of the divine mission of America. 


With what relief, with what applause, should we not 
receive him, were God pleased once more to turn out a true 
statesman within our borders, insisting, prophet-like, upon 
our national duties — duties to the other nations of this con- 
tinent, duties to the world ! 

I believe to be true Sir Charles Dilke's remark in his 
" Problems of Greater Britain," that either Chinese, Russian, 
or Anglo-Saxon civilization is to become predominant upon 
the globe. Whether or not it shall be the Saxon, we, rather 
than England, nyist answer, for upon us remains more of the 
dew of our youth. We are not only fresher, we are freer, 
more inventive, and tied by living bonds to nearly every 
nationality on earth. 

America must lead in the future civilization of our race. 
God has, I believe, this lasting and glorious mission for the 
great American republic, but we must prove ourselves 
worthy of it. The dream of Mr. Blaine and the dream of 
Mr. Butterfield will some day be realized. More than this : 
— not always will that morbid notion of earlier Americanism 
control us, that we are perpetually to keep aloof from the 
affairs of the Old World. \Vhy should we thus refrain? 
Wherein is it fitting that the fate of weaker nations and 
races in Africa, in Asia, and in Hie islands of the sea, should 
forever continue to be decided by Germany, Russia, Great 
Britain, France, and Italy, lands of a civilization confessedly 
less ethical than ours? Have our matchless fortune and 
power been given us for naught ? Nay ; noblesse oblige : our 
privilege puts us under bond to help the weaker. Where is 
the prophet-statesman — the Mohammed or the Savonorola — 
who shall affectingly expound to us our national calling ? 
The schools of America must raise him up. 



Ibsen's social dramas are becoming very well known among 
us. Scholars and critics read them and find in them a new 
and original dramatic form ; the fashionable world reads one 
of them and talks about them all. Their tendency is usually 
condemned both in the review and in the drawing-room ; and 
indeed he is a very bold thinker who in our society will 
defend the denotement of a DolVs Souse. However, we all 
know, unless we close our eyes to the world about us, that 
society has its ailments, and we must all admit that the diag- 
nosis made by the fearless Norseman is the work of no clumsy 
quack. Insincerity in the thousand and one relations of daily 
life is too common, and a revolt against it by a great literary 
artist is most salutary, and yet, the social dramas are wanting 
in the artistic stuff that produces in the reader the highest 
enjoyment. They are written in prose bare of ornament ; they 
possess little or no wit and humor ; they never pretend to the 
romantic swing of the imagination ; everywhere hypocrisy in 
some aspect is the theme ; everywhere the conventions of so- 
ciety are lashed with scorpions. Ought not this dark picture 
of life to be relieved by a light and warmth from some source ? 
In some of his early plays, though he then looked upon the 
riffraff of humanity with his present uncompromising eye, 
Ibsen made his scorn highly palatable by the deepest lyrical 
feeling, magnificent scenery, and the sensuous flow of the 
richest poetry. Such a play is the dramatic poem entitled 
Brandy which foreign critics have pronounced the most re- 
markable literary production since Faust, But among Eng- 
lish readers, judging from recent criticisms of Ibsen, it is 
known only by name. Hence we hope a welcome service 
will be performed by presenting here its outline. Its drift 
will be apparent. There will constantly be kept before us a 
man who attempts to apply to life an impossible formula; 
after sacrificing to it for five years, if the world's decision is 



accepted he miserably fails. But does he really fail ? No ; 
his reward has been in the struggles and victories of the 
spirit, in the mighty personality developed thereby. 

The opening scene of this dramatic poem is a vast mountain 
wilderness, an immense snow-field at the head of a Norwegian 
fjord. Fog, thick and heavy, is condensing into luin ; it is 
early morning. Brand, a young priest, with staff and scrip, 
is slowly moving over the snow towards the west ; he is just 
stepping on the thin snow crust, beneath which is flowing a 
deep stream, formed from the melting snow, when a peasant 
warns him of his danger. He stops only long enough to lay 
bare the peasant*s apparently noble conduct. What does he 
find? — that the peasant has no conception of self-sacrifice, 
that he rescues mountain travellers from the abyss, simply be- 
cause the courts hold him responsible for their lives, because 
prison-bars and chains very disagreeably rise up before his 
selfish vision. Brand goes on. The rising sun breaks through 
the mist and transforms the mountain wilderness into the full 
beauty of a summer morning. Agnes and Einar are tripping 
up the valley from the south, over the heather, shining in the 
sunlight like butterflies — as thoughtless, too, and as happy. 
Einar is a young painter, who has been sauntering about 
scene-hunting ; in his wanderings he has met Agnes, who had 
come from the city to drink into her weak lungs the air, sun, 
and pine odor, of the mountains. They are just from their 
betrothal feast in the valley below, from song, dance, and 
wine, and are on their way to the fjord, whence they will sail 
away for their parents' blessing, and to an endless honey-moon. 
Leaping along, hand-in-hand, they are on the very edge of a 
precipice, concealed by overhanging drifts of snow; the shout 
of Brand, from above, saves them. In a moment, priest and 
painter recognize each other as university acquaintances. 
Einar is in high joy, for here is an unexpected guest to his 
wedding. But Brand, though he is going in the same direc- 
tion as the lovers, is on his way to no marriage feast, but to 
God's funeral. The god of the North, who has been ailing 
for a thousand years, who has long been an old man in 
second childhood, in slippers, skull cap, and spectacles,, is 
dying. . In place of this imbecile godfather, now in his 
death throes, Brand would enthrone a Being possessing the 
youth and strength of a Herakles, the sternness and awf ulness 
of Jehovah; instead of a god, squeaking out his commands in 

ibsen's brand. 83 

a voice that can only frighten children, this generation needs 
a god who speaks in thunder and flashes in lightning. Hay- 
ing no respect for their harmless object of worship, men are 
roaming about with no ideals ; to-day they are this, to-morrow 
that, never anything wholly. " The human spirit has been, 
so to speak, broken up and retailed about, until the mere torso 
is left. Its head and hands must be found and united to the 
mutilated trunk, then the God of old will recognize this 
greatest and noblest creation, Adam, young and strong," 

The lovers resume their journey towards the fjord; but 
Agnes is not the Agnes of an hour ago. She had never 
before seen a Brand, and as he spoke he seemed in moral 
strength one of the giants of romance. Einar points out to 
her in the distance the gold and silver glitter of the water 
and the steamer waiting to bear them to the warm south, but 
her butterfly spirit has fled. Yonder cloud that for a 
moment hides the face of the sun is the coimterpart of the 
shadow passing over her heart. By another route Brand 
goes on westward. We get a glimpse of him standing on the 
lofty cliffs overhanging a little village by the fjord side ; he 
is speaking to himself. The scene before him is familiar, 
for it is his birthplace ; but it no longer interests him, — even 
the old brown church yonder by the river side looks small 
and contemptible. Suddenly he is disturbed by stones fall- 
ing about him. Gerd, a wild half-gypsy being of the moun- 
tains, imagines that a foul hawk with red and yellow about 
the eyes is trying to clutch her in his claws ; at this ghastly 
creation of her brain she is throwing stones. She reads 
vacillation in the priest's face, and attempts to allure him 
from the ugly church of men to the great ice church of the 
mountains, where the force and avalanche chant masses, where 
the wind on the rampart of the glacier is the preacher, where 
the hawk never sails. 

Brand recovers from his wavering. Every troll that under 
the disguise of thoughtlessness, stupidity, or madness has 
broken down men's mind shall be sent to its grave. Then in 
the new free world we shall no longer be caricatures of what 
God made us, but very Adams. 

By their different ways priest and lovers arrive at the fjord. 
Near the church sits the parish bailiff, doling out provisions to 
hungry men and women. It is a hard year for them. Sep- 
tember frosts have nipped their grain, disease has fatten on 




the cattle, and the folk are starving. When asked for aid, 
{ Brand speaks out; disease and famine are God^s ways of 

pricking cowards to action. A terrific storm strikes the fjord. 
Old women declare that the hard-hearted words of the 
stranger have aroused God's anger; with one thunderous 
I voice the crowd cries, " Stone him, stab his unfeeling heart." 

' While the bailiff is quieting the tumult, a woman wild with 

grief comes running down the hill in search of a priest to ab- 
solve her husband. Her little household on the other side of 
the fjord is stricken by the famine. Her husband, demonized 
by hunger, this morning stabbed the babe, dying at her empty 
breast, and then attempted self-slaughter. In his remorse he 
cannot live and dares not die. There is no sham about this 
case of need, for the future of a human soul is at stake. 
Accordingly Brand at once makes known his chamcter as 
priest, and offers to administer the sacrament to the dying 
wretch. But how shall he reach the other side of the fjord ? 
The bridge, above, over which the woman crossed, has been 
carried away by the morning flood, and the fjord is boiling 
and foaming. Brand finds a boatman who will risk hib boat, 
but no one will step in with him, not even the wild woman 
who summons him ; life, forsooth, is too precious to be thrown 
away, yet someone must tend the sheet and bail the boat 
while the priest stands at the rudder. Agnes, after long 
pleading in vain with Einar to do his duty, presents herself, 
if necessary, an offering to the waves. 

It is late in the afternoon. The fjord lies quiet and bright; 
Brand stands by the hut of the dead maniac whose last hours 
were calmed by priestly assurances of a God of mercy. His 
heroic daring on the fjord dazzled the peasants, and from 
those very men who a few hours ago threatened to stone liim 
to death, now appears a delegation to ask him to settle in 
their poverty-stricken parish. The young priest, as he is 
entering the world of activity, though his goal stands out 
clearly before him, forms a very romantic conception of the 
way leading to it. He imagines that issuing from some mag- 
nificent church, from the midst of silken banners, golden 
chalices, incense, and songs of victory, his fiery words are to 
penetrate and renew the hearts of men. The sin and suffer- 
ing of a starving parish, shut out from the wide world by the 
steep walls of a f joid, are disagreeable to him ; with scorn he 
dismisses the delegation. He approaches Agnes sitting near 

ibsen's bband. 85 

the boat on the beach. She is entranced by a heavenly vision ; 
the world of pleasure that she had known as the betrothed 
of Einar, as she now looks back upon it, is a vast waste dark 
and lifeless ; bending over her in the blue heavens is a form, 
full of sorrow and love, bright and mild as the morning red, 
and she hears voices singing, and beseeching " Do thy work, 
do thy duty." 

Brand was not quite satisfied with himself for driving 
away the men who asked him to become their priest. And 
now, in contrast with Agnes' vision of simple work and duty, 
his own conduct appears selfish ; it is now plain to him that 
the new world and the new Adam must be first created in 
his own heart. All regard for self is extinguished ; Quixotic 
dreams of making over the whole human race vanish like a 
mere flash on a distant glacier. He will remain, and labor 
first of all for the salvation of the few in the valley of his 
childhood ; the. uncompromising formula, " All or nothing" 
(unless you give up all, your offering is nothing), which he 
is ever ready to apply to the conduct of others, he takes for 
his own. Agnes wishes to share the hardships of his life. 
He we^fna her that should she remain with him she must live 
in the twilight down among the cliffs, that there must never 
be any wincing or haggling though death threaten. She 
chooses deliberately to go into the night through death, for 
beyond she see the glimmering of morning. 

For three years Brand has been a parish priest. His 
harsh rule of conduct has been put to no crucial test in his 
own life. • His dying mother, an old hag of the valley, has 
been consigned to hell, because she would not break loose 
from all the golden chains that bound her to the earth ; but 
her soul was, to a son who admits no distinction between 
relative and stranger, of no more worth than any one of the 
thousands hanging by tooth and nail on the brink of perdi- 
tion. When he renounced the wide world for a narrow life 
among ignorant fishermen by the fjord, he looked upon his 
act as a martyr's sacrifice to duty ; but Agnes' love for him, 
so deep and so novel, is full compensation for the loss of an 
anticipated great name. And when a son is bom, as one 
was a few months ago, Brand feels the joy of life in all its 
giddy extravagance. So long and so happily repressed, the 
strife between nature and love soon breaks forth into the 
inevitable tragedy. 


Little Alf is in a fever. The parish physician informs the 
parents that unless they leave the cold, damp vale their son 
will surely die. For a moment the father gives way to his 
affection ; he will depart this very evening. The phjrsician, 
who had before taken him to task for his hard philosophy, 
quietly reminds him that there must be something wrong 
with a doctrine the preacher can't practise ; from a peasant, 
too. Brand hears the accusation that in his "All or nothing" 
he has set up for his parishioners an ideal he is unwilling to 
strive for. He is on the steps of his cottage waiting for 
Agnes who is within. As she comes out with Alf in her 
arms, dressed for the journey, she looks at her husband, 
frightened ; for in his face is visible the conflict between love 
and duty, stirred up in heart and head by physician and 
peasant. From the mountains to the cottage Gerd is run- 
ning, screaming, and clapping her hands in glee, for the 
great ice church is now to be honored ; the ugly church of 
men is closed and fastened with lock and bolt, and the 
hawk is sailing away with a priest on his back ; on the moun- 
tain tops bells are ringing, bells calling to life the dwarfs 
and trolls the new priest had driven into the sea ; in long 
processions these ghastly forms are clambering up the moun- 
tains. Shuddering with terror before this madness of Nature, 
this prophecy of victorious evil, Brand points to the cottage 
door, sapng to Agnes that he was priest before parent. 

It is Christmas eve ; the scene is at the parsonage ; without 
big flakes of snow are falling on Alf 's newly made grave. 
Thinking herself unobserved, Agnes, weak and feverish from 
her sorrow, kneels down by a bureau and, one by one, takes 
from a drawer the many little pieces of a child's apparel ; " here 
are the christening cloak and veil ; here the very scarf and 
sacque Alf wore the first time we took him out into the air — 
'twas too long then, but soon it became too short and was here 
laid away ; and here are his mittens and stockings too — what 
hands and what legs; and that — that is a blanket we 
wrapped him in for his journey from the cold fjord." A 
knocking is heard at the front door; she turns her head, sees 
Brand near her, and shrieks. The door bursts open; in 
runs a gypsy with a child in her arms. The gypsy no sooner 
sees the rich mother than she demands the clothes for her 
freezing child. Utterly bewildered, Agnes hears from her 
Stem husband, " You see your duty." The drawer is emptied, 

ibsen's brand. ^ • 87 

and the gypsy hastens out into the night. As Brand is turn- 
ing away from Agnes, impatient because a broken-hearted 
mother does not gladly give up the relics of her love, she 
confessed that she has not only given unwillingly but has also 
been guilty of deceit. Then she takes from her bosom a 
little cap, once wet with Alf s death sweat and her own tears, 
and as an unreserved offering, her all, she hands it to Brand, 
who hastens to the steps and throws it at the departing 
gypsy. Trembling with the joy of self-conquest, the obedient 
wife falls into the arms of her husband. . Through the crush- 
ing of a mother's love she has attained his ideal ; she has 
seen Jehovah, the restored God, face to face. But who looks 
upon that splendor and awfulness must die. When Brand 
clearly sees that if Agnes is to live, he must get back all the 
gypsy has taken from her and leave their sunless home, the 
very foundations of his giant being are shaken ; with hands 
over his aching brain, he weeps, falls helpless, and cries to 
the merciful Saviour for light. That spirit which in the form 
of a beautiful woman once came down from the bosom of the 
Almighty Father to be his strength and his life — must she 
now be summoned away ? His duty as priest demands the 
sacrifice ; he must push on to the end ; " the victory of vic- 
tories is to lose all." 

A year and a half passes by. Agnes is dead. With 
wealth inherited from his mother. Brand has built a new 
parish church which is to be consecrated to-day. Though 
the sun has not yet risen, the fjord is white with sails bearing 
priests and their congregations from neighboring and distant 
parishes to the celebration. Brand is within the new church 
at the organ ; he has, perhaps, been awake all night, for since 
the loss of Agnes he rarely sleeps. His sorrow and anguish, 
which, by heroic effort of the will, he has thus far repressed, 
the organ voices in spite of bim ; it weeps and moans, and 
suddenly in a piercing discord shrieks, shrieks, and drives 
him in fright to the church steps.* Here he is met by his 
bishop, who informs him that the service cannot begin before 
assurances are given that the church will be conveyed to the 
state. The priest replies : The crowning work of his min- 
istry shall be no piece of showy architecture dedicated to 
Satan ; whatever the offering, he will follow the maxim of his 
life to its logical conclusion ; the world may steal from him 
his heart-blood, but it shall never buy his soul. 




I 88 • THE ABEKA. 

A curious and impatient mass of men, women, and children, 
priests, and ofl&cials, are crowding up to the church, clamor- 
ing for admittance. Brand still standing on the steps har- 

,; angues them. He had dreamed of a great church which 

I was to shadow under its protection not only faith and learn- 

ing, but all that is in life, all that silently goes on in man's 
heart, — the perplexities of day, the repose of evening, the 

» grief of night. Alas I the dream is dreamed through ; the 

men of this generation in their stupidity can never catch his 
meaning. Only the sensuous touches them; their eye 

; brightens at a novel structure; the organ, song, and bells 

tickle their ears; they feel a nervous thrill as the priest 
lisps, whispers, and thunders, according to the rules of his 
art. Under the influence of this shine, noise, and jugglery, 
they are fairly good Christians for one day in the week and 
godless for the other six. For such a people any church 
built by human hands is only a lie ; in the name of God it 
fosters the worship of the devil. The only church large 
enough to include "All or nothing" is world wide : its floor 
is the green earth, the mountains, sea, and fjord ; its roof the 
heavens. Here in this vast church every man should find his 
work and his religion ; the duties of the day may bind his 
hands and feet to the earth, but in thought and aspiration he 
may walk the path of the stars. In the midst of a hubbub, 
some approving, some disapproving, Brand locks the church 
- door, and announcing that he is no longer priest, throws the 
key into a river flowing close by. To those possessing 
pliant backs and supple joints he grants permission to crawl 
in through the cellar hole, and then he calls upon the young 
and strong to awake from their vacillation and compromising 
attitude towards the deceits and shams of the world and 
follow him into the mountain wilderness to victory. Fired 
by these lofty words of scorn and exhortation, his hearers 
raise him upon their shoulders and in a long line rush up the 
vale; only the faint hearted and officials remain behind. 
The heroism of this band holds out until they reach the 
highest saeter in the parish ; then wet, tired, and hungry, 
they question their leader about the reward of this suffering. 
When he tells them they are to look forward to no plunder, 
but only to conquest over self and • the bloody pricks of a 
crown of thorns, they regard themselves betrayed. The 
bailiff, opportunely arriving, promises the folk that if they 



Ibsen's bbakd. 89 

will return to their homes they shall all be rich before even- 
ing, for a school of millions of herring has just entered the 
fjord. Deceived by this lie trumped up for the occasion, 
the entire herd of men, women, and children bellow forth 
against their leader, " Drive the hell-hound from the parish, 
stone him, stab him." 

Lame, bleeding, and alone, amid wind, rain, and fog. Brand 
creeps farther up into the snow and wilds of the mountains. 
He stops and looks back on the retreating peasants. Of a 
thousand followers not one has reached the heights with him ; 
on them all rests the summons to a nobler life, but the offer- 
ing — ah I that's what scares them. At length, completely 
exhausted both in mind and body from hunger, cold, and 
wounds, he sinks down into the snow, and there he sits star- 
ing like a madman, as vision after vision representing in some 
form the hopeless degradation of humanity takes possession 
of his imagination. These visions pass away and leave him 
sobbing over a lost world ; in his grief he calls upon Agnes 
to return and calm him. In a moment she stands ti-ansfigured 
in the clouds. She tells him that all his sicknesses and 
dreams spring from his impracticable rule of conduct, " All or 
nothing," and with the smiles, softness, and affection bred in 
heaven, she pleads with him to abandon his foolish attempts 
to lead back men to a paradise, long since locked and bolted, 
and to follow her to the sun and summer above. That the 
gates of Eden are forever closed against mankind, counts for 
nothing with Brand so long as the yearning to burst through 
them remains. While the heavenly form is vanishing in the 
clouds, Gerd appears in pursuit of the hawk. Brand tells her 
that his own experience has taught him that no weapon can 
make an impression on the bird : " Sometimes he falls seem- 
ingly struck through the heart by a bullet, but if you approach 
him to give the death thrust, he is always behind you with 
his proud and self-confident air, and befools you anew." This 
time Gerd has stolen from a reindeer hunter a rifle that never 
fails to kill. The heavy clouds break away, and Brand sees 
that he is under the perilous roof of the ice church. The 
glacier of his heart begins to melt; his life is a mistake; 
hitherto it has been governed by principles and laws ; in the 
future it shall flow on with the warmth and richness of a 
poem. Alas ! this resolution comes too late. Gerd puts the 
rifle to her cheek, and fires. The hawk tumbles down the 



mountain side. The world is now free from Compromise — 
only Gerd's world, the great world will still be led by its 
humdrum ideals ; a terrible crash follows the rifle shot, and 
the mountain valley is buried beneath an avalanche. From 
Brand, writhing under the falling mass, we hear the fragment 
of a cry to God about the qriantum satis of the will. From 
above a voice answers, ^^ He is deits caritatisJ* 



Of late there have been signs that the public conscience is 
gradually awaking to the dangers menacing our institutions 
from the use of money in elections. The press has begun to 
publish the truth, and the people have begun to realize it. 
The priceless privilege of suffrage in a free republic for which 
our forefathers sacrificed blood and treasure is lapsing into a 
common commodity for barter. The great increase in politi- 
cal corruption during the past few years has given an 
impetus to a demand for reform in election methods; and 
the first result of this wave of sentiment has been the 
"Australian Sjrstem of Voting," which has been adopted, 
with slight variations in minor details, in twelve States. In 
at least fifteen other States similar measures have been pro- 
posed ;*and the end is not yet. 

The salient features of the Australian System are : — 

1st. The printing of the ballot at public expense. 

2d. The control of the printed ballots by public officials. 
^ 3d. The filing of nominations with the Secretary of State. 

4th. The right of nominations independent of party. 

5th. The privacy of the voter while preparing his ballot. 

6th. The secrecy of the ballot. 

So much has been written about this system that discus- 
sion of its characteristics in detail would be superfluous. Its 
chief advantages may be epitomized in the privacy, and 
therefore the independence, of the voter. It certainly prevents 
the practice of marshalling masses of men, who through 
timidity or venality can be controlled, and marching them to 
the polls, bcdlot in hand, to vote at the behest of the " boss." 
Where the Australian law prevails, there can be no " blocks 
of five." Much improvement may fairly be expected from 
the application of tins new system. Its history from its first 
introduction in South Australia in 1857, and its subsequent 
successful development through the Australian provinces, to 
England and Canada, constitute the surest guaranty of suc- 




cess ; and the fact that the law has never been abandoned 
when once introduced is the strongest testimony to its excel- 
lence. But the " practical politician " works in devious ways. 
His ingenuity in circumventing laws is marvellous, so long 
I as he is supplied with sinews of war. Give him money or 

offices to dispose of, and his wits are equal to any emergency. 
Make it worth his while to work for " the party," and the 
party will find its quid pro quo when the returns are in. 

Granting to the Australian system all the advantages 
claimed for it, assuming that it will not be evaded, it fur- 
nishes at best only the privilege of an independent ballot at 
the polls. For the bartering and huckstering of votes for 
money all through the canvass preceding an election, it 
furnishes no relief. Gov. Abbett, of New Jersey, clearly 
pointed out this defect in the Australian Ballot law in his 
inaugural address. He says : " The wholesale bribery of 
voters is the most dangerous evil that threatens free institu- 
tions. The secrecy of the ballot will not appreciably prevent 
the use of money to purchase voters. The bribegiver will 
confidently and safely rely upon the promise of the elector 
to vote the ticket agreed upon. The claim made that there 
would be no bribery where the ballot was secret, because the 
bribegiver would fear that the voter would cheat him and 
vote some other ticket, rests upon theoretical speculation and 
not upon practical knowledge of the class of men who sell 
their votes. There is an old adage that there is * honor 
among thieves ; ' — the same kind of honor would, in nine 
cases out of ten, deliver the purchased vote as promised." 

The Australian Ballot law is indequate to meet the needs. 
The vital question is, how to prevent the corrupt use of 
money. The old bribery laws have failed to do it, and are 
practically dead letters. A new remedy must be found. 

The English people have had the same evil to contend 
with, and they have mastered it. When they rid themselves 
of the " Rotten Borough " syBtem they began a course of legis- 
lation which continued until a few years ago. The Corrupt 
Practices Prevention Acts of 1854, 1863, and 1879, the 
Representation of the People Acts of 1867 and 1868, the 
Parliamentary Elections Acts of 1868 and 1876, and the 
Ballot Act of 1872 (Australian System) were all dkected 
towards securing the purity of elections. Yet all of these 
enactments were found insufficient to prevent fraud, intimi- 


dation, and corruption. The expenses of a Parliamentary- 
election were still enormous, and were variously estimated at 
$15,000,000 to $20,000,000. But the keystone of the elec- 
toral-reform arch was added when the Corrupt and Illegal 
Practices Prevention Act of 1883 was adopted. A marvel- 
lous success has attended the introduction of this law. Since 
then elections in England have been peaceably and honestly 
conducted, and the total expenses have fallen from $20,000,- 
000 to less than $3,000,000. Election accounts had been 
public there ever since the adoption of the Act of 1854, yet 
corruption was not prevented. It required the Act of 1883, 
with its detailed schedules, to accomplish that end. These 
schedules specify very minutely in what way money may be 
used; fix a maximum scale of expenditure according to 
population of election districts ; and furnish exact forms of 
accounts to be rendered and affidavits to be made by the 
candidate and his election agent. 

The different acts together make a book of over two hun- 
dred and fifty pages. They are drawn with great elaborate- 
ness of detail in des6ribiiig methods of conducting elections, 
in defining offences, and prescribing remedies and punish- 
ment for violations of the law ; all of which could only be 
enumerated at great length. The essential distinction 
between the Act of 1883 and its predecessors lies in two 
points: 1st. The limitation of the candidate's expenses; 
and 2d. The accounting for the expenses according to the 
schedules provided by the Act. • 

These are the features of the most interest to Americans 
at the present time. How far they can be imitated in the 
United States is a difficult question which is now engaging 
the attention of thoughtful minds. That the English law 
cannot be grafted bodily upon our legislation, is at once 
obvious to any one familiar with the political methods in 
this country, upon a reading of the English Act. The 
chief difference lies in the manner of conducting the can- 
vass for election. In England each candidate who " stands " 
for election in Parliament, is represented by a duly author- 
ized agent, and the law prescribes minutely what the candi- 
date may do, and what his agent may do. The agent's 
funjctions are as definite as those bf any business agent, and 
his responsibility is as direct. He represents his principal, — 
the candidate. In the United States, on the other hand, 


everything is done through the machinery of "the party." 
The candidate is nominated with a large number of other 
candidates on the ticket by the party convention ; the cen- 
tral committee, district, city, county, state or national, as 
the case may be, is selected by " the party " ; the committee 
assesses the candidates, raises money f ro|n all possible sources, 
manages the canvass, and generally represents " the party." 
Theoretically, the committee is the servant of the party; 
practically it is the party's master. It is usually the auto- 
cratic representative of its own caprices. It perpetuates 
itself in power by manipulation of the party machinery, and 
uses the money extracted from the candidates and their 
friends to get a firmer grip for the next campaign. 

In order to embody the basic principles of the English Act 
in our laws, it is necessary : first, to impose limitations upon 
candidates ; second, to restrict the authority and fix the respon- 
sibility of committees. The candidate and the committee must 
be made in a legal sense, more interdependent, and both must 
be held directly responsible. The candidate should be limited 
in the amount he can contribute, and the purpose to which 
his contribution can be applied. Every person handling money 
furnished by him, or for him should be made his agent, and 
as far as possible, he should be held responsible for the acts 
of his party's committee ; at least, to the extent that it acts 
on his behalf. The committee, on the other hand, should be 
held accountable to the candidates, as well as to the public, 
for the funds in its hands; and the manner of expending them 
should be regulated by law either in the body of the statute 
or in schedules attached to it. 

Attempts at legislation have recently been made in several 
States intended to cure the corruption at elections. In 1889 
new anti-bribeiy laws were passed in Indiana and Wisconsm. 
The same year bills were introduced in the legislatures of 
New York, Massachusetts, and Missouri, all of which, among 
other provisions, required candidates to file statements of 
their expenses. In addition, the Massachusetts bill called 
for statements from political clubs and committees ; while the 
Missouri bill — the first of its kind in that respect — limited 
the expenses which candidates were allowed to incur. None 
of these bills passed. In 1890, however, the State of New 
York adopted the first distinctive " Corrupt Practices Act " 
in this country* This law, after making strict provisions 


against bribery, prohibits the use of " pay envelopes " and all 
forms of intimidation by employers, and then requires the 
filing by every candidate, of a sworn statement " showing in 
detail all the moneys contributed or expended by him, directly 
or indirectly, by himself or through any other person, in aid 
of his election." This marks an important step in the history 
of electoral reform, and the results of the experiment in New 
York will be watched with deep interest. Yet each of these 
efforts has been only partial and tentative. If the features of 
all these measures had been blended in one Act and that Act 
adopted in every State of the Union, it is safe to say that cor- 
ruption in elections would have been I'educed to a minimum, 
if not virtually stopped. But the agitation of this topic is not 
ended. It has not fairly begun ; and the sentiment that has been 
like a gentle breeze hitherto, is likely to become a hurricane. 

Some suggestions therefore, may not seem out of place at 
this time, as to the elements which ought to enter into this 
sort of legislation. Among these elements may be stated 
the following : — 

First. A careful definition of what constitutes " corrupt 
practices," including bribery, personation of real or fictitious 
persons, undue influence or intimidation; and ** treating," 
f. e.j giving or receiving food or drink corruptly for votes or 
political iiifluence. 

Second. Punishment of personation as a felony; this 
being one of the most vicious forms of election fraud. 

Third. Punishment for bribery : — 

a. Of the bribe-taker, for a misdemeanor; because the 
recipient is usually guilty of but a single act, and likely to 
be poor, ignorant, wretched and under great temptation. 

J. Of the bribe-giver, for a felony ; because he who 
bribes one will try to bribe many, and becomes a tempter, 
and the perverter of public morals. 

Fourth. Liability of the briber to civil action for a sum 
certain on the suit of any person. This is to reach those who 
guard their pockets more closely than their morals and fear 
the cupidity of individuals more than the consciences of 
apathetic prosecuting oflicers. 

Fifth, Punishment of other offences as misdemeanors, 
because of less gravity than those mentioned. 

Sixth. Limitation of amount to be expended by the candi- 
dates, directly or indirectly, with the objects to which and 

J ^Hz/ii^ ^zc^i:^ 




The nearer the train drew toward #La Crosse, the soberer 
the little gi'oup of " vets " became. On the long way from 
New Orleans they h^d beguiled tedium with jokes and 
friendly chaff ; or with planning with elaborate detail what 
they were going to do now, after the war. A long journey, 
slowly, irregularly, yet persistently pushing northward. 
When they entered on Wisconsin Territory they gave a 
cheer, and another when they reached Madison, but after 
that they sank into a dumb expectancy. Comrades dropped 
off at one or two points beyond, until there were only four 
or five left who were bound for La Ci-osse County. 

Three of them were gaunt and brown, the fourth was 
gaunt and pale, with signs of fever and ague upon him. 
One had a great scar down his temple ; one limped ; and they 
all had unnaturally large bright eyes, showing emaciation. 
There were no bands greeting them at the stations, no banks 
of gaily-dressed ladies waving handkerchiefs and shouting 
" bravo " ; as they came in on the caboose of a freight train 
into the towns that had cheered and blared at them on their 
way to war. As they looked out or stepped upon the plat- 
form for a moment, as the train stood at the station, the 
loafers looked at them indifferently. Their blue coats, dusty 
and grimy, were too familiar now to excite notice, much less 
a friendly word. They were the last of the anny to return, 
and the loafers were surfeited with such sights. 

The train jogged forward so slowly that it seemed likely 
to be midnight before they should reach La Crosse. The 
little squad of " vets " grumbled and swore, but it was no 
use, the train would not hurry ; and as a matter of fact, it 
was nearly two o'clock when the engine whistled " down 



Most of the group were fanners, Uving in districts several 
miles out of the town, and all were poor. 
, "Now, boys," said Private Smith, he of the fever and 

^ \ ague, " we are landed in La Crosse in the night. ^We've got 

to stay somewhere till momin'. Now I aint got no two 
dollars to waste on a hotel. I've got a wife and children, so 
I'm goin* to roost on a bench, and take the cost of a bed out 
of my hide." 

" Same here," put in one of the other men. " Hide'll 
grow on again, dollars come hard. It's goin' to be mighty 
hot skirmishin' to find a dollar these days." 

" Don't think they'll be a deputation of citizens waitin' to 
'scort us to a hotel, eh ? " said another. His sarcasm was 
too obvious to require an answer. 

Smith went on : " Then at daybreak we'll start f r home, 
at least I will." 

" Well, I'll be dumned if I'll take two dollars out o'wy 
hide," one of the younger men said. " I'm goin' to a hotel, 
ef I don't never lay up a cent." 

" That'll do f r you," said Smith ; " but if you had a 
wife an' three young 'uns dependin' on yeh — " 

" Which I aint, thank the Lord ! and don't intend havin' 
while the court knows itself." 

The station was deserted, chill, and dark, as they came 
into it at exactly a quarter to two in the morning. Lit by 
the oil lamps that flared a dull red light over the dingy 
benches, the waiting-room was not an inviting place. The 
younger man went off to look up a hotel, while the rest re- 
mained and prepared to camp down on the floor and benches. 
Smith was attended to tenderly by the other men, who spread 
their blankets on the bench for him, and by robbing them- 
selves made quite a comfortable bed, though the narrowness 
of the bench made his sleeping precarious. 

It was chill, though August, and the two men sitting with 
bowed heads grew stiff with cold and weariness, and were 
forced to rise now and again, and walk about to warm their 
stiffened limbs. It didn't occur to them, probably, to con- 
trast their coming home with their going forth, or with the 
coming home of the generals, colonels, or even captains — 
but to Private Smith, at any rate, there came a sickness at 
heart almost deadly, as he lay there on his hard bed and 
went over his situation. 


In the deep of the night, lying on a board in the town 
where he had enlisted three years ago, all elation and enthu- 
siasm gone out of him, he faced the fact that with the joy of 
home comiAg was mingled the bitter juice of care. He saw 
himself sick, worn out, taking up the work on his half-cleared 
farm, the inevitable mortgage standing ready with open jaw 
to swallow half his earnings. He had given three years of 
his life for a mere pittance of pay, and now — 

Morning dawned at last, slowly, with a pale yellow dome 
of light rising silently above the bluffs which stand like some 
huge battlemented castle, just east of the city. Out to the 
left the great river swept on its massive, yet silent, way to 
the south. Jays called across the river from hillside to hill- 
side, through the clear, beautiful air, and hawks began to 
skim the tops of the hills. The two vets were astir early, 
but Private Smith had fallen at last into a sleep, and they 
went out without waking him. He lay on his knapsack, his 
gaunt face turned toward the ceiling, his hands clasped on 
his breast, with a curious pathetic effect of weakness and 

An engine switching near woke him at last, and he slowly 
sat up and stared about. He looked out of the window, and 
saw that the sun was lightening the hills across the river. 
He rose and brushed his hair as well as he could, folded hia 
blankets up, and went out to find his companions. They 
stood gazing silently at the river and at the hills. 

" Looks nat'ral, don't it? " they said, as he came out. 

"That's what it does," he replied. "An' it looks good. 
D'yeh see that peak ? " He pointed at a beautiful sym- 
metrical peak, rising like a slightly truncated cone, so high 
that it seemed the very highest of them all. It was lighted 
by the morning sun till it glowed like a beacon, and a light 
scarf of gray morning fog was rolling up its shadowed side. 

" My farm's just beyond that. Now, ef I can only ketch 
a ride, we'll be home by dinner time." 

" I'm talkin' about breakfast," said one of the others. 

" I guess it's one more meal o' hardtack f'r me," said 
Smith. They foraged around, and finally found a restaurant 
with a sleepy old German behind the counter, and procured 
some coffee, which they drank to wash down their hardtack. 

" Time'U come," said Smith, holding up a piece by the cor- 
ner, " when this'll be a curiosity." 



1 1 


" I hope to God it will ! I bet I've chawed hardtack 
enough to shingle every house in the coolly. I've chawed it 
when my lampers was down, and when they wasn't. I've 
took it dry, soaked, and mashed. I've had it wormy, musty, 
' sour, and blue-mouWy. I've had it in little bits and big bits ; 

'fore coffee an' after coffee. I'm ready f'r a change. I'd 
like t' git hoi' jest about now o' some of the hot biscuits my 
' wife c'n make when she lays hei'self out f'r company." 

"Well, if you set there gablin', you'll never see yer wife." 
I " Come on," said Private Smith. " Wait a moment, boys ; 

! less take suthin'. It's on me." He led them to the rusty 

tin dipper which hung on a nail beside the wooden water 
pail, and they grinned and drank. (Things were primitive 
in La Crosse then.) Then shouldering their blankets and 
muskets, which they were " taking home to the boys," they 
struck out on their last march. 

" They called that coffee, Jay vy," grumbled one of them, 
" but it never went by the road where government Jay vy re- 
sides. I reckon I know coffee from peas." 

They kept together on the road along the turnpike, and 
up the winding road by the river, which they followed for 
some mUes. The river was very lovely, curving down 
along its sandy beds, pausing now and then under broad bass- 
wood trees, or running in dark, swift, silent cuiTcnts under 
tangles of wild grape-vines, and drooping alders, and haw 
trees. At one of these lovely spots the three vets sat down 
on the thick green sward to rest, " on Smith's account." 
The leaves of the trees were as fresh and green as June, the 
jays called cheery greetings to them, and kingfishers darted to 
and fro, with swooping, noiseless flight. 

" I tell yeh, boys, this knocks the swamps of Loueesiana 
into kingdom come." 

" You bet. All they c'n raise down there is snakes, nig- 
gers, and p'rticler hell." 

" An' fightin' men," put in the older man. 

" An' fightin' men. If I had a good hook an' line I'd 
sneak a pick'rel out o' that pond. Say, remember that time 
I shot that alligator — " 

" I guess we'd better be crawlin' along," inteiTupted Smith, 
rising and shouldering his knapsack, with considerable effort, 
which he tried to hide. 

" Say, Smith, lemme give you a lift on that." 


" I guess I c'n manage," said Smith, grimly. 

" ' Course. But, yeh see, I may not have a chance right 
off to pay yeh back for the times ye've carried my gun and 
hull caboodle. Say, now, gimme that gun, anyway." 

" All right, if yeh feel like it, Jim," Smith replied, and 
they trudged along doggedly in the sun, which was getting 
higher and hotter each half mile. 

" Aint it queer they aint no teams comin' along ? " 

" Well, no, seein's it's Sunday." 

" By jinks, that's a fact ! It is Sunday. I'll git home in 
time f 'r dinner, sure. She don't hev dinner usially till about 
one on Sundays." And he fell into a muse, in which he 

" Well, I'll git home jest about six o'clock, jest about when 
the boys are milkin' the cows," said old Jim Cranby. " I'll 
step into the barn, an' then I'll say, ' HeaA / why aint this 
milkin' done before this time o' day ? ' An' then won't they 
yell, " he added, slapping his thigh in great glee. 

Smith went on. " I'll jest go up the path. Old Rover'U 
come down the road to meet me. He won't bark ; he'll know 
me, an' he'll come down waggin' his tail an' showin' his teeth. 
That's his way of laughin'. An' so I'll walk up to the 
kitchen door, an' I'll say, ' Dinner f 'r a hungry man ! ' An' 
then she'll jump up, an' — " 

He couldn't go on. His voice choked at the thought of 
it. Saunders, the third man, hardly uttered a word. He 
walked silently behind the others. He had lost his wife the 
first year he was in the army. She died of pneumonia caught 
in the autumn rains, while working in the fields on his place. 

They plodded along till at last they canje to a parting of 
the ways. To the right the road continued up the main val- 
ley ; to the left it went over the ridge. 

" Well, boys," began Smith, as they grounded their mus- 
kets and looked away up the valley, "here's where we 
shake hands. We've marched together a good many miles, 
an' now I s'pose we're done." 

" Yes, I don't think we'll do any more of it f'r a while. I 
don't want to, I know." 

*' I hope I'll see yeh, once in a while, boys, to talk over 
old times." 

" Of course," said Saunders, whose voice trembled a little, 
too. " It aint exactly like dyin '. " 


"But we'd ought'r go home with you, " said the 
younger man. " You never'll climb that ridge with all them 
things on yer back." 

" Oh, I'm aU right ! Don't worry about me. Every step 
takes me nearer home, yeh see. Well, good-by, boys." 

They shook hands. " Good-by. Good luck." 

" Same to you. Lemme know how you find things at 

He turned once before they passed out of sight, and waved 
his cap, and they did the same, and all yelled. Then all 
marched away with their long, steady, loping, veteran step. 
The solitary climber in blue walked on for a time, with his 
mind filled with the kindness of his comrades, and musing 
upon the many jolly days they had had together in camp and 

He thought of his chum, Billy Tripp. Poor Billy ! A 
" minie " ball fell into his breast one day, fell wailing like a cat, 
and tore a great ragged hole into his heart. He looked f or^ 
ward to a sad scene with Billy's mother and sweetheart. 
They would want to know all about it. He tried to recall 
all that Billy had said, and the particulars of it, but there 
was little to remember, just that wild wailing sound high in 
the air, 'a dull slap, a short, quick, expulsive groan, and the 
boy lay with his face in the dirt in the ploughed field they 
were marching across. 

That was all. But all the scenes he had since been through 
had not dimmed the horror, the terror of that moment, when 
his boy comrade fell, with only a breath between a laugh and 
a death-groan. Poor handsome Billy! Worth millions of 
dollars was his young life. 

These sombre recollections gave way at length to more 
cheerful feelings as he began to approach his home coule. 
The fields and houses grew familiar, and in one or two he 
was greeted by people seated in the doorway. But he was 
in no mood to talk, and pushed on steadily, though he 
stopped and accepted a drink of milk once at the well-side 
of a neighbor. 

The sun was getting hot on that slope, and his step grew 
slower, in spite of his iron resolution. He sat down several 
times to rest. Slowly he crawled up the rough, reddish brown 
road, which wound along the hillside, under great trees, 
through dense groves of jack oaks, with tree-tops far below 


him on his left hand, and the hills far above him on his right. 
He crawled along like some minute wingless variety of fly. 

He ate some hardtack, sauced with wild berries, when he 
reached the summit of the ridge, and sat there for some time, 
looking down into his home could. 

Sombre, pathetic figure ! His wide, round, gray eyes gaz- 
ing down into the beautiful valley, seeing and not seeing, the 
splendid cloud-shadows sweeping over the western hills, and 
across the green and yellow wheat far 'below. His head 
drooped forward on his palm, his shoulders took on a tired 
stoop, his cheek bones showed painfully. An observer might 
have said, ^^ He is looking down upon his own grave." 


Sunday comes in a western wheat harvest with such sweet 
and sudden relaxation to man and beast, that it would be 
holy for that i^eason, if for no other. And Sundays are usu- 
ally fair in harvest time. As one goes out into the field in 
the hot morning sunshine, with no sound abroad save the 
crickets and the indescribably pleasant, silken rustling of the 
ripened grain, the reaper and the very sheaves in the stubble 
seem to be resting, dreaming. 

Around the house, in the shade of the trees, the men sit, 
smoking, dozing, or reading the papers, while the women, 
never resting, move about at the housework. Tlie men eat 
on Sundays about the same as on other days, and breakfast 
is no sooner over and out of the way than dinner begins. 

But at the Smith farm there were no men dozing or read- 
ing. Mrs. Smith was alone with her three children, Mary, 
nine. Tommy, six, and little Ted, just past four. Her farm, 
rented to a neighbor, lay at the head of a could or narrow 
guUey, made at some far-oJBf post-glacial period by the vast 
and angry floods of water which gullied these tremendous 
furrows in the level prairie — furrows so deep that undis- 
turbed portions of the original level rose like hills on either 
side, — rose to quite considerable mountains. 

The chickens wakened her as usual that Sabbath morning 
from dreams of her absent husband, from whom she had not 
heard for weeks. The shadows drifted over the hills, down 
the slopes, across the wheat, and up the opposite wall in 
leisurely way, as if, being Sunday, they could " take it easy," 


also. The fowls clustered about the housewife as she went 
out into the yard. Fuzzy little chickens swarmed out from 
the coops where their clucking and perpetually disgruntled 
mothers tramped about, petulantly thrusting their heads 
through the spaces between the slats. 

A cow called in a deep, musical bass, and a calf answered 
from a little pen near by, and a pig scurried guiltily out of 
the cabbages. Seeing all this, seeing the pig in the cabbages, 
the tangle of grass in the garden, the broken fence which she 
had mended again and again — the little woman, hardly more 
tlian a girl, sat down and cried. The bright Sabbath morn- 
ing was only a mockery without him ! 

A few years ago they had bought this farm, paying part, 
mortgaging the rest in the usual way. Edward Smith was a 
man of terrible energy. He worked " nights and Sundays," 
as the saying goes, to clear the farm of its brush and of its 
insatiate mortgage. In the midst of his herculean struggle 
came the call for volunteers, and with the grim and unselfish 
devotion to his country which made the Eagle Brigade able 
to " whip its weight in wild cats," he threw down his scythe 
and his grub-axe, turned his cattle loose, and became a blue- 
coated cog in a vast machine for killing men, and not 
thistles. While the millionnaire sent his money to England 
for safe keeping, this man, with hid girl wife and three 
babies, left them on a mortgaged farm, and went away to 
fight for an idea. It was foolish, but it was sublime, for all 

That was three years before, and the young wife, sitting 
on the well-curb on this bright Sabbath harvest morning, was 
righteously rebellious. It seemed to her that she had borne 
her share of the country's sorrow. Two brothers had been 
killed, the renter in whose hands her husband had left the 
farm had proved the villain, one year the farm was without 
crops, and now the over-ripe grain was waiting the tardy 
hand of the neighbor who had rented it, and who was cutting 
Jj', his own grain first. 

jj [ About six weeks before she had received a letter saying, 

" We'll be discharged in a little while." But no other 
word had come from him. She had seen by the papers that 
his army was being discharged, and from day to day, other 
soldiers slowly percolated in blue streams back into the 
State and county, but still her private did not return. 




Each week she had told the children that he was coming, 
and she had watched the road so long that it had become 
unconscious. As she stood at the well, or by the kitchen 
door, her eyes were fixed unthinkingly on the road that 
wound down the could. Nothing weai-s on the human soul 
like waiting. If the stranded mariner, searching the sun- 
bright seas, could once give up hope of a ship, that horrible 
grinding on his brain would cease. It was this waiting, 
hoping, on the edge of despair, that gave Emma Smith no 

Neighbors said, with kind intentions, " He's sick, maybe, 
an ' can't start north just yet. He'll come along one o' these 

"Why don't he write?" was her question, which silenced 
them all. This Sunday morning it seemed to her as if she 
couldn't stand it any longer. The house seemed intolerably 
lonely. So she dressed the little ones in their best calico 
dresses and home-made jackets, and closing up the house, set 
off down the could to old Mother Gray's. 

" Old Widder Gray " lived at the " mouth of the coolly." 
She was a widow woman with a large family of stalwart boys 
and laughing girls. She was the visible incarnation of hos- 
pitality and optimistic poverty. With western openhearted- 
ness she fed every mouth that asked food of her, and worked 
herself to death as cheerfully as her girls danced in the 
neighborhood harvest dances. 

She waddled down the path to meet Mrs. Smith with a 
smile on her face that would have made the countenance of 
a convict expand. 

" Oh, you little dears I Come right to yer granny. 
Gimme a kiss ! Come right in, Mis' Smith. How are yeh, 
anyway? Nice momin', aint it? Come in an' set down. 
Everything's in a clutter, but that won't scare you any." 

She led the way into the " best room," a sunny, square 
room, carpeted with a faded and patched rag carpet, and pa- 
pered with a horrible white-and-green-striped wall paper, 
where a few ghastly effigies of dead members of the family 
hung in variously-sized oval walnut frames. The house re- 
sounded with singing, laughter, whistling, tramping of boots, 
and scufflings. Half-grown boys came to the door and 
crooked their fingers at the children, who ran out, and were 
soon heard in the midst of the fun. 


" Don't s'pose you've heard from Ed ? " Mrs. Smith 
shook her head. " He'll turn up some day, when you aint 
lookin' for 'm." The good old soul had said that so many 
times that poor Mrs. Smith derived no comfort from it any 

" Liz heard from Al the other day. He's comin' some day 
this week. Anyhow, they expect him." 

"Did he say anything of — " 

" No, he didn't," Mrs. Gray admitted. " But then, it was 
only a short letter, anyhow. Al aint much for ritin', any- 
how. But come out and seermy new cheese. I tell yeh, I 
don't believe I ever had better luck in my life. If Ed should 
come, I want you should take him up a piece of this 

It was beyond human nature to resist the influence of that 
noisy, hearty, loving household, and in the midst of the sing- 
ing and laughing, the wife forgot her anxiety, for the time at 
least, and laughed and sang with the rest. 

About eleven o'clock a wagon-load more drove up to the 
door, and Bill Gray, the widow's oldest son, and his whole 
family from Sand Lake Could, piled out amid a good-natured 
uproar, as characteristic as it was ludicrous. Everyone talked 
at once, except Bill, who sat in the wagon with his wrists on 
his knees, a straw in his mouth, and an amused twinkle in 
his blue eyes. 

" Aint heard nothin' o' Ed, I s'pose ? " he asked in a kind 
of bellow. Mrs. Smith shook her head. Bill, with a delicacy 
very striking in such a great giant, rolled his quid in his 
mouth, and said : — 

" Didn't know but you had. I hear two or three of the 
Sand Lake boys are comin'. Left New Orleenes some time 
this week. Didn't write nothin' about Ed, but no news is 
good news in such cases, mother always says." 

"Well, go put out yer team," said Mrs. Gray, "an' go'n 
bring me in some taters, an', Sim, you go see if you c'n find 
some corn. Sadie, you put on the water tp bile. Come now, 
hustle yer boots, all o' yeh. If I feed this yer crowd, we've 
got to have some raw materials. If y' think I'm goin' to 
feed yeh on pie — " 

The children went off into the fields, the girls put dinner 
on to " bile," and then went to change their dresses and fix 
their hair. " Somebody might come," they said. 


" Land sakes, / hope not I I don't know where in time 
I'd set 'em, 'less they'd eat at the secont table," Mrs. Gray 
laughed, in pretended dismay. 

The two older boys, who had served their time in the army, 
lay out on the grass before the house, and whittled and talked 
desultorily about the war and the crops, and planned buying 
a threshing machine. The older girls and Mrs. Smith helped 
enlarge the table and put on the dishes, talking all the time 
in that cheery, incoherent, and meaningful way a group of 
such women have, — a conversation to be taken for its spirit 
rather than for its letter, though Mrs. Gray at last got the 
ear of them all and dissertated at length on girls. 

" Girls in love aint no use in the whole blessed week," 
she said. " Sundays they're a lookin' down the road, ex- 
pectin' he'll come. Sunday afternoons they can't think o' 
nothin' else, 'cause he's here. Monday mornin's they're 
sleepy and kind o' dreamy and slimpsy, and good f 'r nothin' on 
Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday they git absent-minded, 
an' begin to look off towards Sunday agin, an'mope aroun' and 
let the dish-water git cold, right under their noses. Friday 
they break dishes, and go off in the best room an' snivel, an' 
look out o' the winder. Saturdays they have queer spurts o' 
workin' like all p'sessed, an' spurts o' frizzin' their hair. 
An' Sunday they begin it all over agin." 

The girls giggled and blushed all through this tirade from 
their mother, their broad faces and powerful frames anything 
but suggestive of lackadaisical sentiment. But Mrs. Smith 
said : — 

" Now, Mrs. Gray, I hadn't ought to stay to dinner. You've 

" Now you set right down ! If any of them girls' beaus 
comes, they'll have to take what's left, that's all. They aint 
s'posed to have much appetite, nohow. No, you're goin' to 
stay if they starve, an' they aint no danger o' that." 

At one o'clock the long table was piled with boiled pota- 
toes, cords of boiled com on the cob, squash and pumpkin 
pies, hot biscuit, sweet pickles, bread and butter, and honey. 
Then one of the girls took down a conch shell from a naU, 
and going to the door blew a long, fine, free blast, that showed 
there was no weakness of lungs in her ample chest. 

Then the children came out of the forest of com, out of 
the crick, out of the loft of the bam, and out of the garden. 



The men shut up their jack-knives, and surrounded the horse- 
trough to souse their faces in the cold, hard water, and in a 
few moments the table was filled with a merry crowd, and a 
row of wistful-eyed youngsters circled the kitchen wall, where 
they stood first on one leg and then on the other, in impatient 

" They come to their feed f r all the world jest like the pigs 
when y' holler ' poo — ee ! ' See 'em scoot ! " laughed Mrs. 
Gray, every wrinkle on her face shining with delight. " Now 
pitch in, Mrs. Smith," she said, presiding over the table. 
'* You know these men critters. They'll eat every grain of 
it, if yeh give 'em a chance. I swan, they're made o' India- 
rubber, their stomachs is, I know it." 

" Haf to eat to work," said Bill, gnawing a cob with a 
swift, ciicular motion that rivalled a corn-sheller in results. 

" More like workin' to eat," put in one of the girls, with a 
giggle. " More eat 'n work with you." 

" You needn't say anything, Net. Anyone that'll eat 
seven ears — " 

" I didn't, no such thing. You piled your cobs on my 

" That'll do to tell Ed Varney. It von't go down here, 
where we know yeh." 

" Good land I Eat all yeh want ! They's plenty more 
in the fiel's, but I can't afford to give you young 'uns tea. 
The tea is for us women-folks, and 'specially f'r Mis' Smith 
an' Bill's wife. We're agoin' to tell fortunes by it." 

One by one the men filled up and shoved back, and one 
by one the children slipped into their places, and by two 
o'clock the women alone remained around the debris- covered 
table, sipping their tea and telling fortunes. 

As they got well down to the grounds in the cup, they 
shook them with a circular motion in the hand, and then 
turned them bottom-side-up quickly in the saucer, then 
twirled them three or four times one way, and three 
or four times the other, during a breathless pause. Then 
Mrs. Gray lifted the cup, and, gazing into it with profound 
gravity, pronounced the impending fate. 

It must be admitted that to a critical observer, she had abun- 
dant preparation for hitting close to the mark ; as when she 
told the girls that " somebody was coming." "It is a man," 
she went on gravely. " He is cross-eyed — " 




*' Oh, you hush ! " 

" He has red hair, and is death on biled com and hot 

The others shrieked with delight. 

*' But he's goin' to get the mitten, that red-headed feller 
is, for I see a feller comin' up behind him." 

" Oh, lemme see, lemme see," cried Nettie. 

" Keep off," said the priestess, with a lofty gesture. " His 
hair is black. He don't eat so much, and he works more." 

The giris exploded in a shriek of laughter, and pounded 
their sister on the back. 

At last came Mrs. Smith's turn, and she was trembling 
with excitement as Mrs. Gray again composed her jolly face 
to what she considered a proper solemnity of expression. 

'' Somebody is comin' to you," she said after a long pause. 
"He's got a musket on his back. He^s a soldier. He's 
almost here. See ? " 

She pointed at two little tea stems, which formed a faint 
suggestion of a man with a musket on his back. He had 
climbed nearly to the edge of the cup. Mrs. Smith grew 
pale with excitement. She trembled so she could hardly 
hold the cup in her hand as she gazed into it. 

" It's Ed," cried the old woman. *' He's on the way 
home. Heavens an' earth! There he is now!" She 
turned and waved her hand out toward the road. They 
rushed to the door, and looked where slie pointed. 

A man in a blue coat, with a musket on his back, was toil- 
ing slowly up the hill, on the sun-bright, dusty road, toiling 
slowly, with bent head half hidden by a heavy knapsack. 
So tired it seemed that walking was indeed a process of fall- 
ing. So eager to get home he would not stop, would not 
look aside, but plodded on, amid the cries of the locusts, the 
welcome of the crickets, and the rustle of the yellow wheat. 
Getting back to God's country, and his wife and babies ! 

Laughing, crying, trying to call him and the children at 
the same time, the little wife, almost hysterical, snatched her 
hat and ran out into the yard. But the soldier had disap- 
peared over the hill into the hollow beyond, and, by the time 
she had fqund the children, he Wiis too far away for her voice 
to reach him. And besides, she was not sure it was her 
husband, for he had not turned his head at their shouts. 
This seemed so strange. Why didn't he stop to rest at his 






old neighbor's house? Tortured by hope and doubt, she 
hurried up the coule as fast as she could push the baby- 
wagon, the blue-coated figure just ahead pushing steadily, 
silently forward up the could. 

When the excited, panting little group came in sight of 
the gate, they saw the blue-coated figure standing, leaning 
upon the rough rail fence, his chin on his palms, gazing at 
the empty house. His knapsack, canteen, blankets and mus- 
ket lay upon the dusty grass at his feet. 

He was like a man lost in a dream. His wide, hungry 
eyes devoured the scene. The rough lawn, the little un- 
painted house, the field of clear yellow wheat behind it, 
down across which streamed the sun, now almost ready to 
touch the high hill to the west, the crickets crying merrily, 
a cat on the fence near by, dreaming, unmindful of the 
stranger in blue. 

How peaceful it all was. My God! How far removed 
from all camps, hospitals, battle-lines. A little cabin in a 
Wisconsin could, but it was majestic in its peace. How did 
he ever leave it for those years of tramping, thirsting, 

Trembling, weak with emotion, her eyes on the silent 
figure, Mrs. Smith hurried up to the fence. Her feet made 
no noise in the dust and grass, and they were close upon him 
before he knew of them. The oldest boy ran a little ahead. 
He will never forget that figure, that face. It will always 
remain as something epic, that return of the private. He 
fixed his eyes on the pale face, covered with a ragged beard. 

" Who are you, sir? " asked the wife, or rather, started to 
ask, for he turned, stood a moment, and then cried : — 

" Emma ! " 

" Edward ! " 

The children stood in a curious row to see their mother 
kiss this bearaed, strange man, the elder girl sobbing sym- 
pathetically with her mother. Illness had left the soldier 
partly deaf, and this added to the strangeness of his manner. 

But the boy of six years stood away, even after the girl 
had recognized her father and kissed him. The man turned 
then to the baby, and said in a curiously, unpatemal tone : — 

" Come here, my little man, don't you know me ? " But 
the baby backed away under iiie fence and stood peering at 
him critically. 


" My little man ! " What meaning in those words ! This 
baby seemed like some other woman's child, and not the 
infant he had left in his wife's arms. The war had come 
between him and his baby — he was only "a strange man, 
with big eyes, dressed in blue, with mother hanging to his 
arm, and talking in a loud voice." * 

" And this is Tom," he said, drawing the oldest boy to 
him. " He'll come and see me. He knows his poor old pap 
when he comes home from the war." 

^ The mother heard the pain and reproach in his voice, and 
hastened to apologize. 

'' You've changed so, Ed. He can't know yeh. This is 
papa, Teddy, come and kiss him, — Tom and Mary do. Come, 
won't you?" But Teddy still peered through the fence 
with solemn eyes, well out of reach. He resembled a half- 
wild kitten that hesitates, studying the tones of one's voice. 

" I'll fix him," said the soldier, and sat down to undo his 
knapsack, out of which he drew three enormous and very 
red apples. After giving one to each of the older children, 
he said : — 

^^Now I guess he'll come. Eh, my little man? Now come 
see your pap." 

Teddy crept slowly under the fence, assisted by the over- 
zealous Tommy, and a moment later was kicking and squall- 
ing in his father's arms. Then they entered the house, into 
the sitting-room, poor, bare, art-forsaken little room, too, 
with its i-ag-carpet, its square clock, and its two or three 
chromos and pictures from Harper's Weekly pinned about. 

"Emma, I'm all tired out," said Private Smith, as he 
flung himself down on the carpet as he used to do, while his 
wife brought a pillow to put under his head, and the children 
stood about, munching their apples. 

"Tommy, you run and get me a pan of chips, and Mary 
you get the tea-kettle on, and I'll go and make some biscuit." 

And the soldier talked. Question after question he poured 
forth about the crops, the cattle, the renter, the neighbors. 
He slipped his heavy government brogan shoes off his poor, 
tii'cd, blistered feet, and lay out with utter, sweet relaxation. 
He was a free man again, no longer a soldier under command. 
At supper he stopped once, listened, and smiled. " That's 
old Spot. I know her voice. I s'pose that's her calf out 
there in the pen. I can't milk her to-night, though, I'm 

I • 



too tired ; but I tell you, I'd like a drink o' her milk. What's 
become of old Rove ? " 

" He died last winter. Poisoned, I guess." There was a 
moment of sadness for them all. It was some time before 
the husband spoke again, in a voice that trembled a little. 

" Poor old feller ! He'd a known me a half a mile away. 
I expected him to come down the hill to meet me. It 'ud 'a' 
been more like comin' home if I could 'a' seen him comin' 
down the road an' waggin' his tail, an' laughin' that way he 
has. I tell yeh, it kin' o' took hold o' me to see the blinds 
down, an' the house shut up." 

" But yeh see, we — we expected you'd write again 'fore 
you started. And then we thought we'd see you if you did 
come," shb hastened to explain. 

" Well, I aint worth a cent on writin'. Besides, it's just 
as well yeh didn't know when I was comin'. I tell yeh, it 
sounds good to hear them chickens out there, an' turkeys, 
an' the crickets. Do you know,- they don't have just the 
same kind o' crickets down South. Who's Sam hired t' help 
cut yer grain? " 

" The Ramsey boys." 

" Looks like a good crop, but I'm afraid I won't do much 
gettin' it cut. This cussed fever an' ague lias got me down 
pretty low. I don't know when I'll get red of it. I'll bet 
I've took twenty-five pounds of quinine, if I've taken a bit. 
Gimme another biscuit. I tell yeh, they taste good, Emma. 
I aint had anything like it — say, if you'd 'a' heard me 
braggin' to th' boys about your butter'n biscuits, I'll bet your 
ears 'ud 'a' burnt.'! 

The Private's wife colored with pleasure. " Oh, you're 
always a braggin' about your things. Everybody makes 
good butter." 

" Yes, old lady Snyder, for instance." 

" Oh, well, she aint to be mentioned. She's Dutch." 

" Or old Mis' Snively. One more cup o' tea, Mary. 
That's my girl ! I'm feeling better already. I just b'lieve 
the matter with me is, I'm starved^ 

This was a delicious hour, one long to be remembered. 
They were like lovers again. But their tenderness, like that 
of a typical American, found utterance in tones, rather than 
in words. He was praising her when praising her biscuit, 
and she knew it. They grew soberer when he showed where 


he had been struck, one ball burning the back of his hand, 
one cutting away a lock of hair from his temple, and one 
passing through the calf of his leg. The wife shuddered to 
think how near she had come to being a soldier's widow. 
Her waiting no longer seemed hard. This sweet, glorious 
hour effaced it all. 

Then they rose, and all went out into the garden and 
down to the barn. He stood beside her while she milked 
old Spot. They began to plan fields and crops for next year. 
Here was the epic figure which Whitman has in mind, and 
which he calls the " common American soldier." With the 
livery of war on his limbs, this man was facing his future, 
his thoughts holding no scent of battle. Clean, clear-headed, 
in spite of physical weakness, Edward Smith, Private, turned 
future-ward with a sublime courage. 

His faim was mortgaged, a rascally renter had run away 
with his machinery, "departing between two days," his 
children needed clothing, the years were coming upon him, 
he was sick and emaciated, but his heroic soul did not quail. 
With the same courage with which he faced his southern 
march, he entered upon a still more hazardous future. 

Oh, that mystic hour! The pale man with big eyes 
standing there by the well, with his young wife by his side. 
The vast moon swinging above the eastern peaks, the cattle 
winding down the pasture slopes with jangling bells, the 
crickets singing, the stars blooming out sweet, and far, and 
serene, the katy-dids rhythmically calling, the little turkeys 
crying querulously, as they settled to roost in the poplar 
tree near the open gate. The voices at the well drop lower, 
the little ones nestle in their father's arms at last, and Teddy 
falls asleep there. 

The common soldier of the American volunteer army had 
returned. His war with the South was over, and his war, 
his daily running fight with nature and against the injustice 
of his fellow-men was begun again. In the dusk of that far- 
off valley his figure looms vast, his personal peculiarities fade 
away, he rises into a magnificent type. 

He is a gray-haired man of sixty now, and on the brown 
hair of his wife the white is also showing. They are fight- 
ing a hopeless battle, and must fight till God gives them 



The sud has set ; the lowlands lie 

Dim in the hush of crimson light, 
And far along the darkening sky 

The last gold cloud wanes in the night. 
Peace broods upon the purple hills, 

On mountain, vale, and hamlet town, 
And just beyond the winding rills. 

The sil^t river flowcyth down. 

• • • • • 

Across the battle-fields arise 

The din and clash of fire and steel, 
Like hoary signals to the skies. 

The strife and pain that men must feel. 
And then the silence after death. 

The lines drawn up in dark array ; 
The stars above, the sod beneath, 

And night has closed the fateful day. 




As I am, in some sense, responsible for the term " Afro- Amer- 
ican," in the general application of it to the Afro- American 
League, organizedJanuary 15, 1890, at Chicago, I wish to correct 
an error into which Senator John T. Morgan allowed himself to 
lapse in discussing " The Race Problem in the United States," in 
the September number of The Arena. Senator Morgan said : 

" The Afro- Americans, as the mulattoes describe themselves, 
believe that a precedent has been set, by their foremost man, 
which they can follow, with the aid of the politicians, that will 
secure their incorporation, by marriage, into the white families 
of the country. These vain expectations will be followed with 
the chagrin of utter disappointment, and will increase their dis- 

Senator Morgan displays the same amount of recklessness in 
the general discussion of the " Race Problem" that he exhibits in 
specifically defining the term " Afro- American." He is so satu- 
rated with prejudice and hatred of race that the violence of his 
argument of fact is worth as much as, and no more than, his 
argument of fiction, figments of his brain. 

As a matter of fact, the term " Afro- American " was first em- 
ployed by advanced thinkers and writers of papers devoted to the 
interests of Africans in the United States, as the most compre- 
hensive and dignified term in sight to cover all the shades of 
color produced by the anxiety of the white men of the South to 
"secure their incorporation," without "marriage, into the * black' 
families of the country." If the Morgans of the South had been 
as virtuous, as earnest to preserve the purity of Anglo-Saxon 
blood, before, and even since, the war, as the Senator from Ala- 
bama now insists, there would be no mulattoes in the Republic to 
give them " a Roland for an Oliver." 

But the term " Afro- American " was never intended to apply 
in the circumscribed sense implied by Senator Morgan. It was 
intended to include all the people in the Republic, of African ori- 
gin. It does include them. It has been adopted, and is used, 
almost generally, by the leading newspapers. The term " negro " 
signifies black. Not three-eighths of the people of African par- 
entage in the United States are black. If they were, there is no 



negro race. " Colored " may mean anything or nothing, from 
extreme white to extreme green ; and, in any event, as applied 
to a race, is a misnomer from every point of view, without force 
or dignity. Both terms are used by writers everywhere as com- 
mon nouns, and in a contemptuous sense, just as Senator Morgan 
uses them. African is a proper name ; it has a race behind it; 
and no writer will venture to treat it as a common noun. The 
same is true of the term " Afro-American," which includes 
every man, woman, and child in the country who is not ashamed 
of his race, and who insists that he shall be honorably designated 
as other races are. 

When the Hon. Frederick Douglass exercised his undoubted 
right of choice to select a second wife, and took a white lady of 
splendid social position and acknowledged literary attainments, 
nearly every one of the one hundred and seventy-five Afro- 
American newspapers condemned him for it. The paper I edited 
at the time was one of the few that maintained that Mr. Douglass 
did perfectly right in exercising his personal preference in select- 
ing his wife. I know that the masses of the people were in sym- 
pathy with the indignant protests hurled at Mr. Douglass. The 
scaffolding under the " precedent " upon which Senator Morgan 
rears such an imposing edifice thus falls to the ground, upon its 
ambitious architect, and the "Afro- American," mulatto, and others, 
standing on the outside of the wreck, can afford to laugh him to 

It is not true, as Senator Morgan insists, that Afro-Americans 
desire to " secure their incorporation, by marriage, into the white 
families of the country." I maintain that the facts are all 
against Senator Morgan. The extensive hybridization of the race, 
all too true, in this country, is due to white men, not to black 
men, who exercised, when they had it in their power to do so, 
their brutal authority, and who now exercise their influence of 
wealth and of social position to corrupt the women of the race, 
whq everywhere are regarded as the weaker vessels. White 
men have not shown the same manly honor and Christian self- 
denial in this respect that Afro- American men have done, nor 
do they now. Any one familiar with the facts, as Senator 
Morgan is, knows this to be true and deplores it. The best 
white blood of the South has for two hundred years gone into 
the black race ; and if it now and in the future returns to plague 
those who sowed to the wind, is it not highly puerile for these 
men now to whine like babies over their supposed misfortune, 
and appeal to the rest of mankind for sympathy, where they de- 
serve but contempt? 

It is impossible for two races to live as close together as the 
Anglo-Saxons and the Afro-Americans do in the South without 


the actual fact of miscegenatioii asserting itself. Laws prohibi- 
ting legal unions but aggravate the matter. They may circum- 
scribe, they cannot stamp out the existence of the fact, I will 
not say the evil. It is true in the South, in the British and 
Spanish West Indies, in Brazil, in Africa itself, where whites and 
blacks are brought into contact. If any explanation were 
needed, it is furnished in the famous couplet of William Cooper : 

'* Fleecy locks and black complexion 
Cannot forfeit Nature's claim; 
Skins may differ, but affection 
Dwells in white and black the same.** 

I never saw, and Senator Morgan never saw, an Afro- Ameri- 
can who desired social equality with any Anglo-Saxon who did 
not want it with him. Afro- Americans do not seek it ; they do 
not desire it, except when it comes, as it must ever come, by 
reason of the mutual likes and dislikes of all the parties con- 
cerned. Most southern white men confound civil rights with 
social privileges. Even so good a lawyer as Senator Morgan 
does this. What, then, is to be expected of the baser sort ? If 
one of these men pays for a section in a sleeping car, or a seat 
in an ordinary coach, the moment a black or yellow face appears 
upon the scene, he imagines he owns the entire car, and proceeds 
to assert his preposterous claim in the most savage and brutal 
manner. The same is true in an eating house. When Afro- 
Americans protest against this monstrous confounding of things. 
Senator Morgan, and those who share his views, cry aloud, on the 
floor of the Congress, and in the pages of The Arena and other 
literary agents, " The niggers want social equality ! " '* We must 
protect our women !" and the like. Astounding is it that a whole 
nation of sixty million people can and do listen with patience to 
this sort of hypocrisy and humbug ! 

The Afro-American of to-day is a new creature. Senator 
Morgan knows very little about him. He lives apart from him. 
He has no social and little business association with him. He 
sees him as he goes to and fro in the town he visits once a year at 
his home, and in Washington, where he resides the greater part 
of the year, but he has small contact with him. The eminent 
men of the race, residing in Washington, for instance, — such as 
Frederick Douglass, Minister Resident and Consul General to 
Hayti ; Ex- Minister John M, Langston, John R. Lynch, Fourth 
Auditor of the Treasury ; Ex-Senator B. K. Bruce, Ex-Register 
of the Treasury, Recorder of Deeds of the District ; Dr. James 
M. Townsend, Recorder of the General Land Office ; Mr. John 
F. T. Cook, Superintendent of the " colored " schools of the dis- 
trict ; Bishop John M. Brown, and a hundred others at the Capi- 


tal I could meDtion, men in whose homes are to be found as 
much culture, refinement, and evidences of wealth as can be 
found in the homes of the best Anglo-Saxons in the South, — 
what does Senator Morgan know about these men, who reflect 
in their successes the possibilities of the race ? 

The men who have in the past talked most about the '< Race 
Problem," have distorted the facts to fit their bed of Procrustes' 
prejudice, and misrepresented the real condition, the real senti- 
ments, the real aspirations, of the people they arraign before the 
bar of public opinion and condemn unheard as aliens, as an in- 
cumbrance upon the face of ^^he earth, and consign with the stroke 
of the pen to Africa, to the West Indies, to anywhere, — except 
to the South, where they are, where they belong, and where they 
are going to abide, in sunshine and in shadow, until the great 
Republic shall go the way of Babylon, of Greece, and of Rome, 
** the Niobe of nations." 

There are two sides to every question. The Afro- American, — 
who is not all black nor all yellow, but a good deal of both com- 
plexions, — understands his side of it. 

T. Thomas Fortune. 


The civilized elements of European and American society have 
recently been aroused to the intolerableness of the physical and 
moral existence of the Russian political prisoners. Much interest 
is just now being taken in the condition of those who love not 
vrisely but too well the suffering people of their unhappy country, 
and who are treated as criminals of the most degraded kind 
because of their belief in progress and political freedom. The 
sympathy for the persecuted Russian revolutionists has prompted 
the petitioning of the Russian government and the establishment 
of an English journal in London for the purpose of advocating 
Russian political freedom and of protesting against the brutal 
treatment of the Russian reformers by their despotic and reac- 
tionary government. 

Every lover of liberty and human advancement can but feel 
gratified at this manifestation of true liberal sentiment. But it is 
at least doubtful that the agitation will cause any tangible im- 
provement in the affairs with which it concerns itself. It is, of 
course, not to be expected that the Russian autocrat will be in- 
duced to grant his subjects any sort of freedom ; it is highly 
improbable that public opinion, were it most determinedly and em- 
phatically opposed to his policy, would influence the government 


which has shown itself to be blunt and dead to all feelings, not 
excepting fear. On the other hand, if it is admitted that the 
Russian government will not yield, but will harshly oppose its 
enemies with any and all weapons deemed effective, it is illogical 
to appeal to it in the name of humanitarianism, and ask it to deal 
mercifully with the revolutionists. Since the Russian agitators 
act upon the principle that " all is fair in war," the government 
must be allowed to go the same length. Any appearance of 
weakness on the part of the government would only encourage 
the revolutionists, and make them more aggressive. It seems, 
therefore, that enlightened public opinion can do nothing in the 
matter. It is for the Russian revolutionists themselves to esti- 
mate their strength and devise rational means of furthering their 
cause. The terroristic policy has not proved successful ; it has 
done more harm than good, if, indeed, it has not done harm only 
and solely. 

But there seems to be another worthy enterprise for enlight- 
ened society of America and Western Europe to engage in with 
considerable promise of accomplishing some actual good. It has 
long neglected to put its stamp of deliberate disapproval upon 
the absurd and revoltingly unjust conduct of the Russian gov- 
ernment toward the millions of Jews living in Russian dominions 
and supporting the government by taxes and on the battlefields. 
The Jews in Russia are, of course, required to fulfil all the strin- 
gent duties of citizenship, while deprived of all enjoyment of 
rights. The most ancient and barbarous prejudices are still en- 
tertained with respect to them, and all manner of restrictions are 
placed upon their most legitimate and essential activities. Every- 
body, I presume, has heard of the perpetual " Jewish Question " 
in Russian politics. Every year commissions are appointed to 
investigate the matter and formulate definite suggestions as to 
legislation. It is well known that the Jews are not allowed 
to settle outside of a certain very limited circle of Russian territory. 
They are persistently regarded as the natural enemies of the 
Russi|m toiler and honest laborer; and they are denounced as 
conscienceless exploiters and blood-suckers. Yet the laws alone 
are responsible for even that insignificant portion of truth which 
may be admitted to constitute the basis of the charge. Every- 
thing is forbidden to them; everything is closed to them. 
Almost all opportunities, in the way of education as well as 
business, are denied to them. The government refuses to 
employ them in any capacity whatsoever ; it refuses to extend to 
them the benefit of its educational institutions; and it puts 
innumerable barriers in their way. The government drives them 
into certain kinds of disreputable and dishonest occupations by 
its repressions and persecutions, and then blames them for their 


conduct. At last the material condition of the Russian Jews has 
become so unendurable that even their most intolerant antago- 
nists now speak in tones of compassion. The most prejudiced 
and bigoted newspapers are now filled with descriptions of the 
extreme wretchedness of the Jewish population in Russia. It is 
confessed that they are literally starving and in a condition of 
utter helplessness. Many liberal newspapers urge the govern- 
ment to appoint another commission, and some venture to offer 
mild protests against the entire legislation directed against the 
Jews. It is pointed out that in England, France, and America, 
there is no such thing as " The Jewish Question," because the 
Jew is permitted to do all that is lawful to citizens generally, and 
because all spheres are open to him. Being free to engage in 
any legitimate pursuit, to compete in science, industry, art, with 
all other races, there is no complaint about the Jew^s especial 
fondness for fraudulent and illicit transactions. He is seen to be 
no better and no worse than any other citizen. 

In France, some literary charlatans and hypocritical dema- 
gogues, conscious of their mental and moral poverty, try to gain 
fortune and cheap fame by slandering the Jews and stiiTing up 
ill feeling against them. But their shameful endeavor has no 
effect, and is contemptuously disregarded. No intelligent and 
fair man, of whatever race, doubts that the Russian Jews would 
be as honest and industrious as their oppressors pretend to be, 
were the restrictions and obstacles artificially placed in their way 
totally removed. And no one doubts that there is no valid reason, 
no decent excuse for making the Russian Jews the victims of ex- 
clusive repressive legislation. The Russian government, and cer- 
tain portions of the Russian society, are simply actuated in their 
shameful policy by religious fanaticism, bigotry, and malice. 

Does it not seem that public opinion might render material aid 
to the suffering millions of Jews in Russia by promptly and vig- 
orously taking up their defence against calumny and unmerited 
hate, and by protesting against the government's policy ? This is 
not a subject upon which any difference of opinion exists either 
in this country or in England. Ought not the magazines and 
newspapers, the lecturers and divines, the educated public gener- 
ally, raise this question for discussion and express clear and defi- 
nite opinions on the conduct of the Russian government and the 
press? Their duty seems plain. They can, if they will, solve 
this '' Jewish Question," and compel the Russian government to 
solve it favorably to the humiliated and starving Jews. The 
Russian government, in this case, would not be likely to ignore 
the protests and appeals of enlightened and civilized society ; and 
the honest and liberal Russian newspapers and magazines would, 
finding themselves so well supported, lift their voices and de- 


mand necessary reform in a much bolder manner than at present. 
In short, such an agitation might prove fruitful of good. Will it 
be started ? Will it be sustained ? I have decided to venture 
this attempt in The Arena, hoping to interest and enlist the 
humanitarians of this country in the service of a cause which all 
can serve and to which none may object. 

Victor Yarros. 

Note. It is gratifying to state that, since the above was 
written two extended and remarkable articles on the subject of 
Russian cruelty to Jews have appeared in English magazines. 
The article by Mr. Lanin in the October Fortnightly Review may 
be recommended as absolutely trustworthy and valuable for those 
who desire to learn the facts of the case. Mr. Gladstone has 
also interested himself in the matter, and in a letter to a London 
organ devoted to the Jewish masses, has appealed to the English 
press to lift its powerful voice in behalf of the victims of Russian 
brutality and prejudice. " I have read," wrote Mr. Gladstone, 
"with feelings of pain and horror the various statements that 
have been made concerning the sufferings of the Jews in Russia. 
The only recommendation that I can giv^ is to invite the active 
exertions of the press to first sift the reports and then, if the facts 
be established, to rouse the conscience of Russia and of Europe 
on the subject." It is to be hoped that the American press will 
not neglect to respond to Mr. Gladstone's appeal. v. y. 


I HAVE noticed recently the sale of a copy of what is known 
as *' The Breeches Bible," a name given to an edition on account 
of its print Genesis iii. 7, and is as follows : " Then the eises of 
both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked, 
and they sewed ^^g^ tree leaves together, and made themselves 

So it seems that the wearing of the breeches by the women, 
occurred very early in the history of the human race. 

The Bible known as the " Bug Bible " derives its name from 
the Psalm xci. 5 : "So that thou shalt not nede to be afraid for 
any bugges by night, or for the arrow that flieth by day." 

This Bible was printed in London in 1551. (May that, not 
this, be a point from which to trace our well-known and largely 
used word, bug-bear ?) 

The book known as the " Treacle Bible " gets its name 
from the following printed in it, from Jeremiah vii. 22: "la 
there no treacle at GUead ? is there no physition there ? " 



' The "CoDendale Bible" of 1635 has the same verse ren- 

dered thus : <' Is there no rosin in Gilead ? Is there no physician 
there ? " (Jeremiah viii. 22.) Rosin and turpentine are regarded 
as good remedies for many diseases, even in our modem 

This reading gave a name to the first Dowai Bible, printed in 
1609. The word translated treacle was translated in other edi- 
tions rosiUy turpentine^ and lastly balm. 

Another Bible is called '« The Place-Makers Bible." It was so 
called from the verse from Matthew v. 9: "Blessed are the 
place-makers^ for they shall be called the children of God." (For 
place-makers read peace-makers.) 

This misprint occurred in the « Geneva Bible," in its second 
edition in 1561. 

"The Vinegar Bible " is so called from the heading of " The 
Parable of the Vinegar," instead of the " Parable of the Ftnc- 
yarrf." (Luke xx.) 

" The Wicked Bible " obtains its name from the leaving out of 
the negative in the seventh commandment. This edition was 
printed in 1631, and the printer was made to pay a fine of three 
thousand pounds sterling for his negligence. 

" The Persecuting Printers' Bible " gets its name from a verse 
in Psalm cxix. 161, thus rendered: "Printers have persecuted 
me without a cause." For printers resd princes. 

The Bible known as the "Ears to Ear Bible" had this misprint 
from Matthew xiii. 43 : " Who hath ears to ear, let him hear." 

"The Standing Fishes Bible" has this from Ezekiel xvii. 10. 
" And it shall come to pass that the fishes shall stand upon it." 
¥or fishes resid fisherman. 

" The Idle Shepherd Bible " should have had idol instead of 
idle. The " Discharge Bible " comes from 1 Timothy v. 21 : "I 
dischsivge thee before God." The dis should have been omitted, 
so that it would read, " I charge thee before God." 

« The Wife Hater Bible " gives Luke xiv. 26, thus : " If any 
man come to me and hate not his father — yea, and his own wife 

This reading will be found in the Bible printed at Oxford, 
England, in 1810. 

" The Rebekah Camels Bible " has this from Genesis xxiv. 61, 
« And Rebekah arose and her Camels." 

" The Religious Bible " gets its name from a verse in Jeremiah 
iv. 27 : " Because she has been religious against me, saieth the 
Lord." For religious, read rebellious. Other editions of the 
Bible, beside those named, have had errors in them, but in the 
language of a distinguished Bible scholar, " It is only because 
the Bible is so pure and so holy that these incongruities and mis- 


takes are noticed; they resemble the spots on the snn, which do not 
impede the sunlight or heat." 

One of the Bibles known as " The Breeches Bible " is now in 
England, and bears the autograph of William Shakespeare. It is 
in the British Museum. I saw it on a late visit there. 

I have been told that there is, somewhere in Virginia, a large 
Huguenot Bible, printed in 1657. Its preface was written by John 
Calvin, and it contains the entire Psalms of David in metrical 
French, and set to the music. The Commandments and the Songs 
of Solomon are also metrically arranged and set to music. 

Gen. Mabcus J. Wright. 


A TRANSITION It must be apparent to all who give much thought 

to the social and ethical conditions of our people that 
PEBiOD. we are now entering one of those periods of general 

discontent which at intervals mark the ascent of man, 
a state which, while to the superficial observer may appear unsatisfactory, 
if not alarming, is nevertheless absolutely essential, an indication of the 
continued evolutionary march of the race. The fiercer aspects of the strug- 
gle now before us have, without question, been induced by the heartless- 
ness of those who should have been most considerate, who should have 
been the wise and humane guides and examples for the less favored 
of their feilowmen, but who through avarice, brutal selfishness, and 
gross immorality have wrought far greater evil than they can yet com- 
prehend. The culpable indifference of the rich toward the wearers of 
homespun ; the degradation of manhood ; the indifference of society to 
those great fundamental principles of morality, right, and justice, upon 
which all enduring prosperi^ and progress depend are now con- 
fronted by a rising tide of moral force. Many ideas are afloat which 
are well calculated to disturb conscienceless wealth, conventional 
hypocrisy, fashionable frivolity, and criminal indifference. Thought 
is contagious and the people are thinking. Indeed, it is possible, if not 
probable, that in the near future it may be scientifically demonstrated 
that unspoken thought is a potent factor in influencing other minds; 
that from each individual there emanates a thought force that may 
infect others. And, moreover, if this be true, it follows that where 
a considerable number of people are thinking earnestly along any 
certain line, the thought waves or mental emanations must necessarily 
become powerful factors in influencing public sentiment and producing 
those rapid changes in popular feeling so frequently encountered in the 
history of a people. To many this will appear visionary, yet it must be 
remembered that up<to a comparatively recent date all psychological prob- 
lems were dismissed as being unworthy of the serious consideration of 
scientists. But a few yeara have elapsed since leading critical minds 
undertook a systematic and strictly scientific method of collecting 
authentic data upon which they have established on a reasonably safe 
hypothesis the phenomenon of thought transference. That which a cen- 
tury ago was dismissed as absura, as hypnotism, for example, to- 
day challenges more and more the serious consideration of the master 
minds of our time. We are as yet in the ante-room of psychic discovery. 
We are beginning to suspect the possibilities of mind. In a not far dis- 
tant day we may demonstrate the marvellous power of silent thought 
force. And if this is proven to be a fact, much light will be cast on many 
strange phenomena in the history of nations in the past as well as the 
condition of thought to-day, and the rapid change which the past few 
years has wrought in public opinion, or rather the unofficially registered 
sentiment of the musses ; for it must be remembe^d that the rank and 
file of the people act as they have been educated and according to the 
prejudice of other days, long after the spirit of unrest and disti'ust has 
taken possession of their souls. To the serious observer, however, he 
who is in touch witk the people, the mental attitude is unmistakable. A 
startled, uneasy, anxious condition of thought is abroad. The pulse of 


Editorial notes, l26 

the people is becomin^^ quick, nervous, feverish. Everywhere there is a 
restlessness which is bom of minds that are neither content with them- 
selves nor their environment. Glimpses of a fairer state have visited the 
masses. They feel they are in the cellar, not simply physically but mor- 
ally and mentally. They desire to rise higher. It is one of the great 
laws of man^s growth that when he once beholds higher altitudes, nobler 
estates and happier conditions, he henceforth bids farewell to dull con- 
tentments To reach and possess that better estate is his mission, his duty, 
his life. The spirit of unrest fills his soul with longing. This is the con- 
dition of our people to-day. A quickened intelligence, and an instinctive 
determination to realize better conditions and gain a larger meed of jus- 
tice, have taken possession of the heart of the masses. It is folly to close 
our eyes to conditions as tliey exist, or seek to cry down facts which con- 
front us. If we are wise, we will place ourselves en rapport with the 
broadest spirit of the age, and demand justice, toleration, and the light 
of a three-fold education, not for one class but for all the children of 

ri-vmen ^ *^^* battle of moral ideas that confronts us, we must 
FRONTING depend chiefly on the young men and women to carry the 
THE ^^y ^^^ ^ higher civilization. Sad and unfortunate as the 
fact is, there are few men who, like Gladstone, Henry Ward 
FUTURE. Beecher, and Victor Hugo, can grow old in service without 
losing that exuberance of spirit, that irresistible hope, and 
that abiding faith in human nature which are absolutely essential to suc- 
cess in any great movement. As a rule old men, after long years of bat- 
tling with lifers vicissitudes, lose much of that needful faith in humanity 
which fires the blood of every true reformer. They lose sight of the 
splendid triumphs of mankind, the glorious victories which have marked 
the ascent of humanity. They dwell chiefly in the shadow, or, marking 
only the snail's pace which their brief span of existence has witnessed, 
become sceptics, frequently paralyzing in a measure every movement or 
effort bom of enthusiastic hopes which look toward a higher expression 
of justice, a broader conception of freedom or a nobler idea of truth. 
Age begets Conservatism, — the negative pole of social life, — and Conser- 
vatism, notwithstanding its value in preventing reckless extremes, does 
not represent life, growth, or progi-ess. She dwells in the shadow of the 
past Her eyes are on the earth. Her fondest dreams haunt the ceme- 
tery of yesterday. She feels not the fire of faith, the thrill of hope, the 
exultation of a soul aglow with the afilatus of divine love. The drum 
beat of the onward marching cohorts of radical reform thrill her with 
something akin to terror. The spirit of progress, with hand pointing 
forward, with feet set toward untrod paths, with face peering into the 
future, and eyes riveted on the sun, inspires her with unmixed fear. 
Conservatism distrusts liberty, has small faith in humanity, and seeks 
refuge in increased legislation, in decaying institutions, and *neath the 
shadows of obsolescent precedents. The present condition of society 
calls for radically different measures. A crisis is at hand which demands 
brave hearts, cool heads, and muscles of steel. They who lead the peo- 
ple in the great reforms that are forcing tliemselves on this age must 
possess an abiding faith in the inherent good in humanity ; an uncon- 
querable devotion to freedom ; an earnest desire to elevate society, to 
secure justice for all the people. They must create a wide-spread spirit of 
fraternity. They must be earnest, persistent, intelligent agitators and 
educators, who understand that none but ignorant social quacks would 
seek to film over the present ulcers, *^ whilst rank corruption, mining all 
within, infects unseen." They must know that only by frankly confront- 
ing evils as they exist can they be remedied. Only by depicting life as 
it is in juxtaposition to life as it would be if we had more justice, can a 


loftier era be inaugurated, and they must plead the cause of the poor, 
the wretched, the outcasts, the sinnera and sinned against, who suffer 
so much, and have so little to make life joyous. They must awaken 
in the people a spirit of divine love, kindle the flame of hope, exalt 
their souls and make them irresistible. The era of moral force is at 
our door. We are fronting a future throbbing with undreamed-of 
possibilities. The destiny of this great civilization lies largely in the 
hands of the rising generation — our young men and women — who, with 
the able reinforcement from those chosen few among the silvering heads 
who always constitute a splendid minority in the sti'uggle for human 
progress, must carry forward the unfurled standard of freedom, frater- 
nity, and justice. 

It is a singular fact that when a great wrong 

CONSERVATISM is assailed the doers of the evil frequentlv rely 

,^ chiefly on ultra conservatism to screen and save 

A^^ them from their merited punishment. It is by no 

Qi?xrcTT A T TciLT mcaus au uncommon spectacle to witness frivolity 
SENSUALISM j^.^.^^ ^^.^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^ austerity, vice crouch- 

AN UNHALLOWED ^°R beneath the majitle of respectability, im- 
morality seeking refuge under the drooping 
ALLIANCE. wings of ultra conservatism. Probably no more 

forcible example of this has occurred in recent 
years than that illustrated in the events following Mr. Stead's disclosures 
in the Pall Mall Gazette, Here a brave, earnest worker for true morality 
exposed to view a pictuVe of moral depravity that horrified and sickened 
the world. It was a thriUing narration of facts; at once a graphic 
picture of the daily doings of many of the nobility of Britain, and a 
story of moral depravity which far eclipsed yi infamy the hoiTors of the 
Inquisition of^ the Middle Ages. For the Inquisition struck only at 
physical life, while the creatures of lust, known in the fashionable 
world as Lords and Nobles, — had seized for the base gratification of 
their depraved natures the most sacred flower in ci*eation's garden, the 
rose of female purity, and polluted it. They thrust into the Tartarus of 
social and moral death sweet, innocent lives who had been foully 
decoyed to ruin, after they had robbed themfof tlie supreme treasure of 
womanhood. This was the revelation made by Mr. Stead to the world. 
It was a brave, bold deed in behalf of purity and defenceless womanhood; 
but it unveiled iniquity in high places, and for this exhibition of moral 
heroism which should have won for him a tribute of undying love from 
every soul haunted with lofty ideals, from every man and woman who 
valued virtue at its worthy and from every home that dotted the hills and . 
dales of Christendom where chastity was enthroned ; for this splendid 
deed, Mr. Stead was incarcerated in prison, while the real criminals, 
reeking in the foulest iniquity that mind of man can conceive, went 
forth unscathed. Thoy had money, caste, and the strongholds of 
conservatism at their command. 

Another striking illustration of conservatism protecting vice by assail- 
ing all who seek to purify life, in the only way in which society can 
ever be purged of immorality, was witnessed in the attempted sup- 
pression of the •' Kreutzer Sonata." Here we had what, to the superficial 
observer, must have appeared a most anomalous combination, — ultra 
conservatism, joined hand in hand with the sensualism of society, in a 
vituperous assault on the bold, brave, Russian count, who stands 
a moral pillar in the far East, carrying out as nearly as possible what he 
conceives to be the truth ; denying self everything that he may by life, 
example, and influence better and gladden the lives of his fellowmen. 
He was instantly subjected to the basest misconception, his work 
placed under the ban because he revealed a phase of social life alarmingly 


prevalent at the present time in every civilized land; because he dared 
to point out the result of sensual alliances in their true light. Is it not 
significant that while works which possess moral vitality, which com- 
pel people to think, which carry the germ of moral revolution are so 
fiercely assailed by conservatism, one hears little or nothing against 
the works of Zola, although all will admit that his writings are morally 
enervating; that he stands for no worthy ideal; that he has never felt 
the fire of a holy desire to lift humfinity and elevate the thoughts of 
mankind ; that he seeks not to make the world better, purer, or truer? 
Nor do we hear anything against Byron who clothed vice in royal 
raiment, who was a master in the art of making iniquity, vice, and sin 
bewitehing. We hear nothing of Alexander Pope, he who, if pious from 
a religious point of view, was anything but pure in his literary work. 
These writers and numerous others whose productions are old enough 
to be termed classic, excite no outbreak of pious wrath. It is not till 
a writer touches upon evils in such a manner as to force men to think, 
not until there is a flash of light that means agitation until a higher 
morality is attained, that conservatism unites with the frivolous and 
the evil in the gay social world and strongly denounces a work. But here, 
lest I be misunderstood, let me distinctly state that I am not arguing in 
favor of the suppression of the works above mentioned, for I believe 
the whole docl^ne of paternal censorship to be pernicious and inimical 
to the best interests of civilization. I believe its positive tendency is to 
make moral imbeciles of the people; to lessen in parents, teachers, and 
society the solemn responsibility of indelibly impressing youth with 
strong, healthy moral instruction. The idea that ignorance is virtue is 
one of the most dangerous fallacies that can be entertained. Ignorance 
or innocence is a reed; virtue is an oak. Between the two there is all 
the difference that is found between extreme weakness and uncon- 
querable strength. A right education will produce a virtuous people. 
But a people raised in ignorance or surrounded by restraints, sooner or 
later become the easy prey of vice, which is ever seeking innocence, 
but which shrinks cur-like from vii-tue. I hold, therefore, that in the 
interest of the highest morality if for no other reason, no paternalism 
should be tolerated by our people; but there are other grave and 
weighty reasons why the foreign-bom censorship idea should have no 
home in America. The point in question, however, is not the restriction 
of immoi'al works, but the suppression of the works of reformers who 
seek to elevate and ennoble society by unmasking evils as they exist 
and arousing the moral instincts of the people; for in this alone lies the 
only real reformative strength. They who seek to suppress works 
which repel one from vice, which show the deadly results of licentious- 
ness and all forms of immorality, which assail evils, not as they existed 
in Greece, Rome, or the Middle Ages, but now, here and in every strata 
of our society, simply strive to film the ulcer, veil the leper, conceal 
the cancer, hide the contagion of small-pox by shrouding the victim as 
he mingles with the crowd. At first sight it impresses one as strange 
that books which are capable of working evil in some instances, books 
which make vice alluring and throw over immorality the fascinating 
influence of gorgeously tinted pictures born of a fertile and skilful 
imagination, should be passed unnoticed, while works which are the 
product of the noblest minds and are aimed solely at the overthrow of 
evil should be so fiercely assailed. We have not far to look, however, 
for the reason. It is the reform germ that startles ultra conservatism as 
it frightens evil. Like the tones of an alarm bell at midnight fall the 
vitalizing thoughts of a soul aglow with strong moral enthusiasm upon 
the ear of the idolaters of the paf t as well as the doers of evil. Thus it 
was two thousand years ago when the great simple and sublime Teacher 




of Galilee assailed the scribes, pharisees, and hypocrites of His day. 
Conservatism, at first content to sneer at this *' friend of publicans and 
sinners,^* and to draw aside her cloak lest she might be contaminated 
by His touch, soon became alarmed. The impulses of a new truth rang 
in His teaching. She recognized the presence of an unconventional 
disturber. She slew Him. In judging a work or a life from an ethical 
I>oint of view, the wise man will gauge his conclusion by the influence 
exerted; the moral or immoral force that is exhibited. Judged merely 
by the standards of polite society in His day the great Nazarene was 
what we would term a tramp, a crank, an impractical dreamer, a 
disturber of the peace. But in His life of self-denial, in His moral 
courage, and in' His deeds of love and mercy we behold the grandeur of 
perfected manhood. And from His words of truth, wisdom, and tender- 
ness which ring down the ages, many of the noblest lives which have 
blossomed along the pathway of the centuries have received a broader 
and richer vision of life; have caught an inspiration born of the skies; 
have imbibed strength, which has enabled them to serenely endure 
tortures unnameable, and which mark the highest altitudes of heroism. 
I repeat there is but one test by which we can measure a life or a book ; 
the Impulse, the spirit, the essential germ which is its motive power. 


No. XIV. 

JANUARY, 1891. 



Everyone who feels an interest in whatever knowledge 
can be obtained bearing upon the nature and destiny of 
man — and what intelligent person does not? — should be 
deeply grateful to those active members of the Society for 
Psychical Research in England and in America who have 
devoted themselves for many years to the collection of 
authentic cases of the various kinds of apparitions. These 
cases have been all personally investigated, so far as was 
possible; the evidence has been obtained either from the 
actual witnesses, or,, where this was not possible, from those 
who received their personal testimony ; corroborative evidence, 
in contemporary records of whatever kind, has been sought 
for, often at great cost of time and labor ; and, finally, the 
whole body of facts thus accumulated has been systemati- 
cally arranged, carefully discussed and published for the in- 
formation of all who may be interested in the inquiry.* If 
we add to this the evidence collected and recorded with equal 
care by the late Robert Dale Owen, by Dr. Eugene Crowell, 
and many other writers, we shall find ourselves in possession 
of a body of facts which ought to be sufficient to enable us 
to arrive at some definite conclusions as to the nature, origin, 
and purport of those puzzling phenomena usually known as 
ghosts or apparitions, these terms being held to include audi- 

* In " Phantasms of the Living/' 2 ▼. Svo, and the " Froceeaings " of 
the Society from 1862 to 1890. 

Gopjrlgbt 1880, by The Artna Pabllihlng Co. M 


tory and tactile as well as visual impressions — ^the appearances 
termed *^ doubles '^ or phantasms of the living; as well as 
those purporting to represent or to emanate from the dead. 

Before proceeding further I wish to point out the inesti- 
mable obligation we are under to the Psychical Research 
Society, for having presented the evidence in such a way 
that the facts to be interpreted are now generally accepted, as 
facts, by all who have taken any trouble to inquire into the 
amount and character of the testimony for them — the opin- 
ion of those who have not taken that trouble being alto- 
gether worthless. This change in educated public opinion 
appears to be due to a combination of causes. The careful 
preliminary investigation into the phenomena of telepathy 
has seemed to furnish a scientific basis for an interpretation 
of many phantasms, and has thus removed one of the chief 
difficulties in the way of accepting them as facts — the sup- 
posed impossibility of correlating tbem with any other 
phenomena. The number of men eminent in literature, art, 
or science who have joined the Society and have contributed 
to its " Proceedings," has given the objects of its inquiry a 
position and status they did not previously possess ; while 
the earnestness, the thoroughness, the literary skill, and 
philosophic acumen with which the evidence has been 
presented to the world, has compelled assent to the proposi- 
tion that the several classes of apparitions known as doubles, 
phantasms of the living or the dead, spectral lights, voices, 
musical sounds, and the varied physical effects which occur 
in ' haunted houses, are real and not very uncommon phe- 
nomena, well worthy of earnest study, and only doubtful as 
regards the interpretation to be put upon them. 

Some of the best workers in the Society, it is true, still 
urge that the evidence is very deficient, both in amount and 
in quality, and that much more must be obtained before it 
can be treated as really conclusive. This view, however, 
appears to me to be an altogether erroneous one. On look- 
ing through the evidence already published, I find that every 
one of the chief groups of phenomena already referred to is 
established by a considerable number of cases in which the 
testimony is first hand, the witnesses irreproachable, and in 
which the evidence of several independent witnesses agree in 
all important particulars. And, in addition to these unex- 
ceptionable cases, there are a whole host of others in which the 


evidence is not quite so complete individually, but which are 
so completely corroborative in their general character and 
which fall so little short of the very best' kind of evidence 
that the cumulative weight of the whole is exceedingly 
great. I shall, therefore, waste no time in discussing the 
value of the evidence itself, but shall devote my attention 
entirely to a consideration of what the facts teach as to the 
real nature of the phenomena. 

This is the more necessary because, up to the present time, 
the only explanation of the various classes of apparitions 
suggested by the more prominent working members of the 
Society, is, that they are hallucinations due to the telepathic 
action of one mind upon another. These writers have, as 
they state that they felt bound to do, strained the theory 
of telepathy to its utmost limits in order to account for the 
more important of the phenomena which they have then^- 
selves set forth; and the chief difference of opinion now 
seems to be, whether all the facts can be explained as pri- 
marily due to telepathic impressions from a living agent — a 
view maintained by Mr. Podmore, — or whether the spirits of 
the dead are in some cases the agents, as Mr. Myers thinks 
may be the case. But in order to give this telepathic theory 
even a show of probability, it is necessary to exclude or to 
explain away a number of the most interesting and suggestive 
facts collected by the Society, and also to leave out of con^ 
sideration whole classes of phenomena which are altogether 
at variance with the hypothesis adopted.* It is to these 
latter cases that I now wish to call attention, because they 
lead us to quite different conclusions from the writers above 
referred to, both as to the nature of apparitions and as to the 
agents concerned in their production. 

The evidence which either distinctly suggests or affords 
direct proof of the objectivity of apparitions is of five dif- 
ferent kinds: (1) Collective hallucinations, or the perception 
of the same phantasmal sights or sounds by two or more per- 
sons at once. (2) Phantasms seen to occupy different points 
in space, by different persons, corresponding to their apparent 

• " Phantasms of the Dead from another Point of View ** bv F. Podmore, 
and ** A Defence of Phantasms of the Dead "by P. W. H. Myers, in Pro- 
ceedings of the Society /or Psychical Research^ Part XVI., 1890. In these j^apers 
the extreme telepathic theory is set forth by Mr. Podmore with admirable 
boldness and with full illustrations; and is forcibly combated bv Mr. Myers, 
whose views aA here expressed are, however, only a very little m advance of 
those of his fellow-worker. 




motion ; or, the persistence of the phantasm in one spot, not- 
withstanding th^ observer changes his position. (8) The 
effects of phantasms upon domestic animaLs. (4) The physi- 
cal effects apparently produced by phantasms, or connected 
with their appearance. (5) The fact that phantasms, whether 
visible or invisible to persons present, can be and have been 
photographed. Examples of each of these groups of cases 
will now be given and their bearing on the question at issue 
briefly discussed. 

*(1) Collective Hallucination (so-called). Cases of this 
kind are very numerous and some of them perfectly attested. 
Let us first take that of the figure of a man seen repeatedly 

by Mrs. W , her son, a boy of nine, and her stepdaughter. 

It was seen distinctly at the most unexpected times, as when 
plajing the piano, when playing at cricket in the garden, and 
by two at once when playing at battledore and shuttlecock. A 
voice was also distinctly heard by both the ladies. The de- 
scription of the figure by the two ladies agreed completely, and 
the appearance occurred in a house Reported to be haunted.* 

Such an appearance as this, occurring to two ladies not at 
all nervous and who have never before or since had any 
similar experiences, and also to a boy when at play, seems 
almost necessarily to imply some real object of vision ; yet 

they both, as well as Surgeon-Major W y are positive that 

»the form could not have been that of any living person. 

An equally remarkable case is that of the young woman, 
draped in white, which, at intervals during ten years, was 
seen by Mr. John D. Harry, his three daughters, their ser- 
vant, and partially by the husband of one of the daughters. 
Mr. Harry saw it on seven or eight occasions in his bedroom 
and library. On one occasion it lifted the mosquito curtains 
of his bed Tthis all occurred in a house in the South of 
Europe), ana looked closely into his face. It appeared to all 
three of the young ladies and their maid at one time, but 
apparently in a more shadowy form. Here again, it seems 
impossible that so many persons could have a similar or 
identical vision without any corresponding reality.f 

Of another type is the female figure in white, which was 
seen on a summer afternoon, floating over a hedge, some ten 

• Proceedings of the Society for Paychical Research, Pt. VIII. (May 1886), 
pp. 102-106. 

t Proceedings o! the Society for Psychical Research, Pt. VIU. (May 1886), 
pp. lll-lio. 


feet above the ground, by two girls of thirteen and a boy. 
They watched it for a couple of minutes, passing over a field 
till they lost sight of it in a plantation. All were in good 
health, and had seen no apparition before or since. They 
were driving in a tax-cart at the time, and when the figure 
appeared, the horse stopped and shook with fright, so much 
so that they could not get it on. This last fact which will 
be referred to under another head, renders it almost certain 
that the figure seen was visually objective.* 

As a type of the auditory phenomena we may take the dis- 
turbances in the house of a clergyman which continued al- 
most nightly for twenty years. The sounds were loud 
knockings or hammerings, often heard all over the house and 
by every inmate, and occurring usually from twelve to two 
in the morning. Sometimes a sound was heard like that pro- 
duced by a cart heavily laden with iron bars passing close 
beneath the windows, yet on immediate search nothing was 
seen. Lady and gentlemen visitors heard these varied sounds 
as well as the residents in the house, and, notwithstanding 
long-continued search and watching, no natural cause for 
them was ever discovered. In such a case as this it is im- 
possible to doubt that the sounds heard were real sounds, f 

Equally remarkable ia the case where a whole family and 
a visitor, in an isolated country house, heard a loud and 
continuous noise at the front door, which seemed to shake in 
its frame, and to vibrate under some tremendous blows. The 
servants, who were asleep in the back part of the house 
sixty feet away, were awoke by the disturbance, and came 
running, halfi^essed, to see what the terrific noise meant 
Tet the house was enclosed within high railings and locked 
gates, and on an immediate search nothing could be found to 
account for the noise. The visitor, however, Mr. Garling, 
of Folkestone, who gives the account, had that afternoon seen 
a phantasm of a friend he had left four days previously with 
his family all in perfect health; and at the time of the 
knocking, this friend's wife and two servants had died of 
cholera, and he himself was dying, and had been all day 
repeatedly begging that his friend Garling should be sent 
for.J Here we may well suppose that the (perhaps sub- 

r » 

• " Phantasms of the Living," Vol. IL, p. 197. 

t R. D. Owens' ** Debatable Land/' pp. 251-255. 

X " Phantasms of the Living." Vol. II., pp. 149-151. 


jective) phantasm, having failed to bring the percipient to 
his dying friench, a violent objective sound was resorted to, 
which should compel attention by its being audible to a whole 

2. Phantasms whose objectivity is indicated by definite 
space-delations, — We now pass to a group of phenomena 
which still more clearly point to the actual objectivity of 
phantasms, namely, their definite space-relations as witnessed 
either by one or many percipients. Of this kind is the case, 
given in outline only, of a weeping lady which appeared to 
five persons, and on many occasions, to two of them together. 
Tlie interesting point is, however, that indicated in the 
following passage : " They went after it (the figure) together 
into the drawing-room ; it then came out and went down a 
passage leading to the kitchen, but was the next minute seen 

by another Miss D , to come up the outside steps from 

the kitchen. On this particular day Captain D 's married 

daughter happened to be at an upstairs window, and inde- 
pendently saw the figure continue its course across the 
lawn and into the orchard." * Here it is almost impossible 
to conceive that the several hallucinations of four persons 
should so exactly correspond and fit into each other. A 
something objective, even if unsubstantial, seems absolutely 
necessary to produce the observed effects. 

In the next case, a well-known English clergyman and 
author, of Boston, Mass., — the late Rev. W. Mountford, — 
was visiting some friends in the Norfolk fens, when a 
carriage containing his host's brother and sister-in-law, who 
lived near, was seen coming along the straight road between 

j the two houses. The horse and carriage was recognized as 

well as the occupants, and was seen by the three persons 
looking on to pass in front of the house. But no knock was 

I heard, and on going to the door nothing was to be seen. 

Five minutes afterwards a young lady, the daughter of the 
persons in the carriage, arrived and informed her uncle and 
aunt that her father and mother, in their chaise, had passed 
her on the road and, greatly to her surprise, without speaking 
to her. Ten minutes afterwards the real persons arrived 
just as they had been seen a quarter of an hour previously, 
having come straight from their home. None of the four 

• Proc. Soc. Pb. Re«., Part VIII. (May, 1885), pp. 117, 146. 


percipients had any doubt as to the reality of the phantom 
carriage and its occupants till the real carriage appeared. * 
We are not now concerned with the cause or nature of this 
extraordinary "double" or phantasm of the living, with 
their horse and chaise; that will be discussed in another 
article. It is adduced here only in evidence of the objectiv- 
ity of the appearance, showing that 8omething capable of being 
perceived by ordinary vision did pass along the road near 
the house in which Mr. Mountford was staying when the 
event occurred. 

(3.) Effects of phantcisms on antmal9, — We now come to 
a group of phenomena which, although frequently recorded 
in the publications of the Society for Psychical Research, 
have received no special attention as bearing on the theories 
put forth by members of the society, but have either been ig- 
nored or have been attempted to be explained away by arbitrary 
assumptions of the most improbable kind. It will, therefore, 
be necessary to refer to the evidence for these facts somewhat 
more fully than for those hitherto considered. 

I have already mentioned the case of the female figure in 
white, seen by three persons, floating over a hedge ten feet 
above the ground, when the horse they were driving ** suddenly 
stopped and shook with fright." In the remarks upon this 
case in " Phantasms of the Living " no reference is made to 
this fact, yet it is surely the crucial one, since we can hardly 
suppose that a wholly subjective apparition, seen by human 
beings, would also be seen by a horse. During the tremendous 
knocking recorded by Mr. Garling, and already quoted, it is 
stated that there was a large dog in a kennel near the front 
entrance, especially to warn off intruders, and a little terrier 
inside that barked at everybody ; yet, when the noise occurred 
that wakened the servants sixty feet away, " the dogs gave 
no tongue whatever ; the terrier, contrary to its nature, slunk 
shivering under the sofa, and would not stop even at the 
door, and nothing could induce him to go into the darkness." 

In the remarkable account of a haunted house during an 
occupation of twelve months by a well-known English church 
dignitary, the very different behavior of dogs in the presence 
of real and of phantasmal disturbances is pointed out. When 
an attempt was made to rob the vicarage, the dogs gave 

♦ " Phantasms of the Living," Vol. II., pp. 97-99. 

. I 




pfTompt alarm and the clergyman was aroused by their fieroe 
harking. During the mysterious noises, however, though 
these were much louder and more disturbing, they never 
barked at all, but were always found ^^ cowering in a state of 
pitiable terror." They are said to have been more perturbed 
than any other members of the establishment, and ^'if not 
shut up below, would make their way to our bedroom door and 
lie there, crouching and whining, as long as we would allow 
them." * 

In the account of haunting in a house at Hammersmith 
near London which went on for five years, where steps and 
noises were heard and a phantom woman seen, — «^ the dog 
whined incessantly" during the disturbances; and, — «^the 
dog was evidently still afraid of the room when the morning 
came. I called to him to go into it with me, and he crouched 
down with his tail between his legs, and seemed to fear enter- 
ing it." t 

On the occasion of a «« wailing cry " heard before a death 
in a rectory in Staffordshire, a house standing quite alone in 
open countiy, " we found a favorite bull-dog, a very coura- 
geous animal, trembling with terror, with his nose thrust into 
some bUlets of firewood, which were kept under the stairs." 
On another occasion, *^ an awful howling followed by shriek 
upon shriek," with a sound like that caused by a strong 
wind was heard, although everything out of doors was quite 
still, and it is stated, «^ We had three dogs sleeping in my 
sisters' and my bedrooms, and they were all cowering down 
with affright, their bristles standing straight up ; one — a 
bulldog, — was under the bed, and refused to come out, and 
when removed was found to be trembling all over."| The 
remark of Mrs. Sidgwick on these and other cases of warning 
sounds is tliat **if not real natural sounds, they must have 
been collective hallucinations." But it has not been shown 
that ^^real natural sounds" ever produce such effects upon 
dogs, and there is no suggestion that ^^ collective hallucinar 
tion " can be telepathetically transferred to these animals. 
In one case, however, it is suggested that the dog might 
have ^^ been suddenly taken ill I " 

In the remarkable account by General Barter, C. B., of 

•Proc. Soc. P». Bes. Part VI. p. 161. 

t Proe. Soc. P». Bes. Part VIII. p. 116. 

t Proc. Soc. Pa. Bes. Part XIII., pp. 307-80S. 





a phantasmal pony and rider with two native grooms, seen 
in India, two dogs which immediately before were hunting 
about in the brushwood jungle which covered the hill, came 
and crouched by the general's side giving low, frightened 
whimpers; and when he pursued the phantasm the dogs 
returned- home, though on all other occasions they were his 
most faithful companions.* 

These cases, given on the best authority by the Society for 
Psychical Research, can be supplemented by a reference to 
older writers. During the disturbances at Mr. Mompesson's 
house at Tedworth, recorded by the Rev. Joseph Glanvil 
from personal observation and inquiry in his work, ^^Sad- 
ducismus Triumphatus," — " it was noted that when the 
noise was loudest, and came with the most sudden surprising 
violence, no dog about the house would move, though the 
knocking was oft so boisterous and rude, that it hath been 
heard to a considerable distance in the fields, and awakened 
the neighbors in the village, none of which live very near 

So, in the disturbances at Epworth Parsonage, an account 
of which was given by the eminent John Wesley, after de- 
scribing strange noises as of iron and glass thrown down, he 
continues: — ^^Soon after, our large mastiff dog came and 
ran to shelter himself between them (Mr. and Mrs. Wesley). 
While the disturbances continued, he used to bark and leap, 
and snap on one side and the other, and that frequently 
before any person in the room hesM any noise at all. But 
after two or three days he used to tremble, and creep away 
before the noise began. And by this the family knew it 
was at hand ; nor did the observation ever fail."f 

During the disturbances at the Cemetery of Ahrensburg 
in the island of Oesel, where coffins were overturned in 
locked vaults, and the case was investigated by an official 
commission, the horses of country people visiting the ceme- 
tery were often so alarmed and excited that they became 
covered with sweat and foam. Sometimes they threw them- 
selves on the ground where they struggled in apparent agony, 
and, notwithstanding the immediate resort to remedial 

• Proc. Soc. Pb. Res. Part XIV. pp. 469, 470. 

t The account of these disturbances is given in Dr. Adam Clarke's " Me- 
moirs of the Wesley Family; " in Southey's "Life of Wesley; " and in many 
other works. 


measures, several died within a day or two. In this case, as 
in so many others, although the commission made a most 
rigid investigation and applied the strictest tests, no natural 
cause for the disturbances was ever discovered.* 

In Dr. Justinus Kemer's account of "The Seeress of 
Prevorst," it is stated of an apparition that appeared to her 
during an entire year, that as often as the spirit appeared, a 
black terrier that was kept in the house seemed to be sen- 
sible of its presence ; for no sooner was the figure per- 
I ceptible to the Seeress than the dog ran, as if for protection, 

I ! to some one present, often howling loudly; and after his 

first sight of it he would never remain alone of nights. In 
this case no one saw the figure but the Seeress, showing that' 
this circumstance is not proof of the subjectivity of an appa- 

In the terrible case of haunting given to Mr. R. Dale Owen 
by Mrs. S. C. Hall, who was personally cognizant of the 
main facts, the haunted man had not been able to keep a dog 
for years. One which he brought home when Mrs. Hall 
became acquainted with him (he being the brother of her 
bosom friend) could not be induced to stay in his room day 
or night after the haunting began, and soon afterwards ran 
away and was lost.f 

In the wonderful case of haunting in Pennsylvania, given 
by Mr. Hodgson in The Arena, of September last (p. 419), 
when the apparition of the white lady appeared to the in- 
formant's brother, we find it stated: "The third night he 
saw the dog crouch and stare, and then act as if driven round 
the room. Brother saw nothing, but heard a sort of rustle, 
and the poor dog howled and tried to hide, and never again 
would that dog go to that room." 

Now this series of cases of the effect of phantasms on 
animals is certainly remarkable and worthy of deep consid- 
eration. The facts are such as, on the theories of telepathy 
and hallucination, ought not to happen, and they are espe- 
cially trustworthy facts because they are almost invariably 
introduced into the narratives as if unexpected ; while, that 
they were noticed and recorded shows that the observers were 
in DO degree panic^truck with terror. They show us unmis- 

•R. D. Owen's " Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World," pp. 186- 
t " Footfalls from the Boundary of Another World," pp. 326-829. 



takably that large numbers of phantasms, whether visual or 
auditory, and even when only perceptible to one of the 
persons present, are objective realities ; while the terror dis- 
played by the animals that perceive them, and their behavior, 
so unlike that in the presence of natural sights and sounds, 
no less clearly proves that, though objective, the phenomena 
are not normal and are not to be explained as in any way due 
to trick or to misinterpreted natural sounds. Yet these crucial 
facts, which a true theory must take account of, have 
hitherto been treated as unimportant, and,' except for a few 
casual remarks by Mr. Myei's and Mrs. Sidgwick, have been 
left out of consideration in all the serious attempts hitherto 
made to account for the phenomena of phantasms. 

(4.) Physical effects produced hy phantasms or occurrinq 
in connection with them.— There can be^ no more convincing 
proof of the objective reality of a phantasm than the pro- 
duction of' real motion or displacement of material objects. 
There is abimdant evidence of such effects ; but, owing to 
the method hitherto adopted by the chief members of the 
Psychical Research Society, of breaking up the phenomena 
into groups, and discussing each group separately as if it 
stood alone and had no relation with the rest of the phe- 
nomena, they have as yet received no attention. The curious 
circumstance that visual phantoms are often seen to open 
doors in order to enter a room, which doors are afterwards 
found to 'be locked and bolted, is supposed to throw doubt 
upon other cases in which doors really open ; but every one 
who pays close attention to these questions must be con- 
vinced that phantasms are of many kinds, ranging from mere 
images on the brain of a single person up to forms which are 
not only visible to all present, but are sometimes tangible 
also, and capable of acting with considerable effect on 
ordinary matter. Let us consider a few of these cases, 
taking first those recorded in the publications of the Society 
for Psychical Research. 

The phantasm described by Dr. and Mrs. Gwynne was 
seen by them both to put its hand toward or over the night- 
light on the mantelpiece, which was at once extinguished. 
On being relighted it burned for the rest of the night. Of 
course it is possible to explain this as due to a sudden gust 
of wind down the chimney, but why the only gust during the 
night occurred at the moment the phantom was seen by two 



persons to place its hand toward or over the light is not ex- 

In the house at Hammersmith where a figure was seen and 

noises heard during five years, Mrs. R who describes them 

says, that on one occasion the curtains of her bed were pulled 
, j back, and, she continues, — ^^ frequently I had doors opened for 

me before entering a room, as if a hand had hastily turned 
the handle and thrown it open."f 

In another case of a haunted house, Mr. K. Z., said to be a 
man of reputation, stated that ^^ doors opened and shut in 
the house without apparent cause," and *^ bells were rung in 
the middle of the night, causing all the household to turn out 
and search for burglars."^ Again, in a house where appari-- 
tions were seen by four persons, three persons sitting together 
in a room were attracted by the door creaking, '^ and we 
watched it slowly open to about one third, and it remained 
so." No such opening has been seen at any other time.§ 

Dr. Eugene Crowell relates that in a house in Brooklyn a 
relation of his own several times had his hat struck from his 
head while descending the stairs or passing through the hall, 
and under circumstances which rendered the agency of any 
living person impossible. || In the case already referred to, 
given by Mr. Hodgson in the September Arena, doors fre- 
quently opened and shut, and pictures, clocks, and other arti- 
cles were thrown down with a great crash in a room where 
there was no one at the time, while another picture fell in 
front of the lady as she was entering the room. 

But all these cases are insignificant as compared with the 
evidence afforded by the bell-ringing at Great Bealings, Suf- 
folk, and at other places, an account of which was pub- 
lished in 1841 by Major Moor, a Fellow of the Royal Society, 
in whose house they occurred. The ringing, in a violent, 
clattering manner, went on almost daily for nearly two 
months, during which time every effort was made to discover 
any natural cause for the phenomenon, but in vain. 
Major Moor states : — *^ The bells rang scores of times when 
no one was in the passage, or backbuilding, or house, 
or grounds unseen. Neither I, nor the servants, nor any one, 

• "Phantesma of the Living," Vol. II., p. 202. 

t Proc. Soc. P». Res. Part Vlll., p. 115. 

iProc Soc. PiB. Be8. 1., p. 107. 

I Proc. Soc. Pb. Res. XIV. p. 448. 

I " PrimitiTe Christianity and Modem Spiritualism/' Vol. I., p. 191. 


could or can work the wonderment that I and more than 
half a score of others saw." And he declares finally : — "I 
am thoroughly convinced that the ringing is by no^ human 

The publication of his statement in the Ipswich Journal 
brought him accounts of no less than fourteen similar dis- 
turbances in various parts of England, every one of them 
equally unexplained. One of these was in Greenwich Hos- 
pital, and the account of this was given to Major Moor, by 
Lieutenant Rivers, R. N., a comrade of Nelson. The bells 
in Lieutenant Rivers' apartments in the hospital rang for 
four days. The clerk of the works, his assistant, a bell- 
hanger, and several scientific men tried to discover the cause, 
but all in vain. They made every one leave the house ; 
they watched the bells, the cranks, and the wires, but, just as 
in Major Moor's case, without becoming any the wiser. In 
another case, in a house near^Chesterfield, long and repeated 
bell-ringings continued for eighteen months. Bell-hangers 
and other persons watched and experimented in vain. The 
wires were cut, but still the bells rang. Neither the owner, 
Mr. Ashwell, nor his friend, Mr. Felkins of Nottingham, 
afterwards mayor of that town, nor any other person was 
ever able to discover, or even to conjecture any adequate 
cause for the phenomena. Ii) many of these cases the ring^ 
ing occurred in the daytime, and was repeated so often that 
ample opportunity was given for discovering the agency, if a 
human one. And the thing itself is so comparatively simple 
that there is no opportunity for a trick to be played without 
almost immediate discovery. Yet in none of these cases, 
nor so far as I am aware in any other at all similar to them, 
has any trick been discovered. They must, therefore, be 
classed as a form of haunting, comparable with the knockings 
and other disturbances so often connected with phantasmal 
appearances, and thus affording very strong evidence of the 
powers of phantasms to act upon matter.* 

(5.) Phantasms can be photographed^ and are, therefore^ 
oljjective realties, — It is common to sneer at what are called 
*' spirit photographs " because imitations of some of them can 

* An acconnt of all these fourteen cases of bell-ringing and of other dis- 
torbances with names and dates is given, in a small volume, now rare, en- 
titled '* Bealings Bells." A brief summary of them is given in R. Dale 
Owen's ** Debatable Land " and in William Uowitt's ** History of the Super- 
natural ," Vol. IX, p. 446. 



be 80 easily produced ; but a little consideration will show 
that this very facility of imitation renders it equally easy to 
guard against imposture, since the modes by which the imita- 
tion is effected are so well known. At all events it will be 
^ admitted that an experienced photographer who supplies the 

* plates and sees the whole of the operations performed, or 

, even performs them himself, cannot be so deceived. This 

test has been applied over and over again, and there is' no 
possible escape from the conclusion that phantasms, whether 
visible or invisible to those present, can be and have been 
photographed. A brief statement of the evidence in support 
of this assertion will now be given. 

The first person through whom spirit photographs were 
obtained, was a New York photographer named Mumler, 
who, in 1869, was arrested and tried for obtaining money by 
trickery and imposture, but who, after a long trial, was 
acquitted because no proof of imposture or attempt at impos- 
ture was given. But, on the other hand, evidence of extraor- 
dinary tests having been applied was given. A professional 
photographer, Mr. W. H. Slee, of Poughkeepsie, watched the 
whole process of taking the pictures, and though there was 
nothing unusual in Mumler's procedure, shadowy forms 
appeared on the plates. Mumler afterwards visited this 
witness' gallery, bringing with him no materials whatever, 
yet the same results were produced. Mr. J. Gurney, a New 
York photographer of twenty-eight years' experience, gave 
evidence that, after close examination, no trickery whatever 
could be detected in Mumler's process. Yet a third photog- 
rapher, Mr. W. W. Silver, of Brooklyn, gave evidence to 
the same effect. He frequently went through the whole 
process himself, using his own camera and materials, yet 
when Mumler was present, and simply placed his hand on 
the camera during the exposure, additional forms besides that 
of the sitter appeared upon the plates. Here we have the 
sworn testimony in a court of law of three experts, who had 
every possible means of detecting imposture if imposture 
there were ; yet they all declared that there was and could 
be no imposture.* 

• A report of the trial appeared in the New York Times of April 22, 1869. 

' ' Dr. 


and in many other papers.' An abstract of the evidence is given by Dr. 
Crowell in his " FrimiUve Christianity and Modem Spiritualism," Vol. L, 



It would be easy to give a score or more of cases in which 
persons of reputation have stated in print that they have 
obtained recognizable photographs of deceased friends when 
they themselves were quite unknown to the photographer 
and even when no photograph or picture of the deceased per- 
son existed. In all such cases, however, the objection is 
made that the figures are more or less shadowy and that the 
supposed likeness may be imaginary. I, therefore, prefer to 
give only the evidence of experts as to the appearance on 
photographic plates of other figures besides those of the visible 
sitters. Perhaps the most remarkable series of experiments 
ever made on this subject are those carried on during three 
years by the late Mr. John Beattie, of Clifton, a retired 
photographer of twenty years' experience, and Doctor Thom- 
son, M. D. (Edin.), a retired physician, who had practised 
photography as an amateur for twenty-five years. These two 
gentlemen performed all the photographic work themselves, 
sittmg with a medium who was not a photographer. They 
took hundreds of pictures, in series of three taken consecutively 
at intervals of a few seconds ; and the results are the more 
remarkable and the less open to any possible suspicion, be- 
cause there is not in the whole series what is commonly 
termed a spirit photograph, that is, the shadowy likeness of 
any deceased person, but all are more or less rudimental, 
exhibiting various patches of light undergoing definite 
changes of form, sometimes culminating in undefined human 
forms, or medallion-like heads, or star-like luminosities. In 
no case was there any known cause for the production of 
these figures. I possess a set of these remarkable photo- 
graphs, thirty-two in number, given me by Mr. Beattie, and I 
was personally acquainted with Doctor Thomson, who con- 
firmed Mr. Beattie's statements as to the conditions and cir- 
cumstances under which they were taken. Here we have a 
thorough scientific investigation undertaken by two well- 
trained experts, with no possibility of their being imposed 
upon ; and they demonstrate the fact that phantasmal figures 
and luminosities quite invisible to ordinary observers, can yet 
reflect or emit actinic rays so as to impress their forms and 
changes of form upon an ordinary photographic plate. An 
additional proof of this extraordinary phenomenon is, that 
frequently, and in the later experiments always, the medium 
spontaneously described what he saw, and the picture taken 





I at that moment always exhibited the same kind of figure. In 

one of the pictures the medium is shown among the sitters 
gazing intently and pointing with his hand. While doing so 
he exclaimed : " What a bright light up there I Can you not see 
it ? " And the picture shows the bright light in the place to 
I which his gaze and pointing hand are directed.* 

Very important, as confirming these results, are the 
experiments of the late Mr. Thomas Slater, the optician (of 
Euston Road, London), who obtained second figures on his 
plates when only his own family were present, and in one 
case when he was perfectly alone ; of Mr. R. Williams, M. A., 
of Hajrwards Heath ; of Mr. Traill Taylor, the editor of the 
British Journal of Photography ; and of many other profes- 
sional or amateur photographers, who all agree that, with 
everything under their own control, phantasmal figures, 
besides those of the sitter, appeared on the plates without 
any apparent or conceivable mechanical or chemical cause. 

In the cases hitherto given the phantasms or figures photo- 
graphed have been invisible to all present except the 
mediums, and sometimes even to them ; but we have also 
examples of the photographing of a visible form, or appari- 
tion, occurring in the presence of a medium. A very success- 
ful photograph of a spirit form which appeared under strict 
test conditions, with Miss Cook as the medium, was taken 
by Mr. Harrison, then editor of the Spiritualist newspaper. 
An engraving from' this photograph appears as a frontispiece 
to Epes Sargent's " Proof Palpable of Immortality," with an 
account of tiie conditions under which it was taken signed 
by the five persons present. Later on, Mr. Crookes obtained 
numerous photographs (more than forty in all) in his own 
laboratory, with the same medium ; and had every oppor- 
tunity of ascertaining that the phantom, which appeared 
and disappeared under conditions which rendered doubt 
impossible, was no human being, and was very different in 
all physical characteristics from the medium.f 

*A brief account of these experiments from notes furnished by Mr. 
Beattie and confirmed by Doctor Thomson, is elven in the present writer's 
" Miracles and Modern Spiritualism," p. 198. Mr Beattie published his own 
account in the Spiritual Mctgazine, September, 1S72, January, 1S78, and in 
the British Journal of Photography of toe same period. 

t An account of these experiments, and of those which preceded them, is 
eiven in a small volume entitled, " Researches in the Phenomena of 
Spiritualism/' by William Crookes, F. R. S., London, 1874; and they are 
summarized in Bpea Sargents' " Proof Palpable of ImmortaUty,'^ pp. 
100-XXO. *-- •» 


This long series of photographic experiments and tests, of 
which the briefest abstract only has been given, has been 
hitherto not even alluded to by the investigators of the 
Society for Psychical Research. But they cannot much 
longer continue to ignore it, because they have entered on the 
task of collecting the whole of the evidence for psychical 
phenomena, and of fairly estimating the weight of each of the 
groups under which that evidence falls. Now I submit that 
this photographic evidence is superior in quality to any that 
they have hitherto collected, for two reasons. In the first 
place, it is experimental evidence, and experiment is rarely 
possible in the higher psychical phenomena; in the second 
place it is the evidence of experts, in an operation the whole 
details of which are perfectly familiar to them. And, I 
further submit, this evidence can no longer be ignored be- 
cause it is evidence that goes to the very root of the whole 
inquiry and affords the most complete and crucial test in the 
problem of subjectivity or objectivity of apparitions. What 
is the use of elaborate arguments to show that all the 
phenomena are to be explained by the various effects of 
telepathy and that there is no evidence of the existence of 
objective apparitions occupying definite positions in space, 
when the camera and^he sensitive plate have again and again 
proved ^hat such objective phantasms do exist? Such argu- 
ments, found.ed on a small poi-tion only of the facts, remind 
one of that literary y«Ma? cT esprit^ " Historic doubts as to the 
existence of Napoleon Bonaparte " ; and, to those who are 
acquainted with the whole range of the phenomena to be ex- 
plained, are about equally convincing. 

I have now very briefly summarized and discussed the 
various classes of evidence which demonstrate the objectivity 
of many apparitions. The several groups of facts, while 
strong in themselves, gain greatly in strength by the support 
they give to each other. On the theory of objective reality 
all are harmonious and consistent. On the theory of hallu- 
cination, some require elaborate and unsupported theories for 
their explanation, while the great bulk are totally inexplic- 
able, and have, therefore, to be ignored, or set aside, or 
explained away. Collective hallucinations (so-called) are 
admitted to be frequent. That phantasms often behave like 
objective realities in relation to material objects and to differ- 
ent persons is also admitted. This is as it should be if they 


[| 146 THE ARENA. 

are object! ve, bat is hardly explicable on the subjective or 
telepathic theory. The behavior of animals in the presence 
of phantasms, the evidence for which is as good as that for 
their appearance to men and women, is what we might 
expect if they are abnormal realitiesv but involve enormous 
difficulties on any other theory. The physical effects pro- 
duced by phantasms (visible or invisible) afford a crucial 
test of objectivity, and are far too numerous and too well 
attested to be ignored or explained away. And, finally, 
comes the test of objectivity afforded by the photographic 
camera in the hands of experts and physicbts of the first 
rank, rendering any escape from this conclusion simply 

I have confined this discussion strictly to the one question 

of ohjectivity^ a term that does not necessarily imply mate- 

^ riality. We do not know whether the luminiferous ether is 

material, or whether electricity is material, but both are cer- 
^ tainly objective. Some have used the term *^ non-molecular 
matter'' for the hypothetical substance of which visible 
phantoms are composed, — a substance that seems to have 
the property under certain conditions of aggregating to itself 
molecular matter, so that tangible or force-exerting phantasms 
are produced. But this is all theoretical, and we do not yet 
possess sufficient knowledge to enable us to theorize op what 
may be termed the anatomy and ph3rsiology of phantoms. 
There is, however, a broader question to be discussed, one on 
which I think we have materials for arriving at some in- 
teresting and useful conclusions. I refer to the general nature 
and origin of various classes of phantasmal appearances, 
from the ^* doubles " of living persons to those apparitions 
which bring us news of our departed friends or are in some 
cases, able to warn us of future events, which more or less 
deeply affect us. This inquiry will form the subject of 
another paper. 



The ideal of a statesman in a popular government is 
succinctly expressed in the lines applied by the poet Stoddard 
to Lincoln : — 

** One of the people ! Bom to be 
Their curious epitome; 
To share, yet rise above, 
Their shifting hate and love." 

With almost equal accuracy these words might have been 
said of Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Cleveland. Great statesmen 
are not necessarily, and not usually, original abstract thinkers. 
Edmund Burke was an exception to this rule ; but with all 
his philosophical insight, he never attained to anything like 
the absolute power over English ofiBcial life, which was 
wielded for almost a generation by Lord Palmerston, the adroit 
manipulator of men and thorough-going Philistine. Mr. Glad- 
stone has challenged notice as a writer in various departments. 
He has appeared as a religious controversialist, and as a critic 
of many ancient and modern literary productions, meeting 
however with indiffei'ent success. Even as a thinker on polit- 
ical subjects Mr. Gladstone has not always been profound or 
keen sighted. His position on our Civil War is well remem- 
bered. Presumably he favored the South, because it was his 
life-long habit to keep in touch with, and reflect, the public 
sentiment about him. Mr. Gladstone has grown with the 
people, keeping far enough ahead of the average intelligence 
to remain a leader, but never far outstripping it. He began 
life 88 a Tory ; the influence of popular progress gradually con- 
verted him into a Liberal ; and the same current has borne him 
along, slowly but steadily, until now he presents the inspiring 
spectacle of an old man, with as much fervid interest in the 
future of his nation, as a radical just out of his teens. Mr. 
Gladstone in 'his own person has epitomized English political 
evolution, during the period beginning after the passage of 




the Reform Bill, and coming down to the contest for Irish 

Something of this representative character, this identifi- 
cation in thought and aspiration with the masses of mankind, 
must exist in the active statesman of a democratic govern- 
ment. Usually a refoi-m is foreshadowed by abstract thinkers 
long before its accompHshment. Their thoughts are gradu- 
I ally taken up by receptive minds, and slowly their influence 

percolates down to the masses. Then comes the necessity 
for the statesman, — the man who will translate the language 
of philosophy into the vernacular of every day ; who will feel 
* and think with the people, and make them feel and think with 

' him. A democratic statesman must therefore be in one way 

\ or another a popular expresser of thought. He may be, like 

i Henry Clay or Mr. Gladstone, a great orator ; he may be, 

! like Thomas Jefferson or Mr. Cleveland, a great pamphleteer. 

I Mr. Cleveland first became conspicuous, not as an ex- 

pounder of desirable measures, but as a courageous champion 
■ of administrative reform. His State papet^ -while Governor 

of New York did not adequately indicate the intellectual 
grasp he was afterwards to display. During his guberna- 
torial term no question arose calling for the highest qualities 
of statesmanship. Furthermore, it seems probable that Cleve- 
land's mind, like Lincoln's, expanded with the greater prob- 
lems and duties set before him. Governor Cleveland's 
messages read like the straightforward utterances of an 
educated man of business. He gives most sensible reasons 
for the veto of this petty job and the pardon of that criminal, 
without wasting words. It happened that the bills by which 
the character of the man was best shown, were bills not that 
he vetoed but that he signed. He was therefore under no 
obligation, and, indeed, had no opportunity to express the 
reasons for his action. These measures were known in New 
York as the Roosevelt Bills. The Hon. Theodore Roosevelt, 
then almost at the beginning of his public career, had intro- 
duced in the New York Assembly, certain Acts to change 
the offices of Register and County Clerk in the City of New 
York from fee offices to salaried offices. To an outsider 
this may seem a trivial distinction, but the practical effect was 
considerable. Under a general statute of the State the reg- 
isters and clerks of the various counties were entitled to 
regular rates of fees for the filing and recording of legal 


papers, and other official acts. In most of the counties such 
fees made up only a reasonable compensation for services and 
necessary expenses. In the City and County of New York, 
however, by reason of the large population and volume of 
business, the statutory fees aggregated immense sums, ran- 
ging from $50,000 per annum upward — no exact amount of 
receipts could ever be obtained. Among the mercenary 
factions there had grown up the custom of electing reliable 
henchmen to these places, who, after pocketing a fair profit 
for themselves, turned over the balance as a corruption fund 
to the political organizations. With patriotic men there 
could not be two opinions as to the wisdom of breaking up 
this practice. But Mr. Cleveland showed much moral cour- 
age in signing the bills. They originated with the opposite 
party, and were bitterly opposed by influential politicians of 
his own party. It would have been quite easy to veto 
them upon some Jesuitical ground. There were other acts of 
great moral boldness performed by Governor Cleveland, 
notably his signing, on the ground of public expediency, of 
the Act abolishing the State Paper, whereby his political 
friend and mentor, Daniel Manning, one of the proprietors 
of the existing State Paper, was deprived of very substan- 
tial annual profits. On the whole, Governor Cleveland's 
career evinced sufficient mental endowment and pre-eminent 
courage. The attitude of the people of New York towards 
him at its close was well expressed by General Bragg's say- 
ing, " We love him for the enemies he has made." 

Mr. Cleveland's detractors are fond of calling him a mere 
creature of luck. No public man has had more implacable 
foes ; and much half-truth has been uttered for hia belittle- 
jnent. On the other hand, it is the fact, that on two notable 
occasions, happy chance has contributed to his advancement. 
He was comparatively unknown when nominated for Gov- 
ernor of New York, but a factional vendetta within the 
Republican party swelled his majority to phenomenal figures. 
Again, he was nominated for the Presidency partly because 
a great mistake on the part of the hostile party had rendered 
his candidacy specially expedient. This is not the place to 
express any views as to the character or the record of his 
distinguished opponent. The point is that vast numbers of 
the Republican party, rightly or wrongly, considered its can- 
didate unfit for the Chief Magistracy, and that therefore his 


choice by the convention was highly imprudent. Cleveland's 
accession to the Presidency was therefore, to quite a visible 
extent, the product of external circumstances ; but this might 
be said of almost all men who have attained that office. 
Lincoln was nominated because he embodied the movement 
towards slavery restriction ; Cleveland was nominated because 
he stood in his own person for administrative reform, at a 
time when many thousands of independent voters thought 
that such tendency greatly needed to be strengthened. Lin- 
coln, after his election, was taken off his feet, and carried 
forward by a 'popular trend, which finally made him the ex- 
ponent of a radicalism of which formerly he had never 
dreamed. Cleveland was no sooner inaugurated than he 
began to realize the necessity of accelerating the popular 
current towards an end transcending in importance, for the 
time being, even that of administrative reform. 

This current of opinion had originated long before among 
the more thoughtful, and was directed to the restoration of 
equilibrium, between the Federal government, and the gov- 
ernments of the respective States. In a speech delivered at 
Rochester in 1871, Samuel J. Tilden very aptly compared the 
two constantly antagonistic tendencies in American politics 
to the centripetal and centrifugal forces in the solar system.* 

That the spirit of centralization should have acquired an 
abnormal ascendency during the Rebellion and the Recon- 
struction period was inevitable. The passion aroused by the 
conflict made it impossible for the masses to realize for many 
years thereafter that the centrifugal check was greatly 
needed. But in 1876 the popular plurality which Mr. Tilden 
received over Mr. Hayes showed that the people instinctively 

• "The whole value of the arrangement by which our world is kept in its 
place in the solar system is the balance between the opposing forces. It 
would matter little to us which of these forces should be allowed to prevail. 
If the centrifugal tendency should dominate, our planet would shoot madly 
into the realms of endless space, far away from the source of heat and life, 
until every living thing upon its surface would perish. If the centripetal 
tendency should prevail, the earth would rush with inconceivable velocity 
towards the sun, until it would be engulfed in the burning mass. 8o it is 
with the adjustment of powers between the State and Federal governments ; 
disunion and centralization are equally fatal to good government. Disunion 
would generate the centralism of military despotism m the separate States; 
centralism attempted on areas and populations so vast would break the iparts 
asunder, and ^11 our continent, as it has tilled every other, with rival nations. 

Our wise ancestors devised the only system possible to avoid these opposite 
evils. They formed a Federal Government to manage our foreign relations, 
to maintain peace and unity between the States, and to administer a few 
exceptional functions of common interest ; and they left the great residuary 
maea of governmental powers to the States." 


felt the need of restoring the balance of forces. The Demo- 
cratic party, however, lost the Presidency, through the action 
of the Electoral Commission. Moreover, by their excesses 
of partisanship in Congress during the Hayes administration, 
the Democrats provoked enough of a reaction to swing the 
pendulum back to the centripetal party in 1880. This was 
the chief factor in the Republican success of that year, 
though undoubtedly the marked intellectual fitness of Gen- 
eral Garfield for the Chief Magfistracy and the equally patent 
unfitness of his valiant and beloved opponent, contributed to 
the result. The Arthur administration was a neutral one, 
which gave popular tendencies an opportunity to leisurely 

About a year before Mr. Cleveland's election to the Presi- 
dency, the Supreme Court of the United States, by what is 
known as the Civil Rights Decision, gave a great rebuff to 
centralization. This adjudication did much to marshal and 
consolidate anti-federalistic sentiment among the scholarly 
and professional classes, and to prepare the way for Mr. 
Cleveland's work among the people at large. The special, 
practical abuse of paternalism, to the reform of which Mr. 
Cleveland addressed himself, was, as everybody knows, the 
war tariff. The government still retained substantially the 
rates of indirect taxes fixed by the exigencies of the war ; 
not for revenue, for the treasury surplus was a great embar- 
rassment; and not for protection merely, because such rates 
were far in excess of those required to equalize any differ- 
ence in wages between the United States and other manu- 
facturing countries. • The war tariff was retained in order 
that privileged classes might be subsidized, at the expense of 
the private consumer. As correlative to the scheme for 
continued over-taxation was that for the wholesale granting 
of pensions to ex-soldiers. 

Mr. Cleveland deserves no special credit for his theoretical 
position on both these questions. Not long since a New 
York illustrated newspaper produced a cartoon, containing 
portraits of a large number of men prominent in the Repub- 
lican party during the last two decades; and under each 
likeness was a quotation from a former speech or public 
writing of the original, in which he condemnea the retention 
of the war tariff almost, if not quite, as unreservedly as Mr, 
Cleveland did in his famous message. On the pension issue 





j' also, the intrmsic merits were almost as obviously on Mr. 

Cleveland's side of tlie discussion. The most extreme striclr 
constructionist can look with complacency upon the oc- 
casional singling out of conspicuous heroes, as special objects 
of the nation's bounty. But such complacency springs 
largely from the belief that the exceptions prove the rule. 
In one sense it is inevitable that republics should be ungrate- 
ful. The state is not to reward citizens for services in 
preserving it ; they are supposed to have been fighting for 
their dearest personal possession. Of course, if a man is 
I injured or killed in the defence of the common country, it 

I is not inconsistent with the spirit of democracy that the 

^public should partially bear the common loss, by indemni- 
fying him, or his family, for a diminished earning capacity or 
a total deprivation of means of support. But a law granting 
pensions indiscriminately, in consideration merely of military 
services, would be essentially undemocratic, and in practice 
would lead to the most detestable abuses. 

But, though the war tariff and the pension legislation werq 
abstractly indefensible, there was needed a statesman to make 
the masses of the people see them in their true light, and to 
Create a live political issue over them. This popular awaken- 
ing Mr. Cleveland accomplished by his messages. In the veto 
message of the Dependent Pension Bill he skilfully inserted 
a suggestion, by which the average voter was reminded that 
the apparent zeal for the soldier was but a thin veil for the 
pressing necessity of finding some outlet for the treasury 
accumulations, if the existing tariff was to be continued. 

«^ It has constantly been a cause of pride and congratulation to 

the American citizen that his country is not put to the charge of 

maintaining a large standing army in time of peace. Yet we are 

now living under a war tax which has been tolerated in peaceful 

times to meet the obligations incurred in war. But for years past, 

in all parts of the country the demand for the reduction of the 

burdens of taxation upon our labor and production has increased 

in volume and urgency. I am not willing to approve a measure 

presenting the objections to which this Bill is subject, and which 

moreover will have the effect of disappointing the expectations 

of some people, and their desire and hope for relief from war 

taxation in time of peace." 

The Tariff Reform Message and the Dependent Pension 
Veto must be taken together, as complementary utterances of 



the same executive policy. This policy as a whole is perhaps 
best summed up in the following sentence from Mr. Cleve- 
land's veto of the Texas Seed Bill : " The lesson should be 
constantly e'nforced that though the people support the gov- 
ernment, the government should not support the people." 
Before his inauguration, Mr. Cleveland took occasion to 
remind the people that the Presidency is an oflBce " essentially 
executive in its nature." This was eagerly distorted by his 
enemies into a confession o^ intellectual barrenness. Little 
did they realize that the President's personal utterances and 
clearly defined policy were to furnish the issue for the next 
appeal to the people. By his individual genius he forced his 
party into progressive initiative. His own words furnished 
texts for the speeches from the stump and inspiration for the 
press. But his messages and other written communications 
were themselves the most powerfully direct arguments. 
These documents, if occasionally a trifle too Johnsonian in 
style, were always clear, bold, and pointed, and often crisply 
epigrammatic. They effected a lodgment in the popular 
mind and retained it with a tenacity that recalls the pam- 
phleteering efforts of Thomas Paine and Thomas Jefferson. 

The annals of American statesmanship do not furnish any 
act surpassing in moral boldness the promulgation of the 
Tariff Reform Message on the eve of Mr. Cleveland's candi- 
dacy for a second term. He deliberately risked the personal 
distinction of a re-election, for the sake of giving the princi- 
ples of his rehabilitated party a tremendous impetus. There 
are very few persons who would now question the farsighted 
wisdom of this step. Orators and newspapers were compelled 
to discuss the tariff, and the campaign became highly edu- 
cational. If Mr. Cleveland had waited until safely re-elected, 
there would have been no pressing necessity of making an 
issue about anything ; and politicians might, for a further 
indefinite period, have prevented the tariff question from 
taking vital hold of the people. Tlie story was told — and 
there were many corroborating circumstances to make it seem 
plausible — that before the opening of the campaign of 1844, 
Henry Clay, who intended to be the Whig candidate, and 
Martin Van Buren, who expected to be nominated by the 
Democrats, met privately ; and, for mutual welfare and 
convenience, agreed, each to use his best efforts to keep the 
question of the annexation of Texas out of the canvass. 






Whether this tradition be true or baseless, Mr. Cleveland's 
directly opposite course in respect to a matter of grave public 
concern, should secure for him the veneration of posterity. 
If actions speak louder than words, he proclaimed in most 

! indubitable terms that he would rather lus countrymen should 

be right, than that he should be President. 
I Having deliberately set out to become a leader of public 

h opinion, and to reorganize a great party, he compelled that 

party to take, an aggressive f ron* on a live question, in per- 
fect consistency with its historical position of opposition to 
' Federal paternalism. This was the doctrine that then re- 

quired to be fortified, just as, before the Rebellion, to 
strengthen the opposite tendency towards centralization was 
the imperative need. Mr. Cleveland as a popular leader 
crystallized about himself the growing sentiment for checking 
the growth of Federalism, and converted such sentiment into 
a practical, political force. There was, however, one im- 
portant act of his administration which showed that, although 
his special mission was to curb the centripetal and stimulate 
the centrifugal force, he always remained the broad-minded 
statesman, and never became the fanatical tool of a political 
tendency. Mr. Cleveland signed the Inter-State Commerce 
Bill. This measure was opposed by many Democrats of 
character and wide influence, because of its obvious lean- 
ing towards centralization. But the President, with the 
conscientious patriotism which prompted him to sign the 
Roosevelt Bills in New York, and with that perfect common 
sense which characterized all his deliberations on proposed 
legislation, would not allow the prevailing, and in the main 
salutary, trend of his party to defeat a measure inherently 
desirable, because it was one which theoretically would fall 
more within the policy of the other party. The successful 
operation of this law, as administered by the excellent com- 
missioners President Cleveland himself appointed, has already 
more than justified his sanction to its passage. 

Mr. Cleveland received a large plurality of the popular 
vote at the election in 1888. The unmistakable drift of 
public sentiment since that time, as well as the wellnigh 
universal respect for himself, must have brought him profound 
satisfaction. Prominent spokesmen of both parties have 
united in expressing admiration for the man of conscience 
and courage. More significant, and also more entertaining 


to one with any sense of humor, have been «the complaints 
from many Republican politicians and newspapers that the 
colleges of the country were hot-beds of Democracy. The 
professors of Political Economy must be muzzled or Mr. 
Cleveland's pernicious fallacies will have a disastrous effect 
upon the rising generation. Still more amusing was that 
portion of the speech of Assistant-Postmaster Clarkson, at 
the banquet of the Americus Republican Club of Pittsburg 
in April last, in which he seriously maintained that the 
Democrats had, with Mepliistophelian shrewdness, bought up 
or managed to control, nearly all the leading magazines and 
newspapers ; and that it behooved Republicans to artificially 
create a literary bureau of gigantic proportions, if they wished 
to counteract the effect of intellectual poison. Another very 
significant straw was the editorial in the New York Tribune 
of July 7, 1890, calling a halt in the Republican party in 
the matter of pension legislation. There have been other 
signs, in addition to those enumerated, which prepared the 
minds of the more observant for the victory at the polls in 
November last, but did not foreshadow its sweeping character. 
Fortunately the Republican majority in the Fifty-first Con- 
gress proceeded consistently to carry out what they conceived 
to be a popular behest for the extension of paternalism. They 
introduced and eventually passed a tariff bill, the advocates 
of which were obliged to abandon the specious pretext of 
protection to American labor, and own that its aim was to 
prohibit foreign competition in certiin branches of trade. The 
dominant party went further, and pushed through the lower 
House the Federal Elections Bill. The sober second thought 
of the people was everywhere making itvself heard before the 
close of the firet session ; so much so tluat the Republican 
senators were obliged to postpone action on the Force Bill 
in order to pass the McKinley Bill. But it was of inesti- 
mable advantage that the party of centralization had not hedged 
or faltered; but, by its official attitude, had presented a 
square issue on the traditional lines. It is doubtful whether 
in the history of democracies, a popular leader ever achieved 
a more decisive triumph, tlian was the result of this recent 
election for members of the Fifty-second Congress to Mr. 

A few words as to tlie influence of his pei*souality on the 
masses may not be amiss. lie has never been regarded as 


.j a ^^ magnetic '' statesman. He appeals to the people on the 

' thought side, rather than directly on the heart side. Cer- 

tainly he is not without qualities that endear him to intelligent 
men ; but he never excited that unreasoning devotion, which, 
in some instances, has caused swarms of devotees to view 
questions of right and wrong through the medium of their 
hero's private conscience. There are excellent grounds for 
hope that the day of autocratic and emotional statesmanship 
\\ is over in America. We do not believe that it would be 

I possible now, for a man advocating and practising a' public 

I policy like that of Andrew Jackson, to receive the blind, 

popular adoration which supported him. This policy was by 

• j no means destitute of wholesome features ; but, in tiie main, 

I • by reason of its tendency to belittle the deliberative character, 

and to subvert the orderly action of the legislative and 
judicial branches of the government, it was essentially 
opposed to the genius of our institutidns. A statesman 
i^uch as the Hon. Thomas B. Reed, who stands for political 
methods very similar to those of Jackson, may, indeed, aided 
by local pride, achieve a notable, personal triumph within a 
limited district. But in the wader field of national politics, 
qualities of leadership such as Jackson had, and Mr. Reed 
now exhibits, would seem not at all as potent as they 
formerly were. 

The people have grown since 1880, and for the modem 
disciples of Democracy there has been much to arouse en- 
thusiastic respect in the man Cleveland. He has avoided 
alike the ostentation of display and the Jeffersonian affec- 
tation of extreme simplicity. During his Presidency he was 
ever the dignified gentleman, frank and accecsible, but still 
firm in the determination that the proper privacy of himself 
and his family should not be invaded by gossip-mongers. 
He has made many wise speeches since his retirement from 
office, which have materially contributed to the success of 
his policy. He has also by his manner of living furnished 
an ideal for ex-officials of all grades. The American people 
promptly appreciated the humor and common sense of his 
Jeffersonian sentiment, that the best thing to do with ex- 
Presidents is to leave them alone to earn an honest living 
like other people. 



On the second and third days of July, 1776, a group of 
some fifty odd men, representing the slender line of American 
odlonies fringing the Atlantic ocean, came together to discuss 
axid sign a formal Declaration of Independence from Great 
Britain. They ^ere a picturesque group without the aid of 
Trumbuirs formal arrangement. Long loose coats hardly 
deyeloped out of the middle-age cloak, white stockings, knee 
and shoe-buckles, frilled shirts and lace-edged cuffs, wigs 
and snuff boxes, they were all very much alike to the modem 
eye. Exteriorly all were of the same age. Equal gravity 
and equal rank. 

But a9 a matter of fact each man represented a region so 
far away and so strange that very little of common thought 
existed. Each man spoke in a quaint dialect, and deeper 
than that were the wide differences of thought and preju- 
dices. They met each other, as members of the Pan-Ameri- 
can Congress of to-day might meet each other; so widely 
separated by impassable streams and forests were the thirteen 
original colonies in 1776. 

That they were not all equally patriotic, that they were 
not all equal lovers of freedom, was made painfully apparent 
before discussion was ended. They met to enunciate a 
Declaration of Independence from Great Britain — this and 
no more, — but the genius, the fearless love of freedom of 
one man almost raised the document to the altitude of a 
declaration of the rights of man. 

There is small record of that discussion and we have only 
hints of the storm which the slaveholders raised to prevent 
Jefferson's great edict which would have made that fourth of 
July a day of mighty jubilee to the slaves of America. 
But we know it was suppressed as the dangerous utterance / 
of a man imbued with the mad scepticism of the French 
Encyclopedists, and so mutilated, blotched, with lies, the 
Declaration went out saying : — 




I -I I <^We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men ard 

Iborn leefrawi^ equal . . . and possessed of certain inalienable 
/rights among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happi- 
' ness." 

And so the bells were rung 9,nd bonfires lighted and feasts 
were given, while the black man looked on with the eyes of 
'i the dumb beast who had no part in the general rejoicing, the 

IJ day for a real demand for freedom was not yet come, the peo- 

ple were still narrow, insular mainly. Jefferson saw it was 
impossible to utter a genuine plea — the times were not yet 
! filled with a desii*e for freedom. 

• I thought of those men, when on September the first, 1890, 

five hundred citizens of the United States, men and women, 
representing thirty-five states and territories, gathered in the 
city of New York. Drawn together, not by political ambi- 
tions or political allegiance, coming hundreds of miles, some 
of them five thousand miles, coming a^ great personal sacri- 
fice — five hundred of these men gathered in a hall, as their 
forefathers had done, to shake each other's hands, to look into 
each other's faces, and finally, to enunciate a new declaration 
of human rights* 

It had ite picturesque phases also. There were broad- 
hatted men from California, Texas, Virginia and Dakota. 
There were slender young clerks and artisans from Boston, 
Chicago, Minneapolis, and Memphis. There were lawyers and 
judges, and earnest women, and deep^yed laborers in plain 
clothing, from all the principal cities. Each man wore on 
his lapel a little bow of white ribbon, and it was all that 
was needed to bring out a fervent hand-shake and the word 
" Brother." These men came to meet their great teacher, 
Henry George, and the magnificent idea of human liberty 
• • which called them together and bound them together with a 

singular and beautiful spirit of camaraderie is called " The 
Single Tax." 

Manifestly there must be something in this idea which the 
reading public has not grasped, for though the press are 
pretty nearly done with ridicule — indeed, have reached the 
point, many of them, of calling it " the ideal form of taxation " 
— yet the great transforming force that moves forward this 
cause with unexampled rapidity around the earth is not yet 
generally perceived. The mighty principle of human bi'oth- 
erhood which brought these men together and called out 


their thrilling oratory was not a fiscal reform merely, it was 
a religion, in the highest sense of that abused word. There 
is a sort of sublimity in their utterances standing simply as 

The glory of this movement is, that it is at once intensely 
practical, and has all the allurement and intellectual exalta- 
tion of a radical humanitarian philosophy. When the word 
"single-tax" is spoken by single-tax men to each other, there 
is nothing prosaic in its sound. Vast dreams and gleaming 
vistas open in their minds. They see sun-lighted fields and 
shining cities, toward which they are walking and expect to 
walk, toilsomely (they have no wings), but their limbs are 
strong, their hearts invincible, their eyes steady and smiling. 

Widithem single-tax equals Liberty — Liberty, not license 
— not a poor, faint, half-paralytic, but Liberty, standing high 
as Justice, and commanding the whole earth with her peace- 
ful eyes. We mean by liberty perfect freedom of action so 
long as the equal rights of others are maintained. We are 
based upon Spencer there, and upon the immortal Declaration 
of Independence, whose sounding sentences will come to 
mean something by-and-bye. 

We are individualists maihly. Let that be understood at 
the start. We stand unalterably opposed to the paternal 
idea in government. We believe in fewer laws and juster 
interpretation thereof. We believe in less interference with 
individual liberty, less protection of the rapacious demands of 
the few, and more freedom of action on the part of the many. 

Individualism does not mean each man cutting the throat 
of the other, any more than freedom means license. Desper- 
ate need makes desperate deed, as in this pleasant America 
of ours, where undue special privilege to rob the millions is 
given to a few favored sons of a government yet filled with in- 
sidious survivals of paternalism. An age that fosters combat, 
perjury, envy and hate. There wiU never be so much pater- 
nalism again. The age of individualism broadens before us. 

The conference began therefore by stating its belief in 
equality — not in equality of powers, not equality of virtue, 
not equality of possessions, but equality of opportunity^ 
opportunity to acquire virtue, wisdom, and a competency. 
This is what Jefferson would have said, could he have written 
the Declaration according to his own ideas of what freedom 
should be. As it stands, the sentence is meaningless. 



160 TSB AftEJTA. 

All men are bom Xi i io mid equal, the old Declaration ran. 
Equal in what ? Powers ? No, and never can be I Equal 
in virtue ? No, not with the weight of the infinite sorrowful 
past upon us, not while the bitter struggle for a place merely 
to set foot on this planet goes on. Equal in possessions ? 
Not in JeflFerson's time, much less to-day, when 25,000 per- 
sons own one half of the wealth produced by 60,000,000 of 
|l » I firemen in the United States. Equal before the law ? Not 

in a time when a whole race was held captive, and a whole 
•i ^ . sex forgotten. What a bitter mockery that declaration 

,1 j would have been to the black men, and to the women of 

i ^ i .^ Jefferson's time, if they had had the power to perceive and 

the courage to resent it. 

All men are bom free and equal in opportunity^ to live^ to 
labor upon the earthy and to enjoy the fruit% of their own 

This is the reading which we, as single-tax men, put in 
this latest continental congress, upon that immortal and 
hollow sounding instrument. We draw .no line of color, 
creed, or sex. We mean all men. 

What a comment upon humaii nature it is, that for two 
generations Fourth of July orators went about shouting with 
grandiloquent gestures that sentence, " We hold all men bom 
free and equal," while, as they spoke, under the flag of 
Liberty, one entire sex was ignored in ' government and edu- 
cation, and from two to three millions of people had no 
rights at all, and no more freedom than the ox in the furrow, 
and stood equal only among themselves in their heritage of 
shame and despair. 

And in the North, year after year, it was being bellowed 
from the stump at Imrbecues, from the platform at caucuses, 
and at political ratification meetings, while all the time 
j white slavery was widening in extent, and deepening in dis- 

tress, the bound girl becoming the white slave, the bound 
boy becoming the mortgaged farmer; while at the same 
moment vast monopolies fed upon special privileges, on 
huge slices of land, on gifts of rights in the public streets, 
had special warranty to rob every hearth of heat and every 
home of light* by getting and controlling the coal fields and 
oil wells ; while lill the time inventions, thriving beyond the 
wildest dreams, made production so great, so prolific, that to 
produce became a crime! And the lockout was begun. 


But at last, under the leadership of Henry George, the 
single-tax men of America have made that inmiortal old 
parchment bla^e with light. Into those epithets, those 
grandiose periods, is flowing a swift, electric power which 
makes them full of the thunder roll of prophecy. They 
have come to mean the abolition of all slavery, white slavery, 
the slavery of women, the slavery of the farmer. They are 
to be taken to mean that constitutional robbery of one man 
by another shall stop. 

*^ We hold that aU men are equally entitled to the use and 
enjoyment of what God has created and of what is gained by 
the general growth and unprovement of the community of 
which they are a part," read the chairman, and the ringing 
cheer which arose from the five hundred delegates seated 
around, thrilled me with awe. These men were in deadly 
earnest. There they sat, mostly young, less than forty, 
judges, mechanics, clergymen, teachers, lawyers, men holding 
high social and civic honors, seated in their places beside me- 
chanics and craftsmen whose eyes blazed with the same fire. 
A wonderful development of our society and day. 

Then I thought of the mighty bulwark, superstition, be- 
hind which the rich and powerful of the earth sit entrenched ; 
and for a moment my heart failed me. Then I thought of the 
little band of men, who, fifty years before, had proclaimed 
the approaching death of chattel slavery, and I thrilled again 
with the memory of their courage in the face of what seemed 
the hopelessly impossible. This group of men and this meet- 
ing too, will be historic ; standing as it does for a further ex- 
tension of individual liberty, it must succeed. These dauntless 
souls, like those who carried forward the cause of the black 
slave, will yet abolish the slavery of men, women, and chil- 
dren ; will abolish industrial slavery. 

Theirs not to ask when it will come ; theus only to enun- 
ciate the great principles of liberty and brotherhood, — ^yet, 
none so well as these men know the mighty unrest of our na- 
tion this day. None better than Henry George knows the 
terrible convulsion which threatens us ; but no class of men 
has more faith in the power of truth and freedom to avert 
disaster and death. The need is for fearless, ^earnest men 
to lead the blind, reeling millions of our cities, to preach jus- 
tice and not charity. 

Thus it is. seen that something vast attaches to the doc- 


trine we hold. It is not a fiscal reform alone, and yet if it 
meant no more than its fiscal side, the single ta^ is a reform 
capable of exciting great enthusiasm. Beginning on the 
solid earth, it mounts through *^Free Trade, Free Production, 
Free Land, Free Men ! " to the highest conception of truth 
and right. It is a road leading to a land in whose serene air 
vices die and virtues bloom. It begins where we stand ; the 
swift runner mounts into the air as he runs, like the eagle. 

We believe in absolute freedom of exchange. Exchange 
is a sort of production, and to tax it or burden it in any way, 
or to allow it to be monopolized, is to oppress industry and 
to check enterprise. We assert that nations never trade, that 
individuals trade, and trade because by trading each party 
to the exchange is made richer and happier. We are free 
traders, therefore, because we deny the right of a govern- 
ment to come between two individuals peaceably seeking mu- 
tual benefit. Free trade is as much a part of our declaration 
of rights as the freedom to breathe the air. 
, As fiscal reformers, we denounce the present system of 
(taxation as (1) cumbrous, (2) inexpedient, (3) unequal, (4) 
unjust, and (5) iniquitous. 

That it is cumbrous needs no demonstration. That it is 
inexpedient is admitted by those who have knowledge of how 
generally taxes on personal property are invaded. Thomas 
6. Shearman, in an address to the Ohio Legislature, conclu- 
sively proved that with the growing wealth and complexity 
of our social system, the greater cities and their great mer- 
chants and miUionnaire proprietors escape taxation more and 
more completely, throwing heavier burdens upon the villages 
and the farms each year. In most States, as every assessor 
can testify, the returns on personal property are decreasing in 
proportion to the entire wealth of the State, and are directly 
proportioned to the honesty of the one assessed, who practi- 
cally assesses himself.* Thus a premium is put on perjury, 

*The estate of Mr. and Mrs. J. F. Hartt, of Brookline, is now held in trust 
for their minor children by Messrs. A. W. Nickerson of Marion and G. A. 
Nickcrson of Dedham. These gentlemen asked to have the property of their 
wards assessed at $1,000,000 instead of $300,000, at which it had been 
rated, and on being refused by the Brookline assessors, transferred it to 
Dedham, where it was assessed at the figures they set. Hereupon it is re- 
lated that Mr. N. A. Francis, a recently elected member of the Brookline 
board of assessors, served a notice on the Dedham assessors that their action 
was illps:al, and discovered by examining the probate records that the 
trust funds amounted to over $700,000. The JDedham assessors being 


while honesty pays the tax. The attempt to tax personal prop- 
erty is inexpedient because it fails to raise sufficient revenue to 
warrant the trouble and expense. 

Our system of taxation on personal property and improve- 
ments, we charge, is unequal. Not only does it fall with the ' 
greatest force upon honesty, but upon helplessness. Under 
the present system^ no matter where the tax is levied, it is 
paid by the consumer, and as the man who consumes his en- 
tire income, the maximum rate of tax is paid by the poor 
man, the minimum rate by the rich man who consumes but! 
part of his income. 

We deny the equality of a tax levied upon anything, the 
price of which can be increased by the amount of the tax, and 
thus fall in the end, with crushing and invisible weight upon 
the farmer and mechanic, and upon women and children. 
We denounce all indirect taxation as a device of surviving 
despotism, by means of which the life of the toiler is crushed 
out, while he groans in wondering dismay and bewilderment. 

All of the taxes at present levied upon personal property, 
improvements, any product of individual industry, are 
shifted in . enhanced prices to be paid in full, with accrued 
percentages, by the consumer. A tax upon a tenement is 
paid by the renter. A tax upon a factory is shifted to the 
price of goods. A tax upon railways, cars, motors, horses, 
stations, is shifted to the shipper, the traveller, or upon the 
wages of the employees.* , ^ 

threatened with prosecution, consented to tax the estate at the value given 
in the inventories at the probate office. 

This is simply one case put of thousands to illustrate the folly of taxing 
personal property. Suppose this estate had not been on record as an inheri- 
tance! Jonathan A. Lane calculated that less than one sixth of the personal 
property of the State of Massachusetts was assessed. And the New York 
£vening Post stated that personal property valuations in New York State 
have fallen ofF a hundred millions of dollars since '67. 

* There are two ways in which a tax can be shifted — (1) by raisins the 
price of the thing taxed, and (2) by appropriating the wages of labor. This 
shifting of the tax is not a matter oi personal caprice — in fact, most men 
know very little about it. It is a law, like the law of wages, attendant on 
wide conditions. » 

If the workingman, the farmer, once gets to see this law, which all students 
of taxation recognize, indirect taxation will stop. Let the reader consider 
this principle, never tax any product whose price can be raised to cover the 
amount of the tax. This principle will, if apinied, kill all indirect taxation. 

A writer in the Standard states the principle: 

The selling price of land depends upon the difference between the annual 
tax on it and its annual rent. If we should tax it up to its full rental value, 
it would have no selling price. If we did not tax it at all, its selling value 
would be its full rental value capitalized. Therefore, the nearer tne tax 
comos to rental value the lower the price and vice versa. But the price of 

t • 



The tax upon values produced by individuals is ur^tutf a 
t , fine upon industiy, a deterrent of enterprise, and a drag on 

the wheel of progress. A tax upon dogs is supposed to dis- 
courage the keeping of dogs, a tax upon windows certainly 
lessens the number of windows, as in France. A tax upon 
;f| houses tends to prevent the building of houses, and thus 

raises rent, but a tax upon the value of the land a man holds, 
leaves production free. 

Tax a man upon his skill and industry, and you lay a 
weight upon his shoulders. Why should a man be taxed for 
building a house? Why should he be fined for laying out a 
garden or rebuilding his wall ? If he wants to open a saloon, 
— a bad business, — he is taxed in order to keep the number 
of saloons down ; and if he opens a store, or builds a block of 
houses, — a good business, — his burden of tax is three times 
heavier. There is no virtue in such logic. 

The single tax on land values would set all legitimate in- 
dustry absolutely free. There would be no fine for building 
houses or manufacturing goods. The man who planted a 
tree would not be watched like a criminal, and a man might 
re-build his garden wall in idyllic peace; for we proceed 
under the supposition that the man who makes two spears of 

I wheat grow where one grew before, is a public benefactor. 

; We say it is not only bad policy, it is unjust to fine industry. 

It is taxing a man according to what he produces in theory, 

: and according to his helplessness, in fact. To do this is to 

make honesty and industry difiicult, and crime, and indolence, 
and vice, natural and necessary.* 


; products of labor is made up of the cost of production and sale, and aU 

,' taxes upon those must be added to the price. Therefore, the higher the tax 

the higner the prices. Now since taxine land makes it cheaper, why is it 
. not a good thing to tax for revenue, and since taxing everything else makes 

* the things dearer, why are not such t-axes bad ? Why should we not raise 

' all our revenues by a tax on the thing that taxation agrees with so well that 

it cheapens the thing? 

I That is to say, the actual amount of land cannot be increased or dimin- 

! ished by a tax. It is not a product of human labor. But the amount of 

i avaiiable land can be increased and the price cheapened by the tax. A tax 

on land-values is the only tax that cannot be shiftea. 

* The single-tax philosophy points out that there are two values attaching 
to laud, — a value traceable to the work of some individual's hands, and a 
value not traceable to individual labor, but due to the labor and presence of 
the social group. This value can be seen in city lots worth many thousands 
of dollars, upon which no man has ever put a day's labor. Tliis is eocial 
value produced by the entire people, belonging to the city, or State. Each 
^ man we say should be taxed upon the social value (or deficit) he holds, not 

upon the value he creates. It may be said, what difference does it make 


We make a graver charge yet. We charge the present 
system of taxation to be not merely a fine, a crushing weight 
on industry, but an iniquitous premium on idleness and 
greed, for it nurtures and fosters the most dangerous of all ; 
idleness, speculation in land, Just in proportion as taxation 
bears a grinding weight upon the shoulders of enterprise, , 
does it favor and foster the speculator, creating a pai-asite 
whose clutch strangles, whose gluttony drains industry of 

A long series of sales noted in New York City showed 
that land held purely for speculation was taxed at a valua- 
tion of from twenty to forty-five per cent, of its selling value, 
while land in use was taxed on a basis from forty-five to 
eighty-five per cent, of its value. Other cities will show even 
a worse state of things. The user of land is punished. The 
speculator is aided, because, poor fellow ! he's not getting any 
income from his land. Why don't he sell it? might be asked. 

In the suburbs of every city are lands held out of use, or 
used merely as pastures, which are taxed at acre rates, but 
when a man buys a lot he pays by the foot, and thereafter is 
taxed by the foot, and the instant they are used taxes begin. 
Thus is speculation made more profitable and alluring ti^n 
legitimate business. Thus is our greatest national vice fos- 
tered, and the eyes of industry filled with lust of unearned 
wealth. When it becomes understood that when a man tak- 
ing a dollar by a rise in land-values takes that which some- 
body else has earned, then will speculation appear as it is, a 
crime against society. 

Speculation in land — what harm has it done? What has 
it not done ? In the first century of our nation's life it has 
scattered us out from sea to sea, pushing men on into the 
wilderness, into the forest and on the plain, keeping us a 
nation of pioneers, holding the body of our people against 
the inclemency, the rigors, the solitudes of our land, when 
we might have been living east of the Mississippi River, or 
even east of the AUeghanies, in a state of civilization so high 
that its actuality would be a dreamer's vision. Speculation 

whether a man pays his tax on personal property and land, or on land alone? 
It would make considerable difference whether he paid two per cent, on 
house and land (say $3,000), or two per cent, on land alone (91,000). 
Whether he paid sixty dollars on land and personal property, or twenty 
dollars on, land value alone. Who would make up the difference? The 
Bpeculatori the monopoIUit, the holder of franchises. 


in land! It has created vast corporations and privileged 
classes. It has created artificial scarcity of land, air, and 
water. It has opposed progress and enslaved labor by shut- 
ting industry from Nature's vast storehouse. It has reduced 
wages, raised rents, and made of the body of the American 
people tenants, and mortgaged fanners. It has created the 
tenement house and the settler's lonely cabin. It has put a 
greater pressure upon a square mile of earth in New York 
(two hundred and ninety thousand to the square mile) than 
in any other city in the world, while half the site of the city 
is vacant. It produces the North End rookery, with its ovei> 
crowding, and the settler's shanty, with its loneliness and 
despair. It has bred vice and crime in our city streets, and 
madness and brutality in the backwoods, and on the plain. 
It has scattered the rural population, and piled business men 
into fourteennstory buildings in the city. 

It makes coal high and the miners' wages low. It holds a 
sword over capital, and puts a fetter on the wrist of labor. It 
produces colossal fortunes without toil, and supports giant 
corporations to dominate our legislature. It gives the many 
into the hands of the few, produces the millionnaire and the 
tramp, — producing in two generations the richest men the 
world has ever seen. It builds hospitals, and denies justice. 
It has made us a nation of landless and homeless families, 
dependent upon the caprice, the avarice of a smaller class.* 

It is the menace of our land this day. It is a vast vam- 
pire, under whose brooding wings our nation is being robbed 
of its life-blood. It is the curse of Italy, the death of Spain, 
the outrage of Ireland. It forces the emigrant from his 
native vaUey into competition with American labor. It 
turns the crofter's cottage on the hills of Scotland into 
Bheep-sheds, and draws a river of gold from starving Ireland. 

It is a relic of feudalism. It possesses the old world, and 
we have permitted it to come in and work us shame and 
terror till to-day we stand facing it, as Beowulf faced the 
serpent in the sea. It is the greatest heritage of evil trans- 
mitted to us out of the sinister past, and progress will consist 
in destrojdng it as we destroyed chattel slavery. Its abolition 
will be the abolition of industrial slavery. 

* One family in New York owns houses enough to reach from Castle 
Garden to Harlem river. Only 40 per cent, of the rest of the famUies of New 
York live in separate houses. 


Why ? Because speculation in land employs no labor, but 
stands in the way of labor. It is a sort of piracy. It says 
to the manufacturer, farmer, artisan, ^^ Before you build, till, 
or fashion, you must pay me a tribute. ^ I am Caosar, whose 
claims must be met first.' " 

It supports a plutocracy, as dependent upon the labor of 
others as the paupers in the almshouses. 

Thus we show that, by means of the present machinery of 
taxation, we can strike a blow at a business whose iniquity 
thousands are beginning to understand at last. It is not 
necessary to make socialistic laws regelating the amount of 
land a man may hold, nor to declare against excessive rents. 
It is only necessary to tax the holder of vacant land just as if it 
were used, just the same as a neighboring lot of the same site- 
value, and the business of holding land out of use for a higher 
price will be less profitable than industry. This is the ^^ single- 
tax, limited ; " this is the fiscal side of a reform whose etliics 
strike at the root of evil lying deep in the darkness of the past. 

Land speculation springs from the unrestricted ownership 
of lands by individuals, and oiir entire systefn of taxation is 
based on the interests of the landed class. Private ownership 
of land, as Mr. Spencer has stated in ^^ Social Statics," is 
based not upon right, but might. It is an accompaniment of 
militancy ; fundamentally it is based on the superstition that 
one man has a diviner right to the earth than another. It 
will disappear when men come to see that we are all equally- 
endowed children of the earth and the air. 

I am loath to criticise any theory held by sincere men, but 
I believe the whole socialistic theory is based upon a miscon- 
ception of the tendency of society — a misconception spring- 
ing from an imperfect study of history. The history of prop- 
erty is undoubtedly opposed to the socialistic idea. The past 
is not individualistic, but socialistic. The age of socialism is 
not coming on, but departing. The past, the tribal state, the 
feudal age, was the age when the individual belonged to the 
state, and forcible co-operation was at its greatest. The 
state — it was the people. Individuality counted for little. 
Names were of little account save among the rulei'S. 

Nothing is more mistaken and absurd than the attack upon 
Mr. Spencer as " the advocate of war between man and man." 
What the Nationalists anathematize as ^* individualism " we, 
as individualists, are as ready to condemn as they, because it is 



not individoalism at all, but the surviying and slowly ro- 
treating effect of socialism, paternalism, and special privilege. 
Let me call the attention of those socialistically inclined to 
the following passage from Spencer's ^^ Political Institutions," 
Chapter XV- 

^^ Complete individualization of ownership is an accompani- 
ment of industrial progress. From the beginning things 
identified as products of a man's labor are identified as his, 
and throughout the course of civilization, communal posses- 
sion and joint household living have not excluded the recogni- 
tion of a peculium obtained by individual effort." 

But ^^the individualization of ownership extended and 
made more definite by trading transactions under contract 
eventually affects the ownership of land. Bought and sold 
by measure, and for money, land is assimilated in this respect 
to the peiBonal property produced by labor, and thus becomes 
in general apprehension confounded with it." 

And so would air, if it could have been physically handled 
and laid off in parcels 

*^ But there is reason to suspect that while private possei- 
iion of itdnm. produced hy labor will grow even more definite 
and sacred than at present, the inhabited area which cannot 
be produced by labor will eventually he distinguished as some" 
thing which may not be privately possessed."*^ 

ThuB the claim that society has been moving toward social- 
istic ownership and government, Mr. Spencer finds, after vast 
research, to be untrue. On the contrary, as the rigors of 
militant regulation have softened or given way, as the age of 
industrialism draws on in Europe and has fully appeared in 
America, there results greater and greater freedom of the 
individual, greater and greater definiteness in the lines which 
divide him and his from the State and the property of the 
State. That there is a tendency toward the abolition of private 
property in land, there can be no doubt, but that tendency 
only makes more definite and sacred the right of the in- 
dividual to the fruits of his labor. 

Voluntary co-operation, also, everywhere goes on with the ex- 
panding individuality of the citizen, together with his increas- 
ing freedom from governmental or military control. It is this 
unconscious, voluntary, and spontaneous co-operation which 
the nationalist mistakes as leading toward more general 
goyemmental control of individuals and individual property. 


** But,'* writes a nationalist, **> Nationalism is not paternal- 
ism, it is fratemalism." Very well, then, why organize a 
Tast and intricate system of military machinery? Can you 
not trust freedom and fratemalism ? I, for one, have such 
faith in human nature, such trust in the ever-growing 
altruism of expanding individuality, that I am content to 
work for freedom, for less government, less militancy, less 
meddling with spontaneous co-operation among the units of 
society. . I do not care to see a society where all direction of 
affairs comes from some personification of a crowd. I find 
myself suspicious of the hard and fast arrangement of the 
Nationalists for forcing fraternity. I prefer to kill the trusts 
and monopolies rather than nurture them, in hope of *^ finally 
getting one enormous trust, the State." I have small reason 
to believe that the big trust would be any more clearly 
managed in the interests of the consumer than these smaller 
trusts it is proposed to absorb. 

No, free competition is not the evil. There is no free com- 
petition^ and never has been^ and never mil be^ till all men are 
put on an equality as regards natural opportunities. If the 
pressure of the air were only upon one side of the body, man 
would be crushed to the earth, but the pressure being equally 
exerted on all sides, he is as free to move as if no pressure 
existed. So of competition. It is not an evil if it is free 
and universal. 

It is the unnatural, deepening, ferocious need of labor for a 
job, the struggle of an or^nary industry against a privileged 
industry, that is mistaken for free competition. 

If competition were really free, if every industry were 
strong only by reason of its producing power, the strife of 
each man to enrich himself would only result in enriching 
the world. Great fortunes do not arise out of free com- 
petition, but the lack of it. 

Show us any great fortune, any overtopping industry, 
and we will show (if the inner facts are open to us) that 
it was built up, not by industry, brains, and skill, but by 
special privilege, by the extension of license and not the 
assertion of liberty.* 

*Iii the biof^'ftphy of the Stewarts, the Vanderhilts, the Olrards, the 
Goulds, will come a significant sentence like this : " This year Mr. G. put a 
few thousand dollars Into some land in Harlem, which has since sold: for a 
quarter of a million." Or " Mr. V.'s land, at the corner of Broadway and 
Beventh Streets, has increased in yearly value in proportion to the population 

man in the United States to have the choice of two jobs. 
Suppose every cotton mill to be stripped of its special monop- 
oly of land and water. And then suppose these mills com- 
peting among tliemselves, and what is the result? Each 
miller says, " I'm going to produce more cloth and better 
cloth than any other man." What happens? 

Wages rise, because to produce more he must employ 
more men, and to get men he must bid for a man 

ol tbe cltT, Kod now bringn a rental of two baodred thousand dollora per 
ytK." Tftla Is whst wa mean by vinenrned Incremi-nl, ETOwth in value not 
drpandent on the monopollBt's Hkilt. induslr;, or virtue, eiBEt^ bj him from 
the tolling tnMsen. who press ujnin the tiiMTial piece of Nature which be bas 
appropriated, and Joined with this, there goes on tbe srproprtatlon ot the 
•arniniis ol labor, KettJnR each year more ea-sy because ol tbe (icliteniDR coil 
til monapi>li«s. And It Is this value which the single-tax would levy upon, 
this nneameil Incrpment. 

Wp would tax the woollen mills, Jaj Ooald, and the workloK man nnon 
the value of tlie mono|iolv earh holds. The mill would not be able to shift 
it* tkx upiin the price ol iu colion, (he wubp.' of lis employees, nor by raising 
the rents ot their houses. This tax would be levle<l upon the value of their 
water prfrlle^w, their land-vnlucs. but they would be h'ft free to miinufae- 
tnre: for thr morv they pruduciil, the cheaper their product, and the higher 
waiTM would rise. 


already with a job. The price of his product will fall, 
because he cannot control the price. Others are as 
anxious to sell as he. He can't take his profits out of his 
men, for they have other and equally as good jobs open to 
them. He can't recoup himself out of unearned increment. 
He is placed on a level with every other business man. A 
free field and no favor. That would be free competition. 

How is it now ? What gives the millers of Lawrence, for 
convenient example, their enormous power? What makes 
it possible for them to crowd out smaller firms? Their 
privileges in land and water, first of all, and second, their 
despotic power over their men and women, from whose hands 
they take every year a larger per cent, of wages, so that less 
than fifteen per cent, of the product of their hands remains 
to their own use. 

What gives them this power over the men ? Simply the 
unnatural, forced competition among laborers to find employ- 
ment, because all over this broad, generous land, men and 
women wander, seeking work, because there are too many 
men, and not work enough to go around. A million and a 
half of men out of work, bidding against the men who 
are in work I This eager, pitifully-meek crowd of jostling 
men and women at the employer's gate, allows him to fix 
things to suit himself. Their desperate need makes his 
majestic and lordly arrogance. Their meekness is the 
making of his insolent greed or paternal patronage. 

The socialists beg the whole question by constantly speak- 
ing of " labor " as if only the digger or chopper were labor. 
Labor with them means evidently a common hand without 
tools. Labor with the individualist means men and women 
as they are to-day, with all the producing powers, all 
their skill, thought, fraternity and high purpose. Labor is 
the producing cause, producing all capital, all wealth — all 
things but Nature. To suppose that unaided capital can 
oppress labor is to suppose the shovel capable of knocking its 
user down. It is land-monopoly wearing the mask of capital 
that oppresses. Capital has no " divine right." It wastes, 
decays, but the land owner never fails to get the best of the 
bargain. In the air of freedom the trust will die. 

Under free and equal conditions no millionnaires can rise 
and no laborer be forced into poverty, because men do not 
differ so greatly in powers as would seem to be indicated by 



the vast fortunes of our day. In the eyes of science Mr. 
Gould varies from one of his engineers very much as one 
grasshopper varies from another, just as one blackbird de- 
velops a longer wing or a larger thigh than another. Stripped 
of his advantages — the privileges with which a supersti- 
tious age endows him — and Mr. Gould would become what 
he is, a rather smallish man, differing slightly from the type. 
His wealth, the product of an unswerving law, himself the 
chance owner, because, so long as land remains limited in 
amount and population increases, somebody mtLSt be en- 
riched without labor, and the greater the invention, the 
intelligence, the morality of the people, the higher will the 
price of land go, and the deeper and broader will be the gulf 
between the man enriched and the man impoverished by 
landlordism. It is of no value to point out here and 
there an apparent exception. Somebody in a sale of 
land, always gets what he has not earned, and it is the worker, 
the user, who pays all the bills.* 

This miist continue as long as the value of land due to 
the pressure of population is allowed to go into private 
pockets. It has all the effect of an inexorable law. All in- 
ventions, freedom of commerce, ownership of railways, edu- 
cation, sanitation are powerless to fulfil their mission in 
enriching the average man, so long as speculation in land con- 
tinues. They will only result in raising rents and ultimately 
in enriching the landowner. Freedom, equality, and frater- 
nity are impossible under such conditions, because the whole 
struggle to live is so bitter, so ferocious. 

Now to destroy monopoly, establish justice, give fraternity 
an opportunity to bloom, and bring about free competition in 
&ct, we offer the single tax. We offer it as a practical, 
gradual method of restoring social equilibrium. We take 
taxation as a means to do this, because the right to tax is 

* Here comes in also the fact, which men like Edward Atkinson fail to 
comprehend. They are always saying, " There are no landless men except 
of choice ; that practicaUy free land is now to he had in the suhurbs and on 
the borders." suppose this were true, and suppose a mechanic by spending 
two extra hours on a horse-car, could obtain a little home in the suburbs. 
Suppose this to be true, it does not afifect the real question : the curse of the 
system is, that the moment any such movement is generally taken up, land 
rises in Talue till the poor man is unable to buy. The moment any 
etmsiderable number of men attempt to settle at any point, the price of land 
goes up, and the few are always enriched at the expense of the rest. This 
principle Is well nnderst-ood by the boomers of New Hampshire who are 
planning to raise the price of land by the importation of Swedish colonista. 


generally admitted, and forms the best instrument possible to 
readjust conditions. 

How would the single tax destroy speculation, free labor, 
and establish justice ? Is it not absurd to say that so simple 
a measure will do so much? Its simplicity is its magniiicent 
virtue. It is not a new law nor a set of laws. It is not a 
new restriction, nor an extension of the powers of govern- 
ment ; it is a vast stride toward freedom. It argues results 
from proved tendencies ; its influences can be tested by refeiv 
ence to the motives of men now. It does not require the 
transformation of greed into gratitude. 

Its partial application as fiscal reform would begin at 
once to produce the most important effects. 

Let us note a few of these effects. First the effect on in- 
dustry has been noted. Being released from tax, production 
will everywhere receive a new impetus. Thisjdoes not need 
demonstration. This activity in trade and manufacturing 
will cheapen the price of products at the same time that a 
greater demand for labor tends to raise wages.* This would 
not mean that the increase of wages should come out of the 
business man, but that it would come out of the landlord. 
A mine-owner for example would be taxed as a mine-owner, 
not as mine-'user. His tools and shafts would be untaxed, his 
privilege would be taxed just the same whether he used it or 
not. Result, he would use, or sell to someone who would 
use. Our coal-barons are taxed but a few cents per acre 
upon their vast holdings of incalculably valuable lands ; this 
is why they can regulate the out-put of coal and " pluck " 
the helpless miner. Tax them according to the value they 
hold, tax them to the full of the annual value of each acre of 
mining land, and the coal-barons would give way to a thousand 
co-operative mining companies. Miners would have higher 
wages and steadier work, while we in Boston would find coal 

The naked facts of our mining regions are so ghastly, so 
horrifjring, that it seems impossible under the stars and stripes. 

*To show the misapprehension about the necessities of the case I clip an 
objection and its answer. 

The essence of what labor wants, of course, is a larger share in the pro- 
cee<ls of production, and this obviously, is to be obtained only by the alloW 
ment of a smaller share to capital. — Providence Journal. 

This might be correct if it did not ignore the third factor of production, 
land. Land is neither capital nor labor, and yet its owners absorb a large 
proportion of what labor and capital jointly produce from land.— .8o«(on Ohoe, 


A frightful avocation at its best ; when joined with low wages, 
uncertain employment, miserable living in a tenement home 
in a desolate region, it reaches the heights of tragedy. These 
coal-barons standing there above the great seams of coal 
Nature has put there for all men, collect from free Americans 
untold millions of tribute, while the miner who toils in the 
darkness and damp gets just pay enough to live and produce 
children to take his place when he dies. 

In the face of one of these men the boasted American 
civilization fades into mist. This measureless wrong we call 
freedom — freedom to toil like a slave and die like a dog ! 
. The effect on wages. Not oqjy would the single tax 
raise wages, it would free labor. On this point alone it rises 
above a fiscal reform to become a peaceful revolution. The 
slavery of labor consists in its dependency upon the employer. 
In the vast increasingly complex machinery of society, the 
artisan feels himself more and more a cog, without power to 
move aside from his place. The employer fixes wages, buy- 
ing his labor as he buys his lumber, at the lowest market 
rate, a rate which labor has little or no power to alter. 

The laborer is not only powerless to fix the rate at which 
he will work, but powerless to keep down the rising rent 
that is ready to swallow him up. He says, *^ Please, mister, 
can't y' give me a job?" and he huddles his family into two 
or three rooms in a miasmatic alley. The employer could 
not stir a wheel or move a car without him, and yet so abject 
is labor, the employer knows he can set the price of a day's 
work. This spectacle of the producing agent of society beg- 
ging for the chance to create wealth for the opportunity of 
receiving back fifteen per cent, of It, is a pitiable result of a 
hundred years of "freedom." 

To give labor the power to make a free contract with the 
employer will amount to a complete revolution of the 
wheel. "Free contract, he has it now," someone says. 
" No one forces him to take a dollar and a half per day." 
No " one " does, but society and the sinister shadow of want 
and suffering do. No slave ever had such relentless over- 
seer. There is no lash so cruel as hunger, no subduer of 
rebellious hearts like the gleam of a tear on the cheek of a 
hungry child. Free contract? How can there be free con- 
tract where a man has a wife and children depending upon 
his daily labor at any price ? 


This is why all strikes are so futile. Great as protests of 
labor, they fail because ^^while capital wastes, labor starves ; " 
because the supply of men eager to work is limitless appar- 
ently — men so eager they will take their lives in their 
hands to get the place left by the striker. The whole theory 
of labor organization from the times of Chaucer to the pres- 
ent has been, " there are too many men — too little work. 
We must keep the number of workmen down." This is the 
feeling lying at the heart of the opposition to emigration, 
the opposition to labor-saving machinery and the opposition 
to women in trades. ^^ Keep the number of hands down. 
There is only so much work. There must not be too many 

But in the single tax a new Idea appears. Why not increase 
the number of jobs f How ! By taxing speculation out of 
existence, and releasing all industry. By bringing mines, 
forests, lots, into the market at low prices, by putting raw 
Nature into the hands of industry and out of the hands 
of the speculator who employs no labor. 

The more men the less work, is not true, necessarily. 
Under the single tax the more men the more work ; two men 
working together can produce more than twice as much as 
one man, a hundred men much more than a hundred times as 
much as two men. The trouble is the landlord comes in 
between and shares the wealth but not the toil. 

Not work enough I What is work ? It is the application 
of a living hand directed by a creative brain, upon matter. 
It creates nothing, it destroys nothing. It simply takes from 
the vast ebb and flow of Nature a portion of her abundance — 
a modicum of matter — fashions it, transports it, puts it to use, 
and then at last, sooneif or later it is reabsorbed into the end- 
less cycle. Men and the things they need are only forms of 
matter, and Nature is inexhaustible, generous, and impartial. 
How comes it that work is scarce, hunger plenty, and naked- 
ness common ? Not because work or food is scarce, but be- 
cause to support himself, the toiler must suppor|; the family 
of his land-owner first, because he is not free to take and 
fashion the indestructible material that lies just at his hand* 
The opportunity for labor is illimitable, but a despotic law 
bars the laborer out. 

We call upon organized labor to turn its attention to the 
speculator as the **scab" to be driven out. Free Nature and 

176 * THE AEENA. 

' labor is free. Give each man the choice of two jobs at equal 

; prices, have two employers bidding for his Work and you 

have a free man to make a free contract. When the em- 
ployer sends out on the street for men (as I have seen happen 
temporarily in western towns), then there is no Cringing of 
I labor, no appeal, ^^ Please mister, give me a job." . It is man 

to man and face to face, a free contract. 
' The American workman does not need protection, patemal- 

■ ism. What he needs is absolute equality as regards "a 

chance " and then freedom. I suspect the reader will begin 
I to think that the single tax is going to the root of things. If 

labor were free to choose its job and practically to fix its own 
wages, what would result? 

It may be inferred men would not "stake coal" in the 
hell of a steamer's hold, or collect garbage, or work amid 
red-hot iron out of choice. It would not need Bellamyism 
to equalize things. The highest wages would necessarily 
be paid for the most disagreeable jobs, and invention wovld he 
turned for a while upon making these horrible jobs a little more 
tolerable. It would be discovered that the hold of a vessel 
might be ventilated, that the coal might be moved by machin- 
ery, that the foundry or press-basement might be differently 
situated, and the wind let in some way. 

I think a little consideration of this point will satisfy that 
to free labor is to do it all. The desires of the free man may 
be trusted to abolish the horrors that now surround almost all 
kinds of manual labor. A governmental regulation of these 
things is so far away around, and so very uncertain of getting 
around, that single-tax men would rather try the effect of 
freedom. Freedom will shorten the hours of labor, raise 
wages, dignify work, and make the wage-earner a man among 
men, for free-men prefer short hours to long, high wages to 

Will he not abuse his freedom? Who is to say what the 
mechanic or craftsman shall demand ? Would he not destroy 
business by demanding too much ? That will regulate itself. 
Supply and demand — under free conditions — will regulate 
that. But who will collect our garbage ? Who will do our 
menial tasks when the laboring man is free ? This question 
is often asked as if a God-given prerogative were about to be 
taken away. I say if a task is so menial that only abject 
want will drive a human being to it, it is an outrage to re- 

1^ p-i i-^- 


quire it, and the sooner it is done away with the better. I do 
not ask anyone to do what I would not do myself if I were 
physically able. I never go by a gang of men in the street 
working under the flaming sun and amid the deadly fumes 
of gas, that I do not say, ^^ Those men under freedom would 
demand and get the highest wages paid." The pyramid now 
stands on its apex, as Shelley said. The easiest task gets the 
highest pay. 

I believe all paid bodily attendance, all menial duties will 
disappear when labor is free. There must come in a change. 
The treatment of servants in many homes is an outrage on 
humanity. The life the servant girls lead is appalling to a 
mind not vitiated by flunkeyism. Ten to sixteen hours per 
day labor ; beds in the basement, damp, mouldy, or up in the 
garret in bare, \mwarmed rooms, — and worse than all, no 
home, no little nook of their own, pitifully alien in the midst 
of all the comfort and elegance around them. No wonder 
they prefer the shop or the store, and a poor, little rented 
room and a sort of freedom. This cannot endure ; the human 
heart rebels at it; the womanly soul cries out against it. 
Labor must be honorable when the workman is free, or he 
will not do it. Once the pressure of want is taken off him, 
he will stand tall in his manhood. He will wear no man's 
livery. He vnll follow his own desires with no man to say 
him nay, till he infringes upon the rights of someone else. 
So far as I am personally concerned, I say that any part of 
our so-called civilization which rests upon the enforced deg- 
radation, the homelessness, the brutalizing toil of my fellow 
men and women, is only the vanity and pride of a plutocracy 
whose abolition will be the flower of freedom and the triumph 
of truth. 

The effect of the single tax in cities I have indicated. Th^y 
would level down, and cut over the vacant lots, the huge ten- 
story building would not stand beside the old rookery. The 
tenement house would disappear. Individual homes would 
multiply. There would be a gradual shifting of population 
from the heart of the city to the suburbs, because the most 
valuable lands would necessarily be used for the most pro- 
ductive business. Slowly the saloon and the schoolhouse 
would part company. The terrible North Ends and South 
Ends would disappear. Rapid transit (by the municipal 
railways) would no longer enrich real-estate boomers, but 


I . 

would make it easy for the mechanic to possess a Queen Anne 
cottage in the suburbs, his only tax being levied upon the 
site value of his little lot. * 

The need of escaping rent crowds people together on one 
lot in the city, but it scatters them in the country. Under 
the single tax the farming population would draw together. 
The speculator being taxed into selling or using his land, 
population would aggregate into cities and towns and a new 
era begin for the farmer. 
I It is not the poverty, the endless and ferocious work of the 

farm and shop that appalls. It is the waste of human life. 
The solitude, brutalizing surroundings, the barrenness and 
monotony, the scream of planes, the howl of cog-wheels — 
these things that tend to make man only a brute or a ma- 
chine — these are the thmgs that honify the thinker. They 
are not civilization. I ^gree with William Morris there. 
It is because into the life of the farmer the single tax would 
bring music, painting, song, the theatre, that I advocate it 
with such pei-sistent enthusiasm. I am a farmer by training, 
and my sympathies go out to these trusting, Bol)er, frugal 
men and women in their joyless lives. It is my hope to see 
them enjoying some of the intellectual delights which make 
life worth living. With the rise of towns and the concen- 
tration of the rural population, swift strides in civilization 
will come. 

" But will not a tax on land-values rest heavily on the 
farmer ? " asks someone. No : the land-value of the work- 
ing farmer is very much less than the value of his tillage, 
buildings, machinery, etc. His direct tax would, in ninety- 
nine cases out of a htmdred, be less than now. If he is a 
speculative farmer, like those Edward Atkinson represents, his 
tax will be heavier, as it ought to be. The single tax hits the 
speculator's head, wherever it sees one. The working farmer 
will find his direct tax reduced from twenty-five per cent, to 
seventy-five per cent., and his indirect taxes will be wiped out. 

*The assertion of Edward Atkinson that to raise the present tax of Boston 
would require under tlie single tax a levy of $33 per thousand, shows how 
absurd a man can be when trying to combat a sreat reform with partial 
statement of fact. The flaring evil is the under-valuation of lands held out 
of use. The franchises of Boston are now given away, under the single tax 
their entire annual value would come into the treasury. 

But if the entire annual rental of all land and land privileges in Boston 
were unsufficient to run the eovernment it would not affect the vital part 
of the question. To whom does the ground rent belong, to the people of Boston, 
or to private individuals ? That is the contention. 


It is the indirect tax that lays with such invisible weight 
upon him, not merely the tax proper to the government with 
all its percentages of increase from hand to hand, but the 
still greater private tax of the monopolist of mines, forests, 
mill-privileges, and city lots, all of whose exactions of tri- 
bute come back upon the farmer with crushing weight in the 
price of his tools, clothing, building materials, etc. Under 
the single tax, his entire tax would be less than he now pays 
to some monopolist in buying a mowing machine or his 
winter clothing. 

The farmer of all men is to be benefitted by this reform. 

But will not the rich man, the bond-holder escape ? objects 
the farmer. No. Stocks and bonds derive their value 
mainly from land values, and they would be taxed at the source 
of their value by the single tax. So far as they relate to im- 
provements they ought not to be taxed ; in so far as they 
relate to privileges on land they would infallibly be reached 
by the tax on social value, or ground-rent. 

In the South the idea of this further extension of freedom is 
making way. Already the young men of Virginia are taking 
up and carrying forward the work Jefferson and Garrison laid 
down, — for although the South would share in all that comes 
with concentration and comfort, it would benefit specially, 
because the single-tax idea would solve the negro problem. 

The single tax will solve the black man's problem by open- 
ing the storehouse of Mother Earth to him, without the neces- 
sity of a tribute to some private individual. His slavery 
admittedly is still abject, and his suffering greater than be- 
fore. I don't mean to belittle what has been done, but he 
seems to me to stand at present between a dire halfnslavery 
and freedom. He is freed from his master, but is enslaved 
like his white brother to the "boss," and the land-owner. 
As an Individualist I do not assert that the black is equal in 
virtue to the white. I do not assert he should be equal in 
political power, or equal socially, or equal in wealth. I simply 
assert his equality with every other man as regards his heritage 
in the gifts of air, sun, water, and land. We say give him 
equality of opportunity. Let him see industry untaxed and 
i(fle speculation abolished ; give him freedom and incentive to 
be industrious, sober, and honest ; then he will see that his 
failure lies with himself. The South will yet see that a 
completer freedom will solve the negro problem. 




So the individualistic single-tax idea would have solved 
the Indian problem. But Grod help us! we've almost 
solved it by annihilating the race. I say the greed of 
the speculator in land, the boomer, has everywhere thrust 
the knife into the Indian's heart. Boomers have given 
him drink, bought his lands for a few beads, lobbied Congress 
to push him farther west. Boomers, speculators have kept 
him from being civilized, have stood between the real settler 
and the Indian with rifle and whiskey jug in hand. We had 
no real need of these lands. It was an artificial scarcity of 
land, created by the power of the boomer, to get and hold 
more than he could use, or intended to use. I say that 
proceeding naturally, we would not yet have reached the 
Mississippi River, and that by bringing the virtues, and not 
the vices, of civilization to bear on the Indian, our century 
would not have been one of dishonor. We say, therefore, that 
by instituting private property in land among the Indians, their 
ruin is complete. This the boomers know. The single tax 
would teach them art, and science, and the rights of property, 
which forbid private ownership in lands. 

It will thus be seen that the reform we advocate is simple, 
but it is the simplicity of a great natural principle. " It be- 
gins where two and two make four, it mounts to the region 
where the lightnings sit." It consists in saying one man shall 
not Jbe forced to feed another. It puts justice in the seat of 
charity and says to wronged and cheated human nature : go 
breathe the free air and drink the pure water, till disease 
and deformity vanish. The single tax would destroy greed 
by making it impotent. It would leave virtue and intelli- 
gence room to develop, putting them above stupidity, greed, 
and governmentally-aided selfishness. 

Our reform is not a palliative. We believe there are two 
essentials in the ideal state of society, free nature and lib- 
erty. Land mtist become practically free. Land is limited 
in amount, population is unlimited. When we have two 
hundred millions of people, the oceans will not be one foot 
farther apaii). The need of land grows and its price rises con- 
tinually. Every year the struggle for a place on American 
soil will intensify. No nation of earth with equal natural 
resource ever began in so short a time to feel the need of 
land as we are feeling it to-day. 

If with land partially monopolized, we have swarms of 


beggars, tramps, asylums, hospitals, — if these signs of a 
bitter struggle to live are so great now, what will they be 
fifty years from now? If land is worth $14,000,000 per 
acre in New York to-day, what will it be worth in 1920 ? 
In short, looking at this question from the broadest, possible 
point of view, what is the problem ? 

Just this : as the struggle for natural resources is ever in« 
tensifying and as the possession of land gives greater and 
greater power to the owner and enslaves the renter, therefore 
it follows that the present system of land-ownership is sweep- 
ing us toward a ferocious and fratricidal war for the posses- 
sion of the earth. This struggle will result in one of two 
conditions. Either a vast and all-powerful landed aris- 
tocracy will enslave the American masses, or the present sys- 
tem of land-holding must give way. 

For us there is only one issue, the monopoly of Nature 
must go. It will give way with far less of storm and 
stress than slavery gave in dying. It will be seen to be the 
next great step in the evolution of the race. The value of 
the individual increases from age to age ; he will soon be 
sovereign. No one need be alarmed, no one need be taken 
by surprise. Reforms are growths, they bud before bursting 
into bloom. No reform can succeed that does not constantly 
prove its claims to be the best thing for the time. 

" Liberty, fraternity, equality I " cried the great French rev- 
olutionists, and threw their titles, badges, 'scutcheons, coats- 
of-arms into the smelting pot. Liberty, fraternity, equality I 
And they left untouched the mother of all injustice, the 
source of all inequality at birth, the root of all aristocra- 
cies, — the private ownership of the soil of France. They de- 
stroyed a monarchical aristocracy supported by peasants, 
serfs. They established a republican plutocracy supported 
by " free " farmers, and women and children toiling in fac- 
tories. O, great and beneficent change ! O, blind phil- 
osophers I 

The one inalienable right upon which all else depends, 
they did not secure. The Declaration of Independence which 
we are reading to-day to the world does not make that mis- 
take. It believes that the evolution of society is bringing a 
day when the ultimate tenet of single-taxers will be held 
reasonable, — the right of each man to space. 

Out of space we are come, into space we are born. We 


move in space, we must have space to set our feet, space to 
breathe and space to sleep. The need of space is as undeni- 
able as the fact of weight and coherency of our bodies, and 
to allow any part of a social group, short of the entire mem- 
bership of that group, to have absolute monopoly of space is 
a social crime, and human reason revolts against it as against 
the most vital infiingement of the rights of man. 

We believe that every child born into the world has at least 
the same rights as the rattlesnake, the right to himself, the right 
to breathe the air, to drink the water, and to obtain his food 
and shelter by his labor upon the materials which make up 
the world exterior to man. We are content to take the 
polished professor of political economy at his word. Man 
has no more natural rights than a rattlesnake. 

Give man these rights, and you give him all that govern- 
ment can or ought to give him. Voluntary service and co- 
operation may be trusted to do the rest. How is it now ? 
Suppose the little rattlesnake coming into the world to find 
all the snug comers, and nice swamps, and beetle pastures, 
monopolized by some big rattlesnake, or owned by some 
other little rattlesnake inheriting an estate, and you have a 
parallel to the condition of the average child born under the 
American Flag and the Declaration of Independence. 

*' The land belongs in usufruct to the living," cried Jeffer- 
son, (our first great single-taxer) " the dead have no control 
over it.'* And with him we deny the right of one generation 
to enslave another yet unborn. The use of land to the liv- 
ing, to the unborn the same free legacy. We believe in use 
not ownership, we would have land settled^ not bought. We 
would have men secure in possession of land, but robbed of 
the power to levy tribute. 

In tliis free air, woman will rise to nobler stature. With 
individualists the right of woman to vote is reckoned a small 
part of her rights as an individual, only a minor question. 
The real question is, was woman bom free and equal in oppor- 
tunities to obtain happiness, acquire vii-tue, and secure a 
competency? In other words is she included in the new 
declaration of rights ? If I may answer for the single-tax 
men of America, I say yes. Women sat in this last conven- 
tion of patriots with the same powers and the same privileges 
with the men. 

It is now more than a century since that immortal old Dec- 


laration was read, and to-day, with rare misgiyings, woman is 
allowed to vote on the school question I Man, his head yet 
filled with the survivals of the middle ages with its measure- 
less lust and cruelty, arrogates to himself the right to say 
what woman shall do — and this in the face of the sentence 
which he applauds — " All men are created free and equal," 
— applauds because it never occurs to him to mean women, 

As a single-tax man I say : As I deny the right of any 
woman to define my sphere, deny me what I earn, or sit in 
judgment on my rights, so I deny the justice of any custom, 
law, or edict of a man's government to say what a woman's 
work shall be, to suppress her vote or discriminate against her 
in any way whatsoever. It is not a question whether woman 
will use the ballot, it is a question of liberty. She must 
have the liberty to do as she pleases so long as she does not 
interfere with the equal rights of others. It is not a question 
of her desires as a woman, it is a question of her rights as a 
human being. 

But the illimitable widening of the field of opportunity, 
the freedom of industry from tax, the growing liberty and 
independence of labor will do more for woman than place her 
equal before the law with man. It will release her from 
her dependence upon him as a bread-winner, and never 
till that is done can woman stand a free soul, individual and 

Paid in full for her work without regard to sex, — with 
the same rights before the law, with the power and the free 
opportunity to earn her own living independently of man, 
woman will at last come to have the right to herself, and be 
the free agent of her own destiny. Then marriage will be a 
mutual co-partnership between equals. Prostitution will 
disappear, and marrying for a home, that first cousin of pros- 
titution, will also disappear. It is woman's dependency, her 
fear of the world, fear of want, of the terrible struggle out- 
side that enslaves her. In the freedom and abundance of 
the ideal individualistic world she will become sovereign of 
herself and the friend of man. 

It is impossible in a single magazine article to give more 
than a hint at the high philosophy, the altruism, the logic, 
the grace, the humor of the great reform, called for con- 
venience The Single Tax. If the reader gets a glimpse of 


our earnestness, and a desire to learn more of our cause, I 
shall feel satisfied with my work in writing. There are 
many objections, rising from imperfect understanding of 
what we advocate, which I could state and answer if I had 
space ; but they would refer to dollars and cents, to expedi- 
ency. The intent of this article is rather to present the etliical 
principles upon which it is based — on self-evident truths, 
conceptions high as justice and broad as humanity. 

The thoughtful man this day is standing at the parting 
of two ways, one leading confessedly through trusts, com- 
bines, monopolies, to one giant monopoly of all industry, 
controlled by the state, to be carried on by militaiy regime ; 
the other leading through abolition of laws, through free 
trade, free production, free opportunity, to free men. The 
land doctrine or single-tax philosophy means a destruction 
of all monopoly, a minimum tax levied upon social not indi- 
vidual values and the greatest individual liberty consistent 
1 with the equal rights of the rest. 

] In short, the time is upon us when a man must choose 

J between paternalism of a government liable to corruption 

I and tyranny, and the fraternal, spontaneous, unconscious 

co-operation of individualism. We stand before each 
thoughtful man and woman, stUl pondering this choice, and 
say: — 

** There is no law that will work, as it is expected to work, 
except a law which liberates. The system that sets free, will 
surprise by its beneficence, and exalt with its ever-renewed 
power of developing the good of human nature." 

As for myself, I hold truth to be good, Nature impar- 
tial, liberty and loftier individual development the end of 
aU human government and all right human action. 



Not more than a century has elapsed since the United 
States of America proudly declared that their domains should 
forever be kept open as a place of refuge for the oppressed of 
all nations ; since they thus issued a standing invitation to 
all, who believed themselves oppressed by the tyranny of 
either priest, king, or capitalist to come and share the glorious 
liberties and privileges with which this republic had presented 
its citizens. 

One short century only — and voices arc already heard 
demanding the passage of laws to impede, restrict, yea, pro- 
hibit immigration. Nor is this all, these voices grow louder 
and louder, demanding even the expulsicm of large classes of 
people, who, though bom and reared upon American soil, are 
represented as being strangers, whose presence imperils the 
safety and prosperity of both the republic and its citizens. 

A few years ago the cry was raised : " The Chinaman must 
go," and in the face of sacred obligations, the government 
had the weakness to yield to the pressure of what was pre- 
sented as a public demand, and to proscribe and banish the 

It did not require a great deal of prophetical inspiration to 
predict that, the precedent once established, new demands of 
a similar kind would soon be made, and to one who carefully 
noted the events as they succeeded one another, it was no sur- 
prise when people began to urge the expatriation of the 
negro, using almost the veiy same arguments. 

Granted however (as was asserted at the time) that the 
Chinaman refuses to assume the duties of a citizen, while he 
is ready to enjoy his privileges ; or granted that (as the Hon. 
Wade Hampton now asserts) the negro, as a race, has not 
the natural faculties to reach that stage of civilization or 
culture, which could make him the equal of the white man ; 
would the Moloch of intolerance become appeased and molli- 
fied after the last Chinaman had been shipped back to Asia 
and the last negro to Africa ? 





By no means. Though yet at some distance, a sound wave 
is rolling nearer and nearer, which carries the cry: ^^The 
Irishman, too, must go." « 

On what grounds is his presence objected to ? Does he not 
take interest in public affairs? Does he not cheerfully bur- 
den himself with the duties of citizenship ? Or is he unfit 
! to take an active part in self-government? Mark the incon- 

sistency of the objectors. They banish the Chinaman because 
he does not care to vote, or to enter public service ; they pro- 
pose to exile the negro at public expense because he is unfit 
^as they claim) to govern ; but they demand the expulsion of 
the Celt for no other reason than that he is both eager and fit 
to serve the public. What race is to be prescribed next by 
the native (?) American ? 

It would lead me too far at present to unroll the proscrip- 
tion list still farther; the attention of the reader may be 
directed only to the remarkable change that has taken place 
in the sentiment of the American people within a single 
century. # 

One hundred years ago the stranger was invited and wel- 
comed ; to-day he is looked upon with distrust, and the inten- 
tions are ripening to shut the door in his face. One hundred 
years ago ihe equality of all men as members of one large 
brotherhood was proclaimed; to-day a different shading of 
color in the skin, or a different formation of the skull, is made 
valid pretext for erecting an insurmountable barrier between 
man and man. One hundred years ago legislative bodies 
debated upon inducements to be held out to encourage immi- 
gration; to-day, schemes are proposed and discussed in all 
earnestness, not alone to discourage and possibly suppress 
immigration, but to expatriate large classes of citizens. 

What has caused this reaction ? What has caused people 
to change their minds so abruptly ? Is this spirit of hostility 
toward strangers a token of public health, or is it a morbid 
extravaganza? Will it spread and develop, or will it vanish 
as suddenly as it appeared ? Is there any possibility of check- 
ing the influx of strangers by legislative means, and will it 
ever come to pass that each race and each nationality will be 
assigned a separate part of the earth for a habitation, the 
boundaiy lines of which they must not overstep ? 

When China, teeming with a population too large for its 
ftfea, is 909U building a wall around its frontiers to keep out 


newcomers, or closing its ports to strangers ; when in ovei^ 
populated Europe the Grermans are beheld expatriating Rus- 
sians and Frenchmen, or the Russians in retaliation are 
observed prohibiting Germans from settling upon Russian 
soil, — there is some sense, at least, in such an intolerant spirit ; 
but when the same tendency springs up suddenly in America, 
a country so large in territory and so rich in resources that its 
population could be increased ten times without the least 
fear of endangering the prosperity of such vast masses of 
people, one is at a loss to account for its appearance, and it 
becomes well worth the while of every well meaning and 
intelligent person to examine the subject more closely and 
pay it the attention due to so important a question. 

To arrive at a full understanding of this phenomenon, the 
field which it covers must be subdivided into several areas, 
and not before each of these has received an exhaustive 
examination shall we be able to form a settled opinion, and 
to act with clearness and precision whenever it materializes 
and approaches us, in the tangible form of a legislative act. 
A careful summary of both the benefits and the evils which 
immigration carries with itself must be made, and the slight- 
est deviations of the scales be noted ; the changes that have 
taken place in the social conditions of all nations on account 
of the marvellous discoveries and inventions made in the last 
century, must receive due consideration ; the psychic causes 
for the aversion which one race harbors against the other 
must be diligently sought and, when found, the possibility 
of their extirpation from the human soul be determined. Yet 
before all, it fe necessary to acquaint one's self with the idea 
that migration is not the voluntary act of man as an indi- 
vidual, but his involuntary submission to a law which 
governs ihat great organism, called mankind; that it is as 
necessary to its existence and well being, as is the circulation 
of the blood to the human body, or the changing tides to the 
ocean. The investigation will turn around this first principle 
as around a pivot. If the migratory habit of people could 
be traced back to the whims of individuals, means could 
easily be devised to encourage immigration, in places and at 
times, where and when benefit could be derived from the 
influx of new comers, or to restrict or suppress it wherever 
and whenever danger lurks behind it ; but if it be true that 
people migrate impelled by instinct, that the migratory habit 


is a law of Nature, or that migration benefits the organism 
irrespectiye of the welfare of one or a number of its cells, we 
might as well attempt to stay the hurricane, which in itself 
is a migration of the particles which compose the atmosphere, 
or to check the storm that stirs the sea to its very depth, as 
to think of stemming the tide of migration whenever or 
wherever it sets in. 

The study of the laws of Nature has taught man how to 
utilize the forces over which they rule, but not how to 
abrogate or repeal them. Man knowing, for example, the 
laws of electricity, may protect himself against the stroke 
of the lightning, by offering to the fluid a way to descend 

ithat is preferable to that which the electric spark might 
otherwise have chosen; he may even force it to drive cars, 
or to carry messages around the world, but as long as elec- 
tricity exists, so long will the laws exist which regulate this 
force, and, as long as humanity exists, so long will the laws 
upon which its very life depends remain in full activity. 

The editor of The Abena has kindly granted me the privi- 
lege of treating this vast and interesting subject in a series 
I of articles, each of which is to be externally independent of 

the other, while internally the chain of thought shall remain 
unbroken. Will the reader kindly follow me in a discussion 
of " Migration a Law of Nature " ? 

The universe appears to us, at first sight, a mechanism 
so complicated and intricate, that a thousand various forces 
seem needed to keep it in running order ; yet on closer in- 
spection, it is found that but very few forces are called for 
to serve that purpose ; that these forces are so carefully con- 
structed that tiiey automatically balance each other, and that 
the very same force which directs the fiery sunball is made 
to cut and grind the grain of sand which grits under the step 
of the human foot. The steam, which by its expansion and 
contraction moves the shaft of the engine up and down, to 
and fro, is made use of to do a thousand different kinds of 
work in a large factory ; to drive in one room a thousand 
spindles ; to turn in another a circular saw, and to lift a 
hammer in another, — thus the very same forces are utilized 
in the universe to perform various kinds of work. 

It has become a well-established fact that the vast bodies 
which populate space are kept in motion by two forces; 
that the one, the centrifugal force, supplies tiiem with the 


impetus to fly fax out from a given centre, while the other, 
the centripetal force, draws them as powerfully toward it. If 
either of them should overpower the other for one short 
moment, the equilibrium would be at once destroyed and 
the body would either fly towards and crash against the 
centre, or be hurled at random into space, to meet a fate of 
which we naturally lack even the dimmest conception. 

These same forces, however, manifest themselves not exclu- 
sively in the planetary system, but are found at work even 
in the human mind, balancing each other there with the 
same precision as elsewhere. 

With all due respect to human individuality, we are but 
minute cells of the large organism, called Mankind. In the 
order of things, the life of the organism receives always 
greater consideration than the life of the cells. A human 
being, an animal, a plant, is composed of myriads of cells 
which die away as rapidly as they haves prung into exist- 
ence. Though their temporary well being stands in close 
relation to the well being of the organism which they com- 
pose, their existence seems of no consequence compared to 
that of the body of which they are parts. Likewise, the tree 
of humanity and its welfare ranks in importance far above 
that of the cells of which it is composed and which come and 
go and are replaced by others, that the tree itself may grow 
and prosper, and bear fragrant blossoms and delicious fruit. 

It is ever and always humanity, the life of the larger 
organism, which we must take into consideration, when a 
social question looms up before us, and not of individuals, 
because it is not man that thinks, and feels, and moves, it 
is humanity that thinks and feels in him, and moves through 

Now, while it seems necessary, for the preservation of this 
vast body, that its component particles should keep their 
places for a time, it is as necessary that their position should 
be shifted, and that the locomotion of the cells should be 
neither too rapid nor too slow ; that there should be neither 
too much rest, nor too much restlessness, but that each 
extreme should be automatically counterbalanced and 
checked by the other : the same centripetal and centrifugal 
forces are applied exactly in the same manner as they are 
utilized to produce regularity in the motion of the planets. 

Every cell, every human being, is swayed by them and 

190 » THE ARENA. 

obeys them involuntarily. While the individual may believe 
that he is ponsulting his own welfare by staying where he is, 
or by seeking another place of residence, he merely follows 
the pressure brought upon him in either direction by either 
of these great and universal forces. 

Man is imbued with an undying love of the place where 
he is born and reared. The earth of one's fatherland seems 
softer, its water sweeter, its sky bluer, its air more balmy, 
its flowers more fragrant, its fruits more nourishing, its men 
and women more shapely, more honest, and more trustworthy 
than those of any other land. The native of a desert will 
find beauty in its monotonous sandwaves, and would yearn 
for them even in a paradise. There is a strong tendency in 
every father, and still more in every mother, to keep their 
offspring near them. What a happiness, when at a holiday 
the members of a family find themselves collected under the 
same roof, aroimd the same table, parents, sons and daughters 
with their wives and husbands, their children, yea, children's 
children I 

This sentiment, so strong and lovable, is the manifestation 
of the centripetal force. Yet if this force were left to itself, 
stagnation would soon set in. As a body in which the 
circulation of the blood has ceased becomes mortified, and 
rots away, so would mankind be doomed to die prematurely 
if its cells were kept forever in the same places. 

It appears to many a wonder why some nations have re- 
mained on a low plane of civilization, while others have 
reached a high standard of culture, and they seek to solve 
'the problem by denying to these nations the capability of 
culture ; but is their savagery not due, rather, to the fact that 
for various reasons, too numerous to be counted here, they 
have remained stationary ? May it not be conjectured that 
' if the currents of immigration and emigration had produced a 

healthy circulation of blood, they might have risen intellect- 
ually, morally, and industrially to the same height which is 
occupied by those nations which have had the opportunity 
of atomic circulation by migration ? Wisely, however, the 
centripetal force is balanced by the centrifugal force here 
i also. 

Behold the yearning of the child to see other places ; be- 
hold in the youth the eagerness to seek his fortune in far off 
countries, his belief that the further he goes to seek it, the surer 



his chances of finding it. Behold oui* love for all that is 
strange, and behold the success of the stranger. Has the 
reader ever chanced to observe, that in spite of all the advan- 
tage which the native born has over the stranger, in spite of 
better knowledge of his surroundings, of men and things, 
it is always the stranger who succeeds ? How many families 
remain and prosper for several generations in the same 
locality ? And if they do, when we reach backward but a 
few hundred years, we find that the originator of the illus- 
trious house or family has come and settled down — a 
stranger in these quarters. Has the reader ever observed 
that it is the visiting strange young girl who is sure to 
fascinate the young men of a place, or that the strange young 
man is the most dangerous rival, and sure to win the affec- 
tion of the other sex? And has the reader ever tried to 
explain to himself why this is so ? 

Both the yearning to leave the parental roof and the suc- 
cess which the stranger always meets, are the manifestations 
of the centrifugal force, which wills that the atomic particles 
shall not remain at rest, but shall exchange places and com- 
bine in new form. 

Migration is a law of Nature. As the sea is stirred by tlie 
storms, or the atmosphere by the currents of wind, tlius are 
the atoms of which humanity is composed kept in circula- 
tion, by the innate desire of each to leave its place and seek 
another abode. 

It may be a daring assertion yet I venture to make it, that 
the marvellous development of the human race during the 
last century, on which we pride ourselves so greatly, has 
been made possible and is due to the greater facilities offered 
to migration, and that in the same ratio as these facilities 
and migration increase, humanity will rise upon the ladder 
of civilization. Our historians tell us — and endeavor to 
convince us of the truth of their statements — that Europe 
has been populated by the overflow population of Asia ; that 
thousands of years ago, Asiatic tribes crossed the Balkan or 
the Hellespont and entered Europe from the East. The 
migration of swarms of barbarians moving from the north- 
east towards the southwest of Europe, which began with the 
appearance of the Cimbri in Italy, and after having shat- 
tered the Roman Empire, ended with the Crusades, are his- 
torical facts frequently dwelt upon. But large as these 

192 TH£ ABEKA. 

expeditions may haye been, what are all the migratory 
movements that occurred during the known ages of history, 
in comparison with the extent of migration which has been 
made possible and taken place through the inventions of the 
last centuiy ? The migrations of the past were tribal or 
national. A tribe or a nation, impelled by the centrifugal 
force, would break up quarters and move on to other places. 
For the safety and success of the individual, it was abso- 
lutely necessary that the whole tribe should march together, 
exactly as it is of absolute necessity for the birds that 
migrate in winter to southern climates, to unite into large 
swarms. To-day migration has become individual. The better 
organization of society has made it possible for each atom to 
change its position, and if the hosts of people who make use 
of the opportunities offered to them and exchange places in 
nearer or wider circles could be counted, or be seen in 
marching order, as could once the savage hordes that fell 
upon Rome, a mstgnificent spectacle would be offered, and 
the vastness and strength of the current which at present 
circulates throughout Uie whole organism of mankind would 
become at once apparent. 

The inferences which may be drawn from these observa- 

j, tions are simple but telling, and can be summarized as 

'\ follows; — 

1. Migration is a law of Nature, and people who migrate 

!• follow involuntarily a force which they cannot resist. 

1 2. The stronger and wider the current of migration the 

\. higher will rise the waves of civilization. Migration is a 

blessing and not a curse to numanity. 

8. Migration may prove disastrous both to the cell that 
moves, and to the cell which is pushed out of place by the 
intruder, but the life, the health, and the prosperity of the 
body of humanity depends upon it. 

4. It is folly trying to prevent what cannot be prevented. 
Instead of stubbornly offering resistance to a law of Nature, 
we ought to familiarize ourselves with its working, and 
regulate our course of action accordingly. 



** If the right theory should ever be proclaimed, we shall know it by 
this token, — ^that it will solve many riddles/* — Emerson, 

Philosophers have often demonstrated that the sup- 
pression of historical truth implies a two-fold mistake : the 
erroneous belief in the possibility of permanently disguising 
the significance of an important fact, and the vain hope of 
serving even a good cause by the concealment of its defects. 

Political party rancor has blinded more than one able critic 
to the errors of that double fallacy, but its most striking 
illustrations are perhaps to be found in the persistent mis- 
representations of ecclesiastical historians. For the last fif- 
teen hundred years, the memory of every free thinker has 
been slandered, while subserviency to the purposes of the 
priesthood has been made a cloak of' every vice. Constan- 
tine the First, a cruel and effeminate tyrant, was canonized ; 
Constantine the Second, a jnurderer and a bigot, was eulo- 
gized in t^housands of sermons, while his heroic and philo- 
sophical successor was depicted as a monster. ^^ The fathers 
of the church," says Lecky, ^^laid it down as a distinct prop- 
osition that pious frauds were justifiable and even laucUtble. 
Paganism was to be combated, and therefore prophecies were 
forged, lying wonders were multiplied, and ceaseless calum- 
nies poured upon those who, like Julian, opposed the church. 
That tendency triumphed wherever the supreme importance 
of these dogmas was held. Generation after generation it 
became more universal ; it continued till the very sense of 
truth and the very love of truth were blotted out from the 
minds of men." 

^^Pereant qui ante nos nostra dixerunt^^ (perish the 
memory of our precursors) expresses, however, the motive 
of the most characteristic examples of historical disingenu- 
ousness. The danger of orthodox tenets or customs being 
traced to their pagan sources has ever stimulated the inven- 
tiveness of ecclesiastical apologists to its highest pitch. When 



the opponents of the doctrine of exclusive salvation by faith 
called attention to the sublime ethical precepts of pagan 
philosophers, those precepts were promptly ascribed to pla- 
giarisms from the Old or New Testament. Julius Mater- 
nus, a contemporary of Constantine, maintained that all the 
wisdom of Egypt was borrowed from the Pentateuch, and 
that the god Serapis was an alias of the patriarch Joseph, his 
Egyptian name being evidently derived from his great-grand- 
mother Sarah. The ethics of Plato were attributed to the in- 
struction of the prophet Jeremiah, Homer's poetry to the 
inspiration of the Psalms, the eloquence of Demosthenes to 
the controversial writings of Isaiah and Ezekiel. Several una- 
bridged copies of the Stromata attest the almost incredible fact 
that Saint Clemens Alexandrinus accuses Miltiades of having 
borrowed his tactics from Joshua, and owing the victory of 
Marathon to a hint from the Second Book of Moses. Forged 
prophecies of the Messiah were attributed to the Sybils, and 
Saint Linus forged several letters of an alleged correspond- 
ence between the apostle Paul and the philosopher Seneca. 

But artifices of that kind will prove unavailing against the 
portentous accumulation of evidence demonstrating the East 
Indian origin of the New Testament. The attempt to iden- 
tify or even to harmonize the doctrines of the synoptic gos- 
pels with those of the Hebrew Scriptures has long been 
recognized as the most untenable paradox of patristic 
theology. Perhaps no other two books ever published are 
more dissimilar in their tendency than the first and second 
part of our heterogenous Bible. Here, the chronicle of a 
brave and simple-minded nation of herders and husbandmen 
and the code of their manful lawgiver ; there, a compilation 
of ghost legends and anti-natural dogmas. Here, an honest 
silence on the unknowable mysteries of a future existence, 
and the possibility of resurrection ; there, a constant petitio 
prindpii of that dogma. Here, Unitarian exclusiveness ; 
there, Trinitarian and gnostic tenets. Here, health laws, Sam- 
son traditions, pastoral poetry, realism and optimism ; there, 
indifference to health, renunciation of earthly possessions, 
other-worldliness, mysticism, and pessimism. 

Compared with such contrasts the difference between the 
optimistic monotheism of JudsBa and the optimistic Nature- 
worship of Greece, appears indeed, altogether insignificant ; 
and as an outcome — "a consummation," of the Hebrew 


Scriptures, the New Testament would be utterly inexplicable. 
But the doctrines and customs which distingui^ the creed of 
Saint Augustine from all the ancient religions of the Medi- 
terranean nations were at last proved to bear a marvellous 
resemblance to the doctrines and customs of a faith which, 
just about the beginning of our chronological era, flooded 
Western Asia with thousands of zealous missionaries. More 
than a hundred years ago the vague accounts of a Jesuit 
chronicle first called attention to the curious analogies of 
Buddhist and Christian church- rites, and in 1844 those 
rumors were fully confirmed by the reports of Father Regis 
Hue, who had studied Buddhist monotlieism in the capi- 
tal of Thibet. " The cross," he says, " the mitre, the 
dalmatica, the cope, which the Grand Lama wears on his jour- 
neys, or if he is performing some ceremony out of the 
temple, the service with double choirs, the psalmody, the 
exorcisms, the censer suspended from five chains, the bene- 
diction given by the Lama by extending his right hand over 
the heads of the faithful, the chaplet, ecclesiastical celibacy, 
religious retirement, the worship of the saints, the fiists, the 
processions, the litanies, the holy water, — all here are analogies 
between the Buddhists and ourselves." 

Soon after Eugene Bumouf, one of the most distinguished 
orientalists of modem times, published his " Introduction to 
the History of Buddhism," Professor Lassen of Bonn traced 
the progress of Buddhist Missions to the shores of the Medi- 
terranean; Rudolf Seydel demonstrated the similitude of 
not less than fifty-two traditions of the Buddhist scriptures 
to as many dififerent passages of the New Testament, and 
since the publication of Spence Hardy's " Manual of Budd- 
hism," the significance of those facts has been an open 
secret to all unprejudiced investigators. 

Granting the circumstance that the appearance of the first 
Buddhistic apostles preceded that of the Christian evangel- 
ists by at least four hundred years, the following list of the 
principal analogies of the two religions should, indeed, seem 
to make comments almost superfluous. 


1. Both Buddha and Christ were of royal lineage. Both 
were bom of a mother who, though married, was still a 



2. A birth of the future Saviour is announced by a hea- 
venly messenger. An apparition which Maya sees in her 
dream informs her: ^^Thou shalt be filled with highest 
joy. Behold thou shalt bring forth a son bearing the 
mystic signs of Buddh, who shall become a sacrifice for the 
dwellers of the earth, a saviour who to all men shall give 
joy and the glorious fruits of immortality." (Rgya Cher- 
rol-pan^ 61, 63.) The angel says unto Mary: "Fear not, 
Mary, for thou hast found favor with God. Behold thou 
shalt bring forth a son and call his name Jesus. He shall 
be great and shall be called the son of the highest, and the 
Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father 
David." (Luke i. 80, 31.) 

8. At the request of Maya, King Sudodhana renounces 
his connubial rights till she has brought forth her first son. 
(Rgya 69-82.) "And Joseph knew her not till she had 
Drought forth her first son." (Matt. i. 25 ; Luke i. 39-56.) 

4. The immortals of the Tushita-heaven decide that 
Buddha shall be bom when the " flower-star " makes its first 
appearance in the East. (Lefmann, 21, 124.) "Where is 
he that is born King of the Jews ? for we have seen his star 
in the East." (Matt. ii. 2.) 

5. A host of angelic , messengers descend and announce 
tidings of great joy. " A hero, glorious and incomparable, 
has been bom, a Saviour unto all nations of the earth I 
A deliverer has brought joy and peace to earth and heaven." 
(Lotu9^ 102, 104. - Rgya 89, 97.) Comp. Luke ii. 9. 

6. Princes and wise Brahmans appear with gifts and wor- 
ship the child Buddha. (Ryya^ 97, 113.) "And when 
they were come into the house they saw the young child and 
worshipped him ; . . . and they presented unto him gifts, 
gold, and frankincense and myrrh." (Matt. ii. 11.) 

7. The Brahmin Asita, to whom the spirit has revealed 
the advent of Buddh, descends from his hermitage on Hima- 
laya to see the new-bom child. He predicts the coming 
Kingdom of heaven and Buddha's mission to save and en- 
lighten the world. (^Stdta Nipatka^ iii. 11.) " And it was 
revealed to him by the Holy Ghost that he should not see 
death before he had seen the Lord Christ . . . then he took 
him up in his arms and blessed God,. and said. Lord, now let- 
test thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have 
seen thy salvation." (Luke ii, 26.) 


8. The Allinish Kramana Sutra relates that the King of 
Magada instructed one of his minister to institute an inquiry 
whether any inhabitant of his kingdom could possibly become 
powerful enough to endanger the safety of his throne. Two 
spies are sent out. One of them ascertains the birth of 
Buddha and advises the king to take measures for the exter- 
mination of his tribe. Cf. Matt. ii. 1-11. 

9. The princes of the Sakya tribe urge the king to pre- 
sent (or introduce) his son in a public assembly of nobles 
and priests. Spirits accompany the march of the procession ; 
inspired prophets extol the future glory of the Messiah. 
A parallel story of Luke supplies the motive of the cere- 
mony with the words :" As it is written in the law of the 
Lord." But diligent comparison of the sources of Hebrew 
law has revealed the fact that no such ordinance ever existed, 
. . . the motive of the narrator's fiction being evidently the 
necessity of fitting the incident into a frame of Hebrew cus- 

10. Buddha's parents miss the boy one day ; and after a 
long search find him in an assembly of holy rishis, who 
listen to his discourse and marvel at his understanding. 
(Buddhist Birth Stories, 74.) Cf. Luke ii. 45-47. 

11. Buddha, before entering upon his mission, meets the 
Brahmin Rudraka, a mighty preacher, who, however, offers 
to become his disciple. Some of Rudraka's followers recede 
to Buddha, but leave him when they find that he does not 
observe the fasts. (-Byya, 178, 214.) Jesus, before enter- 
ing upon- his mission, meets John the Baptist, who recog- 
nizes his superiority. Two of John's disciples follow Jesus, 
who states his reasons for rejecting John's rigid observance 
of the fasts. (John i. 37.) 

1 2. Buddha retires to the solitude of Uruvilva and fasts 
and prays in the desert till hunger forces him to leave his 
retreat. (Rgya^ 364; Oldenburg's Mahdvagga^ 116.) Cf. 
Matt. iv. 1. 

18. After finishing his fast, Buddha takes a bath in the 
river Nairanjana ; when he leaves the water, purified, the 
devas open the gates of heaven and cover him with a shower 
of fragrant flowers. (Rgya^ 259.) Cf. Matt. iii. 18. 

14. During Buddha's fast in the desert, Mara, the Prince 
of darkness, approaches him and tempts him with promises 
of wealth and earthly glory. Buddha rejects his offer by 


198 THE AKJiNA. 

quoting passages of the Yedas ; the tempter flees ; angels 
descend and salute Buddha. QDJuimm pcuiam yii, 88) ^^And 
said unto him : All these things will I give thee, if thou 
wilt fall down and worship me. Then Jesus saith unto him : 
Get thee hence, Satan ; for it*is written : Thou shalt worship 
the Lord thy God and hiin only . . . then the devil leaveth 
him, and behold, angels came and ministered unto him." 
(Matt. iv. 9-11.) 

15. During the transfiguration on the mountain, Christ is 
joined by Moses and Elias. Sakyamun has frequent inter- 
views with the two Buddhas that preceded him. 

16. The shade of the sacred fig-tree that shelters the 
meditating Buddha is the scene of the convei'sion and ordi- 
nation of the first disciples, formerly followers of Rudraka. 
Christ chooses his first disciples from among the former fol- 
lowers of the Baptist, and in John i. 48, his remark about a 
fig-tree appears wholly irrelevant to the context. In the 
answer of Nathanael the circumstance of having been seen 
tmder a fig-tree is accepted as a proof of Christ's messiahship. 

17. Before Buddha appoints a larger number of apostles, 
he selects five favorite disciples, one of whom is afterwards 
styled the pillar of the faith ; another the bosom friend of 
Buddha. Before Christ selects his twelve apostles, he 
chooses five chief disciples, among them Peter, the " rock of 
the church," and John, his favorite follower. Among the 
disciples of Buddha there is a Judas, Devadatta, who tries to 
betray his master and meets a disgraceful death. (Koppen i. 
94 ; Lefmann, 51 ; Birth Stories, p. 113.) 

18. The fijst words of Christ are the macarisms (bless- 
ings) in the Sermon on the Mount. When Buddha enters 
upon his mission, he begins a public speech (according to the 
French translation of Rgya^ 855.) " Celui qui a entendu la 
loi, celui qui voit, celui qui se plait dans la solitude, il est 

19. Near a well Buddha meets a woman of the despised 
caste of the Chandalas. (Burnouf s Divya Avad&na.) Cf. 
John iv. 1-20. 

20. Buddha walks on the Granges ; he heals the sick by a 
mere touch of his hand, and the Mayana-Sutra relates the 
miracle of the loaves and fishes. A transfiguration, speak- 
ing in foreign tongues, are additional parallels. Buddha 
descends to hell and preaches to the spirits of the damned. 

I ^ 


7 > 


20. At the death of Buddha, the earth trembles, the 
rocks are split, phantoms and spirits appear. (Koppen, i. 
114, Seydel, 281.) ^^ And behold, the earth did quake, and 
the rocks were rent . . . and many bodies of the saints 
which slept, arose." (Matt, xxvii. 61-68.) 


1. Belief in the necessity of redemption by a supernatu- 
ral mediator. ^>;. ^ ,\> ., -■ ys ftAr. .. •• * v. . " 

2. The founder's exaltation to the rank of a god. 
Buddha is equal to Brahm : demons are powerless against 
him. Angels minister unto him. 

5. Demerit of wealth. ^^ It is difficult to be rich and keep 
the way." 

'' 4. The moral merit of celibacy. Its enforcement in 
Buddhist convents. 

6. Rejection of ancient rites, sacrifices, etc. 
6. Vanity of earthly joys. 

^i<i ^^ 7. Depreciation of labor and industry, of worldly pos- 
sessions and worldly honors. 

8. Inculcation of patience, submission, and self abasement ; 
: . : ' neglect of physical culture, of the active and manly virtues. 

9. Love of enemies ; submission to injustice and tyranny. 
V 10* Depreciation of worldly affections ; merit of abandon- 
ing wife and children. 


'^^ ' '' Monasteries ; nunneries ; popery ; the Thibetan Lama is 
worshipped as God's vice-regent upon earth ; cecumenical 
councils ; processions ; worship of relics ; strings of beads ; 
incense ; litanies, holy water, shaven polls, priests going bare- 
headed, weekly and yearly fasts, exorcisms, candlemas, feasts 
of the Immaculate Conception ; masses for the repose of the 
soul ; bell-ringing ; auricular confession of sins. 

The rhetoric of the New Testament is throughout illv^trar 
tive rather than persuasive; it is the eloquence which 
distinguishes the communication of transmitted from the 
introduction of original ideas. And, as Feuerbach well 
observes, the testator's strange neglect to insure the record 
of his revelation by committing it to writing is a strong 
presumptive proof that he delivered his gospel as a pre- 
recorded doctrine. Not one of the early fathers (before 

r , 



IrensBus) ever quotes a single passage of the " New Testar 
ment " in its present form. The committee of the church- 
cotincil that made the " four gospels " the canons of their 
faith had to select them from fifty-four contradictory versions. 
Contemporary writers are silent about the stupendous events 
alleged to have attended the appearance of the new prophet. 
Josephus, who describes the reign of Herod in its minutest 
detaUs, never mentions the miracles of Bethlehem, the 
appearance of a new star, the massacre of the innocents, or 
the prodigies of the crucifixion. 

On the other hand, there is no doubt that all the essential 
doctrines and traditions of Buddhism were recorded before 
the subversion of the Persian empire, and that the successors 
of Alexander the Great witnessed the invasion of Western 
Asia by a zealous band of Buddhist missionaries. Long 
before China and Siam were brought under the sway of the 
"Word," Buddhist colonies had been planted beyond the 
Indus. Alexander Polyhistor describes the eescetic practices 
of Buddhistic monks in Baktria, and speaks of self-tortur- 
ing hermits and mendicant orders, while in the thirteenth 
edict of Gimar, King Asoka, the " Constantine of Budd- 
hism," refers to missionary embassies sent to the Yona 
(Ionian or Greek) kings, Aiitiochus, Ptolem&us, Antigonus 
and Magas. Two hundred years before Christ, the city of 
Alassada, near the sources of the Oxus, was a central point 
of the West Buddhistic propaganda, and its restless mission- 
aries can hardly have failed to htBS^ avaiM themselves of the 
opportunities offered by the active overland tra£5c between 
India and the Mediterranean coastlands. Among the em- 
bassadors which King Poros, or Paurava, sent to the court 
of Augustus, there was the Buddhist Zarmanochegas, who 
afterwards went to Athens, and burned himself on a 
funeral pyre to attest his belief in the worthlessness of 
earthly existence. 

In the constellation of the Pleiades, six larger and half a 
hundred smaller stars are crowded together within a space 
that could be enclosed by the apparent circumference of the 
moon. Either these stars form a correlative system, or their 
aggregation in the field of our vision, as well as the nearly 
uniform size of the larger ones, must be ascribed to the 
strangest kind of coincidence ; and the astronomer Olbers 
calculates that the probability of the former hypothesis 


exceeds that of the latter about twenty-five million times. 
With a similar kind of assurance the student of the Hindu 
scriptures must reject the belief in the accidental analogies of 
Buddhism and Christianity. 

The question as to the comparative ethical merit of the two 
religions belongs to an entirely different province of inquiry. 
Christianity has certainly surpassed its parent creed in adapt- 
ing itself to the purposes of a cosmopolitan mission, and there 
is no doubt that its westward progress has emancipated its 
doctrine from many Oriental prejudices. 

By a similar process the English language, since its trans- 
migration to the American continent, has been purged of 
much provincial dross, and we may admit that many 
expressive Americanisms have no equivalent in the idiom of 
the Elizabethan era. American patriots of a future genera- 
tion may go further. They may question the inspiration of 
Byron's poetry and the force of Bacon's logic ; they may 
demonstrate the unfitness of British fogs to generate any- 
thing but a muddled dialect, and assert that only an Ameri- 
can climate could evolve the pure English of Boston and 
Philadelphia ; but even then their nativiwn could not hope to 
rival the knownothing zeal of theological loyalists, unless 
they should attempt to deny the transatlantic origin of that 
paragon language. 




The current comment in financial circles upon the subject 
of Silver Coinage is exasperating. The main end that ought 
to be kept in view in the legal constitution of primary or 
standard money, is provokingly dropped out of remark, and 
instead, the air is fiUed with prophecy of dishonor and other 
nebulous calamities inherent in unlimited silver ; together 
with small criticisms based on these coins, regarded merely as 
subsidiary currency and pocket conveniences, or proceeding 
upon totally false assumptions of elementary doctrine, going 
even to the length of an assault upon the dictionary. 

Too mtoy of these fallacies are abroad, for specific refer- 
ence here, and consulting brevity, they must be answered in 
groups and by implication from propositions affirmative of 
elementary principles. 

Money may take many forms and serve in various modes. It 
may serve merely as a nominal scale for appraising and 
reducing goods, to numerically defined bartering relations. 
It may consist of symbols, tickets, or printed promises, to be 
themselves exchanged and re-exchanged for other marketable 
things, as for buying and selling. But ultimate or primary 
money, the specific thing which symbolic or promise money 
is always understood to mean, consists of definite duly 
certified units of a money metal, into the terms of which 
capital, resources, or purchasing power may be converted for 
convenient storage and transport, or loan upon interest. 

Now in each and all of these uses there is just one excel- 
lence so transcendent as to sink all others out of mention- 
able regard in comparison ; an excellence which if a money 
has, it will be honest, fair, and friendly to all the great bene- 
ficiencies of economic intercourse and all wealth-creating 
processes ; but which not possessing, money will be converted 
into an instrument of oppression, wrong, and fraud. That 
excellence is constancy or stability in value. 

No one who is at all conversant with the literature of this 



subject, or who has observed the course of prices since 1873, 
and comprehends the meaning of the words he uses, will deny 
t}iat silver has been more stable in value than gold, by all of 
the difference which is commonly called the " fall of silver." 
So absolutely, palpably, and confessedly, is this true of the 
metals, to every person having a competent intelligence, that 
one with diificulty preserves a forensic decorum, at the spec- 
tacle of eminent and much-speaking financiers and publicists, 
arguing that inasmuch as this great increase in the value or 
purchasing power of gold (some forty or fifty per cent, since 
1873) has been caused by the multiplication of goods, con- 
sequent on improved processes and agencies of production, 
that therefore there is no proof of any increase in the value 
of gold at all ! They fail to understand that value is of the 
nature of a ratio between two factors, like a common fraction, 
and that no constancy in value is possible, under a condition 
of a change in the quantity of one of the terms, only as the 
other changes pari passu. They fail to see that no statute 
or convention can confer fixity of value upon anything, for 
value is not intrinsic. To talk of the " intrinsic value " of a 
metal or anything else, is discourse as vacuous as to talk of 
the intrinsic ratio of a number. The value of a thing is un- 
thinkable, except as some other thing is implied in the terms 
of which, or by reference to which, its value is to be estima- 
ted. Value is a commercial relation. Broadly and generally 
it is market equivalence. Concretely and specifically it is 
the second term in a trade. If, therefore, the second term 
in a trade, say wheat, has increased from its former trading 
rate, the first term, say dollars, remaining the same identical 
thing, then has the latter increased in value as so computed : 
this by definition, regardless of all question of causes. 

It is error in this general discussion, to gauge the value of 
money by labor. There can be no definite unit of muscular 
strain or mental and physical endurance. The efficiency of 
a day's labor is itself so variable, and tends to be more and more 
so, by the rapidly increasing intelligence, skill, and fidelity 
by which it is guided, so that it is a very different thing 
from what it was fifty, or even twenty-five years ago. Be- 
sides, a sounder economic science requires us to regard the 
operative as justly a sharer by some pro rata, in the product. 
More equitable relations arise by the automatic adjustment 
of freely competing impersonal products, standing each upon 


its own merits, than by the passions and sentimentalisms for- 
ever obtruding in the personal relation of employer and 
employee. Judged by its productivity, as it should be meas- 
ured, a unit of labor becomes indefinite and variable ; while 
a ton of hay, coal or metal, a barrel' of*pork or flour, a gallon 
of turpentine or oil, a bale of cotton, a pound of wool, sugar, 
or butter, etc., are all clearly defined and fixed units of com- 
modities, having the same familiar and approximately stable 
qualities, utilities, and relations to the common needs, and so 
become proper criteria of comparison. When, therefore, a 
given sum of money, say $1,000, will buy a larger aggregate 

I quantity of these great staples, then has the value of a dollar 

become by just so much appreciated. "When that condition 

' continues through a series of years, extending over the entire 

area where the same money-standard prevails, then is the proof 
clear and conclusive, that the *^ Standard " is misbehaving in 
its supreme office. Then there is a loud call for repeal of a 
statute which makes such behavior of standard money possible. 
K industrial processes have rendered labor more efficient, 
then should all of the benefit inure to labor, capital, inven- 
tion, enterprise, and all the other tributaries to that increased 
productiveness, and no jot of it go to the enlargement of the 
measuring unit — the dollar. The natural courae of events 
under bi-metallism was tending in just that duection, for the 
output of the money metals was increasing approximately 
with the increase of goods. That beneficent tendency was 
thwarted by the act of 1873. The motive of the act is un- 
wittingly confessed, by the admission that but for that act 
our money would have been cheaper, that is, would have less 
purchasing power, and that by a repeal of it the unit of valu- 
ation would be again restored to its former dimensions. 

Now if the silver all these years has been stable and con- 
stant, that is, if prices of the great staples of food and 
fabric have, in terms of silver, say rupees, been proximately un- 
changing — while prices as computed in gold have fallen about 
one third, and if furthermore, there is a reasonable probability of 
those market relations of goods to gold and silver respectively, 
continuing in the future under a single standard policy, then 
the superiority of silver as a valuing or money metal is proven, 
for with unlimited coinage the silver " dollar " will take on 
the same value as the bullion has, which goes to its making. 
The ground of this superiority, actual and prospective, is 


not far to seek. Immemorial usage of three quarters of the 
human race, in estimating all things in terms of silver, the 
more permanent sources of supply, and more systematic and 
gradually increasing production of silver — all guarantee a 
more stable quantity relation to population and goods, of 
money based on silver alone, than on gold alone, though when 
it shall be again relegated to its ancillary and subordinate 
place in the monetary system, gold will be again an equita- 
ble and useful money metal. 

The familiar comparison of a dollar to a yard-stick is mis- 
leading, in that value, unlike length, lies in estimation, and 
estimation varies with th^ ten thousand varying conditions of 
trading men. To make it apposite, we should give the yard- 
stick a similar expansive and contractive quality. Made of 
rubber, though scaled off in inches and fractions, it would be 
atill thirty-six of its own inches long, although stretched to 
measure fifty per cent, more of cloth for every length unit. In 
such a case, the claim of its constancy as a measure, based upon 
the ground that it was always "just thirty-six inches," wolpad 
fitly illustrate the profundity of those who prove the stability of 
the pound, by its always being " just twenty shillings " and of 
the gold dollar as always being ^' just one hundred cents." 
Yet that and other platitudinary vacuities make up the staple 
of the current monometallic argument. 

To briefly summarize my advocacy of free coinage : — I 
hold constancy in value to be the desideratum in monetary 
legislation. Constancy in the value of money, is precisely 
the same fact as stability in the general range of prices. 

The great fall of prices in gold standard countries, is proof 
that money constituted on it alone is unstable, and therefore 
bad money, from the standpoint of statesmanship. Normal 
prices in silver standard countries proves the superiority of 
silver money for the equities and beneficiencies of business. 
If our money were all brought to equivalence with silver bul- 
lion, as it would be by free coinage, and gold it self again 
anchored to silver, the superior valuing metal, and com- 
pelled to come down to a ratio of 1.1^ with it, on peril of 
dismissal from the valuing office in our commerce (though re- 
taining its minting right at that ratio), our money would be 
more honest and efficient, both in its office of measuring goods 
for transfer and as a mode of loanable capital ; which is the 
free coinage argument in a nut shell. 









Nine out of ten persons, maybe nineteen out of twenty, 
if asked, "Would you live your life over again?" would 
probably answer off-hand, " Yes." If the question were 
repeated, with an air of seriousness, as if they were put on 
their honor and conscience, they would be very apt to begin 
to qualify. They would live their lives over again, could 
they leave out certain parts ; could they have, in the second 
life, the benefit of their experience in the first ; could they have 
better health, more money, another calling ; could they change 
their disposition in essential particulars. That is, they would 
live their lives over again, if they could have their lives 
different — tantamount to saying that they wouldn't. 

I very much doubt if any reflective, sober-minded man 
would live his Ufe over again, if he had the opportunity, 
when it came to the pinch ; when he Tsaw it stretched out 
before him, clear, and complete, and distinct. 

Many men who would swear that they would leap at the 
chance, would squarely back out, put to the test. They 
would remember so many painful things they had forgotten ; 
the thick shadows of their renewed life would so frighten 
them from their propriety that they wouldn't have the courage 
to tackle it afresh. 

Very few, perhaps none of us, recall, with any grade of 
vividness, the sufferings, physical and mental, that we un- 
dergo, years after they have past. 

Nature, whatever she may be to the race, is very seldom 
kind to the individual ; but one of her kindnesses is enabling 
us to lose remembrance of the painful, and to retain remem- 
brance of the pleasant. 

Women forget the agony of parturition ; else they would 
scarcely have the fortitude, great as their fortitude is, to 
endure it again and again. Unless men of bibulous habit 
foigot the horrorsof a debauch, they would be deterred from 
another. Unless army oflScers forgot, after a series of cam- 



paigns, their privations and anxieties and wounds, they would 
resign their commissions. Unless merchants, engaged in 
mighty enterprises, forgot the teri'ible tension of nerve and 
brain they had often been subjected to, in cariying them on, 
wouldn't they retire from business in middle age ? 

One can forget, and does forget, the disagreeable chapters 
in the book of Life ; but one can hardly so forget the whole 
book as to wish to go through it again, when one turns the 
leaves backward, and notes their generally dull an^ dreary 
pages. %oung persons might wish to, for life is Ijef ore them ; 
beckons them on; smiles gayly ; promises what will never be 
fulfilled; indicates brilliant comedies that turn into rueful 
tragedies; plays the false prophet, Mokanna-like. They 
haven't found out the sham, and meanness, and bitterness, 
and cruelty of Life, and cry out, like Ali Goupah-ben-Gouro, 
in the Persian story, that the dance of the wizards shall go 
on bravely, bewilderingly. Oh yes I what fook they are 1 

But those who have gone beyond the meridian ; who have 
spent their rages ; dispelled their allusions ; broken the bonds 
that cheating devils have imposed, — how is it with them? 
Do they want life over again — just as they had it? Not 
they ; not they. They've had enough, had more than enough, 
they'll declare, and 'won't be tricked, and baffled, and tor- 
mented a second time. Years have made them thoughtful ; 
cleared the mists from their eyes. They see the past as it is, 
and quiver, through memory, from the thorns that it pierced 
their side with. 

Life, in its actuality, will not bear investigation ; has not 
only no enticement, but is repellent. It is deprived of hope, 
worse than nothing, — which at least is rest, while Life is un- 
ending restlessness. We all know Hesiod's fable of Pandora, 
and how it emblems and encompasses the truth. If we ret- 
rospect, we perceive pellucidly what dismal tricks she has 
played us, and what damnable trials she has exposed us to. 
We feel that we could not brook a repetition of the tragic farce, 
ycleped Life, without her; and yet we resent her remorseless 

To strip Life of its illusions is like stripping the body of 
flesh ; it becomes a sardonic skeleton. Only illusions empower 
us to endure it, and when we relinquish these, we relinquish 
everything desirable. Our illusions vanish usually at fifty, 
often before; certainly at sixty; and then, glancing back- 



ward, the thought of living the weary, uncrowned years 
over again is chilling, forbidding. 

Some men's lives are exceptionally auspicious ; their paths 
have been smooth ; the blows and shocks of Fate have passed 
them by, as if they were charmed against it. They might 
say, I would live it all over again. Life is joyous, compen- 
satory, brimming with the best. 

Let them wait, ere they have mouthed their gratification. 
Their f|^y of reckoning that comes to all has been postponed ; 
but they cannot escape it ; their sorrows and tragedies, which 
attend on every mortal, have not struck them yet. Wait a 
little, wait a little. Let them proclaim once more, and their 
note will be changed, and their voice husky with grief. 

He whose affairs had been prosperous has met with reverses ; 
has failed disastrously. She whose children had blessed her, 
has lost the dearest loved daughter, the most promising son. 
He who had believed that lasting fame was his, has seen it 
fade into emptiness. He who had swaggered over his health, 
and hectored his associates with it; who had never expe- 
rienced an ill day, has so broken down that he longs for 
death as the parched long for water. He who had touched the 
zenith of his expectations, has tumbled to the nadir of his 
fears. The heaven that had opened to her, and shown celes- 
tial visions within, has led her through divine delights to the 
torments of hell. 

These are the contrasts that Life divulges before its close ; 
these are the uncertainties and deferred dooms of existence. 

We cannot judge fairly of Life until it is wholly behind 
us. While the past looks radiant and lovely, the black 
tempest rises abruptly, and desolates the scene. 

Since scarcely any person is willing, after careful consider- 
ation, to live life over again unreservedly, would anyone 
profit, in re-living by amendments ? If he should omit cer- 
tain parts, might not the parts supplied be as bad or worse 
than those omitted? Is not surety always to be preferred, 
always safer, than insurety? Zenayi tells us, — doesn't he? — 
that behind the unseen crouches the demon adverse to our 
species. Might not better health, more money, another calling, 
a changed disposition bring us, in lieu of benisons, mischances 
that we wot not of ? From a new good, a new evil may 
ensue. ^^When we supplicate Ormuzd," declares Zarathustra, 
«^ Ahriman may answer, blasting the offered invocation." 


Almost everybody asks as a condition of repeated life that 
he should enjoy the advantage of his experience in the original 
life. Would it avail him aught ? I shrewdly suspect not ; 
not a scintilla. Does experience teach us aught ; our own 
experience more than the experience of others ; is the practi- 
cal outcome made different by it? It may throw light; does 
the light so guide us that we follow another path ? The in- 
born, inherent, irreversible tendency we come into the world 
with, and get undiscoverably from innumerable cosmic aeons, 
would hold its imperious course a second time, as it xlid the 
first. Experience would be completely abrogated by it, no 
matter what the reiteration or the palingenesia. 

Living life over again would incontrovertibly be a duplicate 
of the first life. We are sheer shuttlecocks between the 
battledores of Organization and Circumstance, and we would 
be knocked about, in a fresh mask of flesh, a thousand years 
hence, not very differently from what we are knocked about 
A. D. 1890. It's only the babble of the mob that utters 
otherwise, my masters, although the babble of the mob is 
labelled and guaranteed as Public Opinion. 

After all what is life? Who knows? Who has 
known? Who ever will know? It is insolvable. It is un- 
decipherable. It is unanalyzable. I mean by this, its sub- 
stance, significance, source, end, purpose, law, symbolism, 
metaphysic, elucidation. 

NotMng responds through nothing out of nothing. It is 
all a monstrous vacuity. It is a whirl of dust formed from 
dead men's bones, — nnfen dead a million years a-gone. 

What each human being's life is to him — or to her — 
anent the impression it gives, good, bad, or indifferent, to its 
haver, each human being, and he only, is capable of dis- 
closing. It's a very, very old, and regular moon-howling 
trick that other people whom we've never seen, and wouldn't 
see, for a cupboard in Cyprus, could we help it, should tell 
us what our life is to us. It is, they insist, a special boon, a 
rare privilege, a delightful temporariness. Never mind if we 
have gout, and a scolding wife, and but two pairs of trousers, 
and devoted, disputatious visitors, and nine children, and the 
position of bookseller's hack. What superhuman impudence I 
We it is who know — we, who wear the shoe that pinches 
like Satan. 

A man may have apparently every enrichment — youth 



and genius, love and personal charm, wealth, and health, 
pervading honor, and an army of friends. He ought to be 
inundated with content. Is he ? Ask him. He may not 
reply. But, at the question, a doleful smile, which, more 
than words, bespeaks the canker at his heart, overspreads his 
face. His neighbor is strangely in duress. Chronic invalid- 
ism, and clawing poverty, and iiTetrievable misunderstanding, 
and hopeless isolation hem him in. Deserving of multiplied 
compassion he ; but he does not in the least need it. Why 
should he want compassion from anybody on this oblate 
spheroid ? Why, in sober sooth ? No ghost of murmur in 
his poor noddle. Satisfied is he amid his many causes of 
dissatisfaction. Would he live his life over again? Like 
most of us, he would say Nature nay. Will, and strength, 
and philosophy he can command for one journey, from crib 
to grave; but that is quite enough. Repetition would be 
onerous and execrable, and none but a dolt would choose it. 

Men have hanged themselves, and relished the sensation ; 
but they have not rehearsed it. Oh, no ; never. 

Very few persons confide to the public their private 
opinion of Life ; knowing that they come here, and go hence 
without being consulted, and without their consent, they feel 
that they are in for it anyhow, and keep tongue behind teeth. 
They try to make the best of the implacable, uncontrollable 
issue ; for they're conscious that condemnation and protest 
are nugatory, dead waste. 

Americans in general have borrowed the stoicism of the 
red Indians, the autochthons of the soil ; they are inclined, 
David-Crockett-wise, to grin and bear it. Ask almost any 
of them, " Would you live your life over again ? " and they 
would answer, ^« I pass," even when holding a full hand. 

We can't help living once ; it isn't our fault that we do ; 
should we live a second time, it would be our fault, a great 
crime against ourselves. Then we'd know all we have to 
encounter; men are courageous, very; but courage is not 
always insuperable. Living life over again is beyond the 
limit. There's a shuddering difference between doing what 
we must, and doing what we elect. 

" The by-ways of Horror," says Firdusi, " lead to the open 
road of Necessity." 

Opinions of Life naturally and necessarily differ, quite as 
much as its circumstahces, though not at all, as might be 


thought, according to the circumstances. It may be safely 
set down as a rule, however, that the value, the satisfaction 
of Life is prodigiously overrated, as respects popular expres- 

Continually are we hearing of happy lives, as if they were 
of the commonest. How could any life be happy, in any 
veritable sense of the adjective ? There may be happy hours, 
happy days ; but even these brief spaces of time are pretty 
sure to be commingled with fragments of unhappiness. But 
happy lives I Is not the phrase a self-evident absurdity ? Is 
it capable of being entertained as a thought? Has there ever 
been, or could there be, one happy life out of the decillions 
of decillions of lives that this crazy old planet has generated? 
A happy life, if there were only death in the world, ignoring 
the many worse evils that the world contains, would be im- 
possible. Death may be, and often is better than Life, 
altogether preferable to Life ; but only because Life is so very 
sad ; so very cruel ; frequently so very endurable. Were 
Life under any conditions, what some bamboozled sentimen- 
talists declare it, death would be the climax of horror ; and* 
we are all aware, by observation no less than reason, that it 
isn*t. The best satisfied and the most unsatisfied of mortals 
disagree not essentially in their estimate of Life. Byron 
said that he had experienced but two happy days, and Goethe, 
who postponed his funeral more than twice as long as the 
English poet did his, experienced but eleven days ; so that 
between a man who believed himself the most miserable of 
his kind, and a man who was considered abnormally fortunate, 
the difference in happiness is only nine days. Selah I Life 
may be an obligation ; certes, it is not a delight, nor an advan- 
tage. Its mighty seriousness and unescapable responsibilities, 
except we be very volatile, make it heavy to a degree that we 
should be pleased, at the end, to lay the burthen down. It is 
proper and honorable, that we should bear it as best we may, 
having been juggled into its possession ; but to bear it again 
would be the maddest of follies. Having acquitted ourselves 
of the duties of Life, is it not wise to trust the fathomless 
mystery that draws us on, secure in the thought that, if it 
lead to nothing better, it can lead to nothing worse ? Erst 
while, Saladi whispers. Vex not your spirit over the Unknown, 
which is the goodness of the Known. 




In the Talmud myths of life, is one of Lilith, the earth- 
bom woman who first companioned Adam, or man. She wed- 
ded him to matter and its fleeting forms. Then as a messenger 
from God, a helpmeet to lead men from earth, matter, and its 
illusive shadows to heaven, helping him to perceive the pu- 
rity, peace, and joy of union in the soul and with the spirit — 
as a tie between heaven and earth, — Eve was created by God, 
and offered to man for his inspiration and his awakening. 

In the bondage of one, ye shall perish. Through union 
with the other shall the door of immortality be opened unto 


" Love I If I loved I would yield to no power above or 
below that would hold apart from me the object of my pas- 

The magnificent form of the speaker seemed to quiver from 
the stately head, crowned with its wavy black tresses, through 
its every beautiful curve to the dainty foot tapping the floor. 
And the undulating flush that deepened the bloom upon the 
cheek, the flash of light in the eye, that in unemotional 
hours looked lazily out from under the heavy fringe of the 
drooping lids, all emphasized the power that lay behind the 
words for their fulfilment. 

" Why should one yield in love to aught but its destined 
reward ? It is joy — nay, it is life itself. We move, we 
think, and all is monotony, a mere existence. We feel, we 
love^ and all is life. Every throb of our pulse is a note in 
the melody of being, when it dances to the measure of love. 
What can compensate for the loss of that which we seek ? 
Nothing. I would stop short of naught save death, to ac- 
complish my aim — if once I loved," ahe added with a little 



No one save the queenly Cleopatra Tarrasal in the strength 
of her peerless magnificence, would dare to have uttered 
words at once sq intense and so antagonistic to the accepted 
code of femininity. As it was, a sort of startled silence fell 
upon the little group gathered on that seaside piazza. 

Cleo was a child of the southern clime, and as beautiful, 
as intense, as is all tropic beauty. Daring as the rays of a 
southern sun, that not only nourishes into form and sweetness 
the orange and the rose, but begets, likewise, the tarantula 
and the serpent that stingeth unto death, was the nature that 
animated her beautiful body. She would entice through 
color, form, and tone, every sense that could be thrilled, and 
yet in such love lieth hidden the deadly peril. 

A moment's silence, and the young girl at Cleo's side said, — 

" You frighten me, Cleo, your idea of love seems so com- 
pelling, instead of winning. I cannot understand any joy in 
forcing an acknowledgment of any emotion. It seems to me 
that love must be like the discovery of great treasure that 
God has stored up for you, and hidden in the heart of an- 
other, the key to its finding resting in the voluntary blending 
of thought and emotions that touches the secret spring, 
throws open the door, and reveals to each their portion of 
this great joy that enriches life." 

A smile crept over the full red lips of the beautiful Cleo, 
who had relapsed into a manner of lazy indifference, com- 
pared to which her previous emotion had been like a sudden 
tempest. She turned her eyes with deliberate gaze upon the 
speaker and slowly said, — 

" That may be your idea, Carrol, but mine is any power 
that wins. If the man I shall love is not my master, he shall 
be my slave. Mine he shall be, either through love or sub- 

A chill almost of horror seemed to pass over the fair girl, 
who had ventured to suggest her different thought, as she 
gazed upon the leonine grace and power embodied in the 

Just at that moment there came around the corner of the 
building, a fair and graceful man. As he advanced, a close 
observer of Cleo would have seen a change pass over her, 
scarce perceptible, yet suggestive of the cat-like concentra- 
tion of all faculties into a perceptive state, that the animal 
takes on when its attention is fixed by a bii*d. 



As he approached the group with a graceful salutation, 
Cleo's face animated and she motioned him to lier side with 
a pretty little wave of her hand. A faint hesitation on his 
part caused the color to flicker over her countenance, and 
there passed into her expression a magnetic charm, — a look 
no son of Adam can resist, unless his soul stands guard. 

Accepting the seat beside her, Richard Nojes handed her 
a newly-cut magazine, and said : — 

"Miss Cleo, I brought you the paper on hypnotism we 
were speaking of last evening. It very ably sustains the 
argument that a person cannot be hypnotized against his 
will, thereby contends there are no innocent victims of this 
new recognition of science." 

Rising, she took the book and said : — 

" Oh, thanks ; anjrthing in that line interests me exceed- 
ingly ; how nice to know there are such wonderful forces to 
work our will. I wonder if there is any limit to the power 
of mind — if we but know ourselves ? '* 

As she stood in graceful unconsciousness of muscular 
effort, in seeming absorption in the realm of mind, she 
looked as fascinating as, history tells us, did her royal prede- 
cessor in name and in beauty, whose passions ruled empires 
and made the history of a world. She looked a woman so 
full of life, that emotion radiated, winning response in all 
sense perceptions. In her wondrous eyes was a fearless 
gleam, as she searched within for the mystic faculties that 
obey the will. 

" I have just an half hour at my disposal before my pack- 
ing must be done, we leave so early in the morning," she 
said. " So I will go and read this article now, that we may 
have a little opportimity for its discussion this evening." 
And she walked away. 

Going to her room she threw herself upon a low couch by 
the window, and rapidly read the article of interest in the 
magazine. As she finished it, she tossed the book aside, and 
clasping her beautiful hands above her head, gazed long and 
earnestly into the ever moving sea, whose waves restlessly 
caressed the sands before her window. 

Her face at first looked veiled in its placidity, as all 
thought force seemed concentrated within. Then, like a 
sudden flash, the color leaped to her rounded cheek, swept 
over the marvellous throat, and followed with a gleam in the 


eyes as she sprung to her feet, and paced back and forth the 
confines of her room, as a tigress measures the limits of her 
cage. Finally she muttered, — 

**I don't believe the power is limited. At any cost I'll 
test it this very night." 


It is just three months since Cleopatra Tarrasal experi- 
mented with her force as a h3rpnotizer. If her power over 
her subject extended to the suggestion a echeanee^ to-night, 
in this, her southern home, it will be proven. For in that 
last evening at the seashore they had tried some hypnotic 
experiments, and Cleo had succeeded in placing three sub- 
jects in hypnotic sleep, one being Richard Noyes ; and during 
his subjective state she had laid the command upon him to 
appear at her home in New Orleans three months from that 
day, on this, the twenty-third of November. And to-night, 
she is awaiting the fulfilment of the test, with every breath 
a quivering anxiety. 

She loved Richard Noyes with the fearless intensity of her 
wonderful nature. Yet she was not blind to the fact that he 
never sought her with the eagerness she /elt to behold him. 
Instead, she realized, although every charm she was mistress 
of had been thrown about him, that she had been able only to 
exercise a sort of physical attraction upon him when he was 
in her presence. That he would more willingly seek the 
side of pretty little Carrol Ashton, in those days at the shore, 
was to her plainly manifest. 

But she was magnificent to-night! Effect had been 
studied well, before she adopted that Grecian robe of white 
wool with golden girdle holding its soft folds to her queenly 
form, her black and wavy hair held in place by a golden 
clAgg^i** 1^6 dress was simplicity itself, thus showing her 
mastery of the art of dress ; for it adorned her with its grace, 
and yet made you only conscious of her exquisite personality. 
And it was suited to the hour and the rich surroundings of 
her luxurious home. In looking upon her one could utter 
the tribute Hafiz bestowed on Zuleika's beauty : 

** In the midnight of thy locks, 
I renounce the day; 
In the ring of thy rose lips, 
My heart forgets to pray.'' 


A soft, delicious repose creeps o'er the senses in that room 
where sweet odors make breathing a joy ; and the soft light 
blends its decorations into a symphony of color. It is a spot 
to make the soul of man unmindful of care, of suffering, 
of reason, of responsibility. But it was all effective to mark 
the power of a woman's charms. There in the midst of beauty, 
she was of it all, the most beautiful. 

No fervent imagination of the Orient could picture an houri 
in paradise more attractive. 

** Hark, a ring 1 " A few words — 

" re«, it is his voiceJ^ 

Cleo leapt to her feet, clasping her hands, pressed them to 
her heart as if to quell its wild beating. And then with in- 
drawn breath exclaimed, — 

" I have triumphed ! " 

With a mastery of self simply marvellous, her possession 
was regained, and all the passion of her fever of love and 
her sense of power was shown alone in her beauty, which was 

As Richard entered the room he had a slightly embarrassed 
air, as of one doing some unaccountable thing ; but what man, 
with such an apparition of beauty extending both hands in 
welcome, could remain untouched ? 

He stepped forward in his graceful way, and she half swayed 
toward him, just enough to bring her brow temptingly near 
his lips. And then, as if in response to the determining 
thought in her mind, his mustache swept her forehead in a 
swift caress. 

Within himself he was bewildered as a man in a dream. 
He scarce knew why he was there, except an uncontrollable 
impulse had led him on. He had thought to apologize for 
his coming unannounced and uninvited. Instead, here he 
was with a welcome that dazzled him, and had given a greet- 
ing whose warmth startled him. But he has no time to 
analyze these contradictory feelings ; he is in a whirlpool of 
sense emotions that blind his soul. 

Her blush, tlie swift droop of her head, her low, glad 
exclamation of joy at seeing him were all in place, after 
the caress he had given her — but how had it all come 

For a moment he was embarrassed ; but Cleo's perceptions 
never failed her; neither did her power of will that now had 


80 fastened itself upon him as to transfer her thought into 
suggestion for action on his part. 

He led her to a seat ; then in a most natural way they 
talked of his arrival in New Orleans. He had reached there 
only that afternoon. 

" I thought I should get in, in time," he said, " to send a 
messenger to ascertain if you would be at home this evening, 
but our train was late. At first I thought to postpone my 
call, but really I foimd myself as impatient as a thwarted 
child, and it was impossible to resist clmncing it, and coming 
this evening any way." 

She smiled and thought, " It is well, my will is sovereign," 
but only said : — 

" I am very glad you did not delay my pleasure in seeing 

After an hour passed in chat and gossip of mutual friends, 
and what heid crept into their social experiences since last 
they met, he started to go, saying : — 

" I"am making an unwarrantably long call." 

But it did not suit her purpose that he should leave her 
with no future command imprinted upon his unconscious will, 
so she pleasantly insisted their visit was not half completed. 

If he could only have known, that was his moment of 
escape from life-long bondage ; but no guardian spirit was 
near to whisper it, and the moment was fatal, because his 
sense still struggled with the world alone, his soul not having 
come into a knowledge of its own kindred, and it stood not 
upon its guard with understanding as its shield. 

He stayed; the magnetism of that rich physical beauty, 
glittering with intellectual charm as well, held in thrall his 

Reaching a harp that was placed conveniently near, she 
said : — ' 

" I will play for you." 

Music was his love thus far in life, and it was an agreeable 
surprise to find she could so entertain him, as she had never 
before given any hint of that accomplishment. Yes, she loved 
melody, though the grand harmonies she could not grasp. 

As her beautiful hands, with their dimpled knuckles and 
tapering fingers, swept across the strings of the melodious 
instrument, what a picture she made ! And the melody was 
like a shimmering light, passing through the room. 



The sweeping drapery of her classic robe, falling about 
her as softly as the lights and shadows of a moonlight eve, 
lost not a line of the beauty of her ntajestic form ; and the 
curve and taper of her arm, as the white wool fell away in a 
soft mass, made a study for a sculptor. 

From the dancing, sparkling melody she passed into one 
like a song of murmuring leaves, with a weird sort of 
monotony in its tone. During the repetition of this strain, 
she fixed her eyes upon Noyes' face ; gradually, and uncon- 
sciously he passed imder control of her will. With the lithe 
grace of a cat she moved to his side, humming still the 
monotonous measure she had been playing, and touching him 
gently upon the eyelids, she made sure he was unconscious. 
Passing back to the side of the harp as quickly as she had 
left it, she began softly to play again, keeping up the same 
measure, while she spoke, and said : — 

" You will come again to-morrow, and say, * Cleo, I love you, 
will you be my wife ? * Remember, you have not been hyp- 
notized. Now count six and be awake." 

She still played the same melody that lulled him into un- 
consciousness until he uttered the word six, then she broke 
at once into a refrain of sweetness that thrilled every nerve 
to listen. 

For a moment Richard Noyes looked confused; then 
said: — 

«^ That was a peculiar change ; that minor strain had a 
dream-like effect upon the mind, while this seems to send 
life bounding through the veins." 

She saw it was as she desired ; he was unconscious of 
having been hypnotized. So pushing the harp from her she 
said: — 

^^ Yes, I don't care for music that is not emotional I " 

"You seem the living personification of feeling," he 
replied; "you sometimes give me the impression that I am 
torpid, or but half awake ; as though you knew a keener 
life ; an intensity, that I sometimes, as now, realize only 
through you." 

" Perhaps you are just waking," she said, with a tender 
look from beneath her curling lashes. And then hurriedly 
rising, as if she had said more than her second thought 
sanctioned, she moved from him, and remained standing by 
her harp. 


Just behind her in rich folds, were golden brocade 
draperies of a large window. As she stood there with the 
exquisite poise begotten in tireless muscle and perfect pro- 
portion, she was a living, breathing embodiment of all the 
beauty man attributed to the goddess of Love in the days of 
Greek idealism. But alas, a Venus Pandemos ! She' knew 
his soul turned not to her with longing; that the sheer 
force of physical beauty and her all compelling will alone 
brought him into her presence. Yet not a voluntary yield- 
ing of a single desire did he give her. And yet — and 
yet I She wavered not one iilstant in her determination to 
bind him in the yoke that love alone can make honorable, or 

And like one charmed he gazed upon her. He rose from 
his seat and approached her, put fortli his hand and half en- 
circled her waist ; she drew back ever so slightly, but it was 
enough to break the spell. He drew a long breath and 
whispered low, — 

^^ Forgive me, but you are so radiant, you fascinate me. 
To punish myself I will say good-night," and pressing her 
hand, in a moment he was gone. 

As he passed out of sight behind the portidres, a smile of 
triumph swept across her expressive face, and she said xmder 
her breath, — 

** Tou may go now, for you will come back ; you are mine 
and you cannot help yourself." 


That which is bom of the flesh, is flesh, and that 
which pertaineth to earth must perish through the nature 
of its being. A love feeding on the mortal part must 
die ; for all earth-bom desires are but fleeting fancies for a 

Two years have passed since that night, when Cleo Tar- 
rasal rivetted the chains upon her victim, a victim as help- 
less as a charmed bird. They married. Passion threw its 
scarlet robes about them, and held in thrall their natures 
during his limited reign ; but, as extremes are subject to 
the law of rapid variation, the devotee at Passion's altar first 
rebelled. The nature that accepts the forced in place of 
voluntary offering can never be satisfied. Unrequited de- 

220 ^ THE ARENA. 

sire must sharply lash one who would substitute the mockery 

of love for the divine reality. 
[ ^ To such natures as Cleo Tarrasal, the demon of jealousy 

J holds the rod, and tortures alike the victim and victor. It is 

i this self-peeking passion masquerading under the name of 

II love, that is the father of jealousy. Love the Divine, the 

light of the soul, knows no such monster. 

They had been married now nearly two years, and life .was 
a torment alike to both. No peace, no harmony ; a stifling 
of every soul emotion, life resolved itself into a contest on 
the animal plane of being. 

Richard Noyes at times felt the revolt within, — a con- 
sciousness of a promise in his ideals of a different life than 
this, a life that had in it aspirations, hope, and harmony. Was 
that a vain dream of youth ? he would sometimes wonder. 
Did life hold no tie between man and woman based on aught 
save passion, conflict, and base striving? 

Alas ! he lived a stranger to his own soul. But a new 
day is at hand. 

Cleo is in Europe with a i>arty of friends, and Richard feels 
nothing but a sense of relief as he puts in his time in bach- 
elor fashion. Yet a world weariness is creeping o'er his 
sense, and it is in a mechanical way he goes through the 
social routine of a rich man's life. 

Living on the crust of formal life, he scarce has a knowl- 
edge of the seething, turbulent mass of struggling humanity. 
Lacking understanding, he of course has no sympathy with 
the needs of his brothers, and the true vocation of man, — 
that of helping the "world to right the wrongs of ages, — is 
outside his ken. 

Narrowed in experience by the idleness of inherited 
wealth, he drifts, a disappointed, aimless man, upon this little 
turbulent sea that lies encompassed- with eternity. Out of 
the eternal we come ; a* moment we battle with the waves of 
time ; into eternity we go again. 

He is again at the seashore, but this time one of a cot- 
tage party. Among the guests is one Elizabeth Mitchell, a 
girl who is gradually bringing a new emotion into his life 
when he is withjher; a peaceful, soul-uplifting calm. Every 
day he feels more restless when apart from her ; and he seeks 
her side with no sense of restriction. There is something in 
her calm, beautiful womanhood that soothes him so. 


She steps upon the piazza now, with a light wrap about her 
shoulders, and he rises and joins her as she starts for a walk 
upon the beach. She has no coquettish art, or consciousness. 
He wishes to walk with her — why not ? her soul is her own, 
and so is his. Her woman's heart long ago discovered the 
barrenness of his life ; the crying human need of sympathy 
that found no expression in his words. 

She saw before her a soul dormant in a nature with every 
capacity for good ; a life going to waste for want of inspira- 
tion; simply a sense existence taking the place of soul 
development. ^ 

As they walked along the beach their talk referred to a 
subject often discussed between them, — human nature. 

They had just passed a tired group of picknickers who 
were making their way to the pier, to take the evening boat, 
and he said : — • 

" I cannot see what their lives hold to make the struggle 
endurable?" — They were evidently of a class of factory opera- 
tives from a neighboring coast town. 

Elizabeth scanned their faces earnestly as she passed and 
said : — 

" Earnestness of purpose makes their life not only endura- 
ble, but noble." 

" How is that ? " 

" While it is true their lives are full of toil, and probably 
this is the only holiday in the year in which they can afford 
an outing, breathing the free air, and in sight and hearing of 
the singing waves, — more the shame to you and me, and all 
like us, who have abundance, — ^yet the very toil that earns 
what it possesses makes life earnest, and in the sympathy for 
one another's burdens that you find daily manifest among 
those who labor, you see the mark of soul nobility. The 
form perhaps is dwarfed or bowed, and rigid muscles rob 
them of grace, but watch them closely, and you will see no 
mask of politeness hides hideous indifference toward one 
another. The spirit of brotherhood is among them. Their 
souls, perhaps reborn, may animate the truest civilization the 
earth will ever know." 

" Ah, I see I you point the selfishness of aimless lives as 
the worm, 'i' the bud,' destroying the present flower of civ- 
ilization. I don't know but you are right, although I never 
thought of it just that way before." 

• ■ 



Like a vision, a mirage of his past swept before his mind's 
eye, and he saw its lack of true purpose, its wasted years ; 
a flood of perceptions almost overwhelmed him. Yet 
under all the pain there was a soft symphony of joy. He 
knew now, what had led him into the light of true being, 
what had bom into his soul the life immortal. This fair, 
sweet woman at his side had opened the door of paradise to 
him ; she had brought him into his own kingdom and crowned 
him ii^ the realm of spirit. The pangs of travail through 
which this consciousness had birth, were submerged in tibie 
* waves of joy that illumined his entire being. 

He waUced, he spoke in a mechanical way, while his soul 
was singing the refrain of love. In his new wisdom he saw 
the subjective world as the real one. And although the 
crown of thorns still pressed upon his brow as a son of 
man, he felt his heritage as a child of God, crowning all 
with glory. No matter what trials fill his path on earth, 
strength and purpose are now his weapons, and wisdom his 

As they drew near the boats he said, — "Let us row." 

She assented. 

It was the one indulgence he would permit himself, now 

that he knew the truth. For one evening they should be 

together, untouched by humanity's tide. Alone on the 

waters as though eternity again enveloped them. And then, 

I after the deeper thoughts of her developed nature had given 

him fresh inspiration and guidance, a store for him to live 
by, he would go from her, into the world, and never see her 
again. And she would never know what she had been to 
hun, a veritable messenger from God. 

All this was in his mind as he handed her into the boat 
and silently pulled from the shore. 

Ah I he was a novice yet in the mysteries of the soul 
world. ** She not know ? " Why, the supreme moment of 
earth life can be only when two souls perceive one truth. 

After long thinking, he said : — 

" That is a great truth, that an aim and earnestness in its 
fulfilment makes life enjoyable, while sympathy with the 
needs of our fellows is the insignia of true nobility. I 
want to confess to you that a new world lies before me in 
the life your earnest thought has given me. I see a new 
meaning in life and also a new promise." 


" I rejoice to hear you speak so," she responded ; " such 
possibilities as lie hidden in your nature will enrich you be- 
yond expression when you come into understanding of your 
own being. Oh, think of it 1 We are the children of the 
Infinite One, and every man is our brother. The penalty 
with the imprisonment of the spirit in the flesh, is labor, 
either with hand, or heart or brain ; eke the spirit wears 
upon itself within its prison walls. The thread upon which 
every bead of human life is strung, begins and ends in Grod. 
And what are we, that we should stand in the way of our 
brothers and attempt to live for ourselves alone ? " 

Her face was radiant with its high purpose to uplift him, 
to illumine the path that, though rugged and hard, would 
bring him into the light. It was the truth that rung tones 
of power through her words. 

" You are right ; and my life shall be devoted to the wel- 
fare of my fellows from now on. I feel the thrill of courage, 
the strength of purpose ; I feel a new source of life sweeping 
over me as though I had but just come into maturity. I see 
the pursuits of past years lying like so many broken toys 
strewn all about me. Elizabeth, from a child within me, you 
have grovm a man." 

In low tones she solemnly said, — 

" Not I ; the Divinity stirreth within you." 

Long they rode upon the waters, and not another word was 
spoken. Both hearts beat in harmony to the same music, and 
the language of heaven filled their thoughts, — love, the 
love of the spirit. 

At last, softly as the notes in a dream, the words, ^^ I love 
thee, I love thee," found utterance. 

It was unintentional. A breath found sound and voiced 
the refrain of his soul. Richard was affrighted at the sound 
of his own voice ; he felt he had violated a faith reposed in 
him. Not even yet had he measured the greatness of that 
woman beside him. 

He held his breath and almost cowered, as though the 
. word must come that would hurt him. He would have sac- 
rificed life itself at that moment to have recalled the words. 
But in all his future years he blessed them. Their result 
destroyed the last touch of his worldliness, the last false habit 
of thought, and gave him the revelation of a still purer 
character than even his imagination could fancy. 

224 The arena. 

In tones as free and pure as an angel might use, resonant 
with the melody mastering the base emotions of passion, of 
fear, or of pride, came the words, — 

" Love, love 1 I wonder if that word means to you what it 
does to me ? " 

" Will you tell me, loved one, what it means to you ? Then 
I can answer." And his voice was tremulous with tender- 

^ "I cannot define it though I try," she said. " But it seems 
as though every heart-beat would be a throb of joy, telling 
me I am dear to you, every breath tremulous with emotions 
of thanksgiving for the richness of life that giveth love, and 
even age, a privilege, for it brings us nearer the immortality 
of love. I feel this in the full consciousness that life can 
know no fruition of love together in the flesh. That now, 
you and I are bound in the eternal yoke of soul-united, and 
yet severed by the laws of man. It is no crime to speak our 
love, for the eternal union of two souls will bind in spite of 
life's blunders, and just obedience to social law. Yet, our 
speech has its penalty. From this hour, it would be a sin 
to tempt the flesh and grieve the spirit. You are mine, and 
I am yours, in the oneness of soul destiny. Having found 
each other in this labyrinth of life's tangled paths, and estab- 
lished our bond of union by this acknowledgment of love, 
we henceforth must live in accordance with the life of the 
world, and with a separation of distance. But that is only a 
formality of the flesh; ' soul will companion soul in spite of 
that.' " 

A silence followed, seemingly as long as a lifetime 
to them. In that supreme hour, they whose lips had 
never met, felt the union into perfect oneness of their true 

" I can answer you now," he said. " Love means all to me 
it does to you. It means, no matter how earthly things sepa- 
rate us, a union with you, and a sense of supreme joy in 
knowing you are mine. The years to come before our 
souls are free will prove their strength. I have no fear that 
we wiU ever be apart one from the other in spirit, for one 

Then her sweet tones laid the command upon him. " And 
now, my love, the hour is come to say — let us word it just 
' good-night' — when we part." 


Silently he obeyed and rowed to the shore. 

At the cottage step they paused, and under the rays of the 
full moon they looked long and deep into each other's eyes. 
No touch of flesh, but soul met soul, and the angels rang the 
wedding chimes in heaven. With every measure of their 
being in harmony with that heavenly music, softly and ten- 
derly they said, — 

" Good-night.'* 



K-L-'C *' *r 21 T 7 1^.^ keep. 

I %r*5fcicr:*i : "• Bev >cd them — what ? "* 
T>.^ *iur^ Tv-'/t on in sil^iirc, 

Br. artk th> wi*e men, ** Whv'r'' 

y/> raan kr.ot^^ vr.^Te I >.i*Je me, 
X- -r th^ h^>»-ir I TT.AT c»'-me th»:ri;ce ; 

At *,h^ ;frv*e I whl-p^r. •* Whither *r" 
At U^ '^mu^l.e I K. arm or, -Whence?'' 

Tr,^ pri*-*t* r, their cowU have cnrsetl rae, 
Afi'l r.:/,:.\c::.^j n*^ dead cried i «• Rejoice ! 

B .* ar;.] I t*. -Ir rr..iiedIfrtions 

Tr.ej h'-ArJ rnv stiil, small voice. 

Br;*ve men, for my -ake have ^^ue>tioned, 
Wh^-n to fhri'r,i wa* death without ruth. 

For th'-y u\hA]y held that living 
Wa* leM than to fteek the truth. 

I am the handmaid of knowledge. 

It in I, alonf', can ^^how 
T7:e places j-Jie haunt- to him who bums 

With the quenchless passion to know. 

I •ihnn her comp]ai.sant lovers, 

An'l early th*'y cea-e from the quest. 

But I wait alwav on the cho«en 
Whom Mhe honoreth as her guest. 


If there is a vefl, I rend it ; 

If there is a height, I climb ; 
If there is a deep, descend it ; 

I panse not at space nor time. 

For this must be so, beyond cavil : 

Truth radiant grows in the test. 
A thread it is a sin to unravel 

Is knotted and worthless at best. 

What faith do you think could be greater 

Than this : that man shall unfold 
The scroll whereon the Creator 

His infinite message hath told. 

He shall think God^s thoughts as God thought them, 
He shall reverently tread the white way 

The infant stars took, when God taught them 
Their orbits ere yet it was day. 

He shall question the oak, how it groweth, 

The lily, whence coraeth its rings. 
He shall challenge the lark, how it knoweth 

The jubilant song that it sings. 

For mine is the faith and reliance 

That in ways that are virgin, untrod, 
I shaU teach my apostle, fair Science, 

To spell out the process of Grod. 




XJncomfoetable as the fact may be, here is another thinker let 
loose among us. The author of this book must henceforth be 
reckoned with. Having already enlisted attention by brilliant 
essays, — some of them disguised m the tales entitled << A Thought- 
less Yes," — she challenges " society " to take a searching look at 
itself in a full-length mirror of her contrivance. Some may pro- 
nounce it a distorting reflector, others declare it cracked, but none 
who have eyes can fail to recognize in it a magical mirror for polish, 
and the vividness of its images. The frontispiece gives impression 
of a lady, who might naturally be courting the adulation of 
" society " instead of risking its frowns. In the book, too, she 
seems to be giving fashionable friends away, as in the stu^y of 
Miss Pauline Tyler, and her distress that the odious reporters 
have associated her name with the distinguished personages^ 
whom she so impressively enumerates to an eligible visitor. 
However, despite such amusing sketches, the work is as little 
realistic as romantic. The realism and the romance are in 
side-shows; the main stage is mounted with scenery symbol- 
ical of "^ the fashion of this world, " and the figures on it are as 
tvpical as Christ and Anti-Christ. The plot has been syllogis- 
tically constructed, and the main actors, created for the plot, per- 
form their parts without that illogical adulteration of evil motives 
with good, and good with evil, which characterizes every-day life. 
If any realist deems this kind of art less charming than his photog- 
raphy, let him read his Bunyan again. He' will find it a good 
prologue for what our latter-day pilgrim has to say of Dr. 
Highchurch, and Dr. Broadchurch, and the sheep of their 
pasture who so strangely act like goats. These do not, indeed, 
bear aUegorical names like their pastors, but, apart from the side- 
shows, might easily be so labelled. It looks as if the author's 
good genius had with difficulty overpowered her occasional proclivi- 
ties towards a habitat not her own. The story opens with a show 
of historic reality, purporting to be related, in the first person, by 



8 physician. This breaks down on the seventeenth page, the story 
branching out into scenes which only an author's omniscience can 
witness. Though the doctor's story suggests a basis of fact, it 
speedily turns to fable, and then becomes interesting. A '^ gentle- 
man" who carries the contribution-box in a leadmg church, might 
indeed ask a doctor's aid in restoring his son's health by immoral 
means, but only a fabulous doctor could fail to inform him that, 
in the given case, the proposed remedy would continue the injury. 
The doctor, however, accepts the layman's notion, but for which 
we should miss the picturesque situation in which the expected 
victim unveils, revealing the face of the hypocrite's daughter, who 
supposes herself giving him and her brother a pleasant surprise. 

It will be seen that Helen Gardener deals with subjects called 
*' delicate." Dr. Martineau, in an able discourse, relegated such 
themes to " the realm of silence " ; but his sister Harriet said, 
** English women remember Godiva, and will do their duty." 
There is a steadily increasing sisterhood of the Daughters of 
Godiva who, " clothed on with innocency," will not shrink from 
setting forth the naked truth in that realm where moral night- 
shade is fostered by conventional silence. Our author does 
not indeed spare idly the veil prescribed Thought in the 
presen(3e of problems relating to sex ; she is too artistic to denude 
Truth for eyes that can only see without perceiving ; but she 
speaks unmistakably for those who have ears to hear. Such 
brave speech from a woman of refinement and culture marks an 
advance towards the new ethical age. Mrs. Humphrey Ward's 
much ado over Christian theism, which she discovers when most 
people have about got through with it, may measure the degree 
to which Helen Gardener has distanced the rearguard of liberal 
thought. Here is no cock-crow over yesterday's sunrise. The 
conspiracy of silence on subjects that fundamentally concern the 
welfare of mankind is broken. The wise know that words in season 
are golden, timid silence not silvern but pinchbeck. It is not so 
much any opinions on suppressed subjects that can serve us, at 
present, as the courage of their free utterance. It will require a 
fuller freedom of moral genius from the long oppression of pru- 
rient purists to perfect, by knowledge and discussion, the word 
which, as perfected, shall be made flesh and dwell among us. It 
is to be hoped that Helen Gardener is the forerunner of other 
American women whose pure-minded freedom will put to 
shame the official attitudinizers who mistake their own vulgarity 
for virtue. In this direction our rising moral Protestantism will 
be led by brave women, whose sex is especially oppressed by 
the monasticism which was left its sceptre over morality when 
the ecclesiasticism around which it grew was overthrown. In the 
name of morality the most ignorant official can exercise over the 



millions of this New World the despotism of a mediaBval pope. 
A friend informs me a copy of Boccaccio — to whom £merson, 
pm'est of intellects, paid homage — was recently imported for a 
library in Washington, but burnt at the Custom House by an order 
from the Treasury. Such a far-reaching wrong, which did not 
even reach the press, could not occur were it not that the most 
important of all ethical departments has been left to the seques- 
tration of barbarism. The nerve of vigilance, the price of liberty, 
may be paralyzed by any fool who touches it with a pretension 
of suppressing immorality, — with which, public law has properly 
nothing to do. The function of law is to redress the injury of 
one to another, whether wrought by moral or immoral motives. 

A hard struggle awaits ethical Protestantism, but it cannot 
be crushed, for it- is one of social life and death. What slow 
steps have been made in the past brought hemlock, or cross, or 
stake, to those denounced as corruptors of society, now wor- 
shipped as moral law -givers (albeit with equal ignorance). The 
Daughters of Godiva may have to endure such corresponding 
penalties as our age admits. Let them know that instead of a 
city tax, to remove which the legendary lady disregarded 
the most consecrated conventionalism of her sex, it is to end an 
arrest of the world's regeneration that good women are now 
called on to break through walls of mock-modesty which reserve 
the most important field of inquinr fot* weed and reptile, without 
obstructing the encroachment of these on fields secured for 

So much for the heroic gesture of Helen Gardener's work. 
It need not be wondered at that to this field she brings no 
new ethical implement or method. The great moral problems 
are raised, but not solved. It must even be admitted that they 
are chiefly raised by remorselessly pressing the old standards to 
logical conclusions that bring them into question. For example, 
to refer again to the case with which her story opens, there is 
high medical authority for the belief that rigid " chastity " (we 
still use these monastic Words) is sometimes inimical, if not fatal, 
to health. Our author justly impales the father who sacrifices an 
innocent maiden under circumstances supposed (mistakenly) 
to be such, but she does not venture beyond him and deal 
with the natural causes of such conditions. Is the youth to 
perish, or, as Saint Paul suggests, marry in order not to " bum "? 
Helen Gardener covers her retreat before this dilemma, — by 
adding circumstances of peculiar villany to the father, but its 
terrible horrors remain to confront many an honest parent and son. 
Another of the moral problems raised, but not solved, is the in- 
equality of the standards of sexual purity by which men and 
women are judged. Although an author is not to be held strictly 

-. C - 



/ ♦ « 

^j • / ' ■ » * 


to the utterances of her characters, one or two of Helen Gardener's 
seem to be inspired by their literary creator in their indignation 
against such inequality. Such indignation may have its use, but 
it is a confession of helplessness. A captain whose ship is caught 
by icebergs, may get a little warmth by swearing, but it does not 
melt the bergs to speak disrespectfully of them. To the eye of 
,. , * moral philosophy there is in morality neither male nor female. 
: , .^ But what cares Nature for our philosophy ? By making one sex 
^ ,. (^ the child-bearer. Nature has made that sex primarily responsible 
for any alien blood that may be foisted on a Xamily^ so far as that 
family and its heritage are concerned. Tb^ male accessory, who 
has not similarly wronged his Q'^u fanuly, is naturally liable only 
for the damage he has assisted in doing his neighbor. Law, whose 
province is not morality, but damage, has distributed the penal- 
ties in accordance with the necessities of social development. 
The inequitable moral sentiment has been developed on the 
lines decreed by Nature. No doubt the sex so burdened finds 
some relief in denouncing the injustice, but that cannot alter the 
fact. And is that the best that can be done ? 

Quiaqtie patimur suoa matiea. That is, one cannot escape 
his ancestral shades, any more than he can jump off his shadow. 
In the last century, French revolutionists shattered the Madonna, 
but with more fatal superstition set up in her shrine an effigy of 
Nature. This " She, that must be obeyed," showed herself " red 
in tooth and claw." Many a so-called '^ infidel," who indulges a 
belief that he has broken continuity with a superstitious past, is 
after all but an inverted " Salvationist." He has transferred his 
faith from Jehovah to " Laws of Nature," and his method of re- 
form is apt to be millennial. Some angelic Bradlaugh or Bellamy 
is to sound a trump, a lucifer is to be scratched, and puff ! away 
go the pomp and glories of this wicked world ! The survivals of 
ancient creeds in Helen Gardener's characters are faint enough to 
attest the large culture and far advance of the mind and heart 
that conceived them. But what are we to make of such a state- 
ment as this (p. 138) : ^< His morals were based on those creeds. 
Well, the result was, the moment his belief in dogmatic religion 
was shaken, he had no foothold. Natural morality had no mean- 
ing to him." What are the creeds but consecrated transcripts of 
natural morality? What is Nature's morality but to visit the 
sins of the fathers upon the children, to make the innocent suffer 
vicariously for the guilty, to load one sex with the heavier share 
of pain for all forbidden fruit shared equally by both f ' Again 
(p. 124) the young "hero" of the story says, in an admirable 
letter : 

" How strange it is that almost every boy thinks first of these 
two professions, — War and Theology, twins we have inherited 

• r 


from the ignorance and brutality of the past ! These two, who 
were born of the same parentage, and are destined to sleep in 
the same grave!" So far as war is concerned, it would rather 
be strange if the boy, a product of predatory Nature, should not 
feel the embryonic throbs of ape and tiger. And what is the 
meaning of " destined " ? Is this Matthew Arnold's stream-of- 
tendency deity ? Probably this optimistic hope is born of faith 
in man, but the phrase refers to a dynamic deity, who will bring 
things all right, whatever man may do or leave undone. 

Some of these comments may appear hypercritical, and they 
would be so were they made on any ordinary work. But this is 
an extraordinary work, not only powerful in itself, but indicating 
a reserved force in the author, for whose future an older worker 
in the vineyard, remembering his own mistakes, may be pardoned 
for feeling a parental anxiety. Let her accept a bequest from 
the experience of those who have wasted in revolutionary, what 
had succeeded as evolutionary, enthusiasm. We used to beat 
our political and theological scapegoats into the wilderness, leav- 
ing untilled the wilderness itself, to return its savagery steadily 
upon us. Rebelling against a god of war and cruelties, we 
euphemized the atrocities in Nature, of which he was a mild 
reflection. Substituting, after the Darwinian daybreak, natural 
for supernatural selection, we still did not realize that both are to 
be replaced by human selection. Nature is not a She, any more 
than a He, but a morally inanimate It, whose impartiality 
between serpent and dove, conquered by the farmer's economy, 
lingers u\ our social fields, because we are still taught to bend 
before Nature, instead of bending it. Man's business is to 
humanize Nature. Until that task becomes the object of religion, 
the first day of creation will not dawn. And meanwhile, since 
we must all for a time be workers in the dusk or the twilight, 
with some darkness mingling in our clearest perceptions, it is 
well before suspecting the good faith of others, to remember 
King David's question, " Who can understand his errors ? " Helen 
Gardener is remorseless on Dr. Broadchurch : he is untrue to his 
ordination vows, in throwing aside what he does not like in the 
Bible. " The final appeal of any orthodox clergyman must be 
the Bible." That is bad law in the Church of Rome, in the 
Greek and Russian churches, and in the Church of England. For 
my part, I have great hope in Dr. Broadchurch. This our 
author will regard as her critic's little " survival." Be it so. If 
she can only believe it consistent with sincerity, perhaps her next 
hero will not be so hard on Phillips Brooks and Heber Newton. 
It is to enlightened woman, unfortunately not yet a part of our 
political and ecclesiastical machinery, — to the one disfranchised 
and independent class left us, — that we must look for the moral 



leaven that is to raise the world. And no woman of our time 
has a fairer prospect of preparing a pure leaven, than the anthor 
of this brilliant and phenomenal book. But where shall her 
leaven be hid but in the meal of existing institutions ? And why, 
oh why, when the leaven begins to work in poor Dr. Broadchnrch, 
should he be berated for not becoming either all leaven or all 
dough ? 



" This is a terrible book, but is it not an overstrained, fancy 
sketch of possibilities that are seldom, if ever, realized ? " Such 
was the exclamation of one who had been, in early life, familiar with 
a far different state of society, in which he had met enough of the 
manly and noble to impart a social inspiration, and who, in his 
riper years, had felt so keenly the antagonism of society to every 
generous impulse, as to shun every circle in which this social 
depravity could be revealed. He sympathized with the expres- 
sion of Boyle O'Reilly : " I grow rapidly toward complete diislike 
of the thing called ' Society, but this must be moral rathet than 
mental development. Society is a barren humbug, fruitful only 
of thistles and wormwood." ' 

The first question to be considered as to this novel was, could 
this be true? could it be a picture of any portion of human 
society? It did not require much investigation to satisfy him 
that it was indeed a terrible piece of realism, — like the uncon- 
ventional pictures of Yerestchagin, the Russian artist, so real that 
its fidelity could be recognized by thousands, — not the realism 
of a Zola, but the realism of an honest, high-minded American 
woman, who looks upon society from a higher standpoint than 
that of conventional literature, and conventional ethics and 
theology. I might give the reader records of social depravity 
that would shock, satiate, and disgust, but it would be an unwhole- 
some task, — we do not desire to approach closely any form of 
putrefaction. May we not^hail it as one of the triumphs of 
American progress, that it is bringing to the front a new literature 
— not that of the dominant sex, not that of the weaklings of the 
other sex, who have been taught that intellectual independence 
and the fearless criticism of corrupt society are entirely un- 
womanly, — but that of women who know how to plead for 
justice, and who look upon social shams and falsehoods, only to 
pierce them with the spear of Ithuriel. 

The book has a pervading spirit of stem conscientiousness, 
guided by the equally stern spirit of modern science, which toler- 
ates no traditional hypotheses, demands verification for everything 


asserted, and prefers the verifiable natural history of to-day to all 
doubtful records of the past, which are supposed to be history. 
For such a spirit, theology has no authority and no such chai*m 
as it finds in Huxley and Spencer, who represent the drift of 
the majority of cultivated thought to-day. Before that drift 
everything not fortified by religious education must give way, 
and the church itself, when this scientific iceberg passes, is 
chilled to the heart and loses its power of self assertion. No 
longer a church militant, it stands feebly on the defensive, slowly 
surrendering dogmas which in former times it was death to doubt. 

That educated women should become inspired by this scientific 
spirit was the foreseen result which made one party dread, as 
another hailed with joy, the higher education of woman, and the 
demand for equality with their brothers in all human rights. 

That woman, in this spirit should make an incursion in the field 
of literature, and should assail the entire social fabric in the spirit 
of iconoclastic science, but with a determination to right all wrong, 
was obviously inevitable, and in this novel we see a beginning 
of that sturdy rebellion against conservatism which may make the 
novel the moral leader of mankind, leaving far behind it the church 
and thfe university, the chief office of which is to preserve the moral 
stability of society against public debasement, and also against all 
revolutionary methods of honorable progress. 

No one will deny that " Uncle Tom's Cabin " did more than all 
the pulpits, to make slavery odious ; and as it seems inevitable 
that free educated woman shall labor chiefly for an ethical pur- 
pose, as her great life-work heretofore has been the ethical inspira- 
tion of home, may we not hope that woman shall be instrumental 
in leading mankind to a higher plane by the charming path of 
fiction. In the gloomy power of Carlyle and the theatrical 
splendors of Bulwer, there is not much to elevate or inspire the 
reader to a nobler life. The personal unworthiness of Bulwer 
taints his writings — his virtue is artificial, his gold but polished 

In every age there is a mass of sentiment, opinion, usage, 
fashion, and intolerant prejudice which dominates over all institu- 
tions and persons. Literature becomes its expression. But ever 
and anon the spirit of liberty, the spirit of justice, the spirit of 
humanity, and the fearless love of truth rebel against such enslave- 
ment, and this ever recurring struggle of brave souls against the 
multitude is the power that advances mankind. Every move- 
ment inspired by an ethical sentiment is a factor in that process 
of evolution, the majestic onward sweep of which may be calcu- 
lated by looking downward and backward from our present 
elevation along the vast inclined plane that extends toward the 
beginning of an undeveloped humanity. 



That this efflorescence of the divine element in man shares the 
fate of the too early blossoms of a capricious and uncertain spring 
is one of the greatest problems that puzzles the world's theosophy. 
Why was it that the founders of Christianity, and such followers 
as Hnss, Savonarola, Sir Thomas More, Latimer, Ridley, and 
George Fox, and the leaders of thought, such as Galileo, Bruno, 
Roger Bacon, Telesio, and Campanella, or such women as Hypatia, 
Joan of Arc, and Madame Roland, must fall before the vindictive 
hatred of cotemporaries, who were our ancestors^ has been asked in 
vain ; but it is not in vain to remember that these fierce persecu- 
tors of Nature's nobility were our ancestors, and that the blood 
inherited from tliem has not entirely changed its nature, but may 
inspire a similar spirit to-day in spite of centuries of ameliora- 

But a nobler literature is continually rising from our higher 
social conditions, overlaying and sinking into oblivion the im- 
mense accumulations of libraries, the mere titlepages of which 
would require a lifetime to read them. One book out of a hun- 
dred thousand that claim our attention is as much as men of active 
and efficient lives can read ; for them the novel is superfluous ; 
but in the leisure moments in which they seek rest it is a refresh- 
ing companion, and for the half idle class it is the chief mental 
food. How important, then, that the novel should be an ethical 
teacher — that it should come from those who have an earnest 
purpose, and not from those who write merely to amuse the 
reader and earn an income. But what a flood of fiction is con- 
tinually pouring upon us I A single novelist, Jules Verne, said : 
" I am now at my seventy-fourth novel, and I hope to write as 
many more before I lay down my pen for the last time ! " 

Helen Gardener's novel is an ethical work, — not a set of specu- 
lative platitudes about duty which never inspire a noble resolu- 
tion, but a set of graphic pictures of the abominable, in contrast 
with her conceptions of manly and womanly virtue. We may 
say of some novels in the language of Pope, — 

% **, Vice is a monster of that horrid mien, 

Which to be hated needs but to be seen, 
But seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
We first endure, then pity, tlien embrace." 

But no one will endure, or pity, or embrace the vice and the 
heartlessness portrayed by Helen Gardener. It is so thoroughly 
detestable that to one unfamiliar with corrupt and hollow life it 
seems almost impossible, and reminds us of the wretched criminal 
portrayed in Tolstof s last novel. The father who corrupts his 
son and expects salvation by the vicarious atonement of theology, 
the ambitious and pretentious Harmon, who, without a particle 
of religion, expects to become a bishop by the force of culture 


and social position, and his equally heartless and artificial mother, 
pus^zle one to comprehend their moral monstrosity. To the inexpe- 
rienced, this book will be a sad revelation ; to the vicious classes 
which it portrays, it will be a warning that they are observed and 
scorned, but whether it will give them a blush of shame may be 
a question. 

It is much to be regretted that the scope of the work is so narrow 
that she portrays only the consummate hypocrite, and gives no 
example of the intelligent, sincere, heroic, and unselfishly religious, 
reserving all the virtues for her agnostic heroes. Perhaps she 
felt that as the Sunday-school pattern of virtue had been suffi- 
ciently exalted and extolled, while the agnostic class had been 
thoroughly written down, justice required to turn the tables and 
exalt those who have been borne down by a power that once 
persecuted to death, and of late persecutes to ostracism. No 
doubt she felt that she was doing justice to a class who deserved 
vindication, and exposing the hollowness of a pretended piety. 

That there is such a gilded baseness as she portrays, no one 
can doubt who recollects the numerous examples of defaulting, 
swindling, forging class, who have worn the mantle of piety 
until detected, and have been accepted as worthy members of 
the church, or even accepted in the pulpit, because the ideal of 
religion has been so debased as to demand nothing more than 
profession and ceremonial as an evidence of piety. It has indeed 
become so much more interested in appearances than in realities 
that to expose and describe some offences has been accounted as 
criminal as the offences themselves ; and the terrible outrages 
committed upon the Indians of Alaska have been concealed by 
a religious society as their contemplation was not compatible with 
its sacred refinement. 

Gold and silver have been alloyed for a currency — so has 
religion, and in its extreme debasement it becomes a question 
whether there is any of the real gold in the coin that is stamped 
by authority. The nations of Europe that have ever lived in 
war with each other and now bend all their energies to inter- 
national homicide have no more just claim as nations to the title 
of Christian, than the Zulus of Africa. Individuals may cultivate 
a Christian character, but the church as a churchy which sanctions 
and sustains war, must be adjudged a gigantic apostacy from the 
doctrine of the founders of Christianity. The dogmatists, whose 
religion consisted in fighting over definitions of the Trinity and 
murdering heretics, suppressed all sincerity and truth with ail the 
power of the sword and of social persecution. Thus for much 
more than fifteen hundred years, truth and honesty have been 
crushed, and hypocrisy cultivated with all the skill and power 
that governments, churches, and colleges could command. In- 



tolerance and hypocrisy, despotism and lying, have been .in- 
separable twins from the beginning of humanity. They flourish 
together, and they will die together. They flourish still, and the 
fearless pursuit of truth is still a battle, as every profoundly 
original thinker knows too well. Truth can be enthroned only 
when intolerance dies, and the best work for humanity is the 
establishment of toleration. We must learn to tolerate and 
cherish every sincere effort, and be intolerant only to intolerance 
itself — thus reversing the habits of the ages ; and a first step in 
that direction is to respect such works of earnest thinkers as this 
novel of Helen Gardener and that of Tolstoi, which a brutal official 
ordered out of the mails. 

As true religion has been so industriously crushed, while hypoc- 
risy was so vigorously cultivated, was it not inevitable that hypoc- 
risy should become the chief element in the strange compound 
that has been called religion, and that in time the baser metal 
should be taken for gold, and the gold become an almost unknown 
material ? The ideal has been lost, and men or women earnestly 
seeking religion are often cherishing a base alloy of which it forms 
the minor portion — a so-called religion which is pleased to re- 
gard relatives, friends, and society generally, as the devil's roast- 
ing pieces in the next world, and all foreign nations as food for 
powder in this world, for whom the powder must be kept dry, and 
the bayonets sharp. We need not discuss the truth, for it is too 
evident that mankind have belonged and do belong to the order 
of camivora ; and when Helen Gardener suggests that the military 
and theological professions are on the down grade to extinction, 
and must go together, is she not excusable in the light of history, 
for thinking them inseparable twins, and will not this graphic 
suggestion stimulate the theologian to realize that he has been and 
is in bad company, which he must abandon or perish, and must 
return to the simple and sacred law of loving our neighbors as 
ourselves, and the truth that the neighbor, however distant, is a 
brother ? But let us turn from the gloomy to the hopeful aspect 
of destiny. 

The only salvation from this corrupt condition has been in the 
perennial freshness of Nature, which ever struggles to maintain 
the normal type and refuses to transmit by heredity the acquired 
diseases and deformities. The forests, the flowers, and the 
human race defy a permanent debasement. The Divine Influx is 
eternal, and that limitless power with wisdom which is above 
and beyond all that we know and imagine, bears us onward as 
surely to the better future as it has in the past* The myths of 
antiquity are disappearing, and the brassy counterfeit of religion 
is becoming less and less endurable among the intelligent, and 
the hideous portrait of the worst specimens as sketched by Helen 


Gardener may help to accelerate its departure, and thus be a 
benefaction to that pure religion of which perhaps, with larger 
experiences in the future, she may paint a pleasing portrait. With 
broader studies of humanity, by the methods of liberal science, 
she may learn that history has been enriched and our ideals of 
humanity elevated by innumerable lives of heroic duty, inspired 
by the example of the Nazarene teacher, whose wonderful life, so 
poorly and imperfectly transmitted by the traditional records, has 
ever been and will ever continue to be the inspiration of the noblest. 

J. R. Buchanan. 


**Is This Tour Son, my Lord ?" touches from a woman's point 
of view, a phase of the social question that has too long been 
ignored. The Christian world has accepted the idea that man is 
less culpable for the same vice than woman. What is held as 
supreme degradation in her is looked upon as a venial sin in him. 
The church has been the great exponent of morals, in accordance 
with the Biblical teaching that man is superior to woman, that 
^ she, not first created, was first in sin " ; that ^ the man is not 
for the woman, but the woman for the man." Genesis and Paul 
corroborate each other ; the Old Testament and the New are alike 
upon this point of woman's created inferiority and original sin. 

Having accepted this doctrine, it is not at all strange that we 
find two codes of morals extant in society, the lax for man, the 
strict for woman, with diverse penalties attending each for the 
same infringement of the moral law. But whatever the form of 
religion or secular teaching, the laws of nature still reign su- 
preme, and through their violation, man himself has become more 
degraded than woman and is slowly beginning to recognize this 

The fall of Preston Mansfield through the temptation of an 
older man is an instance by no means confined to the pages of 
fiction. Nor is his father an isolated instance of a man without 
moral principle where his sons are concerned. The history of 
P*reston is that of thousands of young men, who are ** robbed of 
themselves '' in the first flush of youth, and rendered depraved 
before they begin to know the meaning of life to themselves and 
to humanity. We learn such facts from history, from the daily 
press, from confidential disclosures of the victim himself. 

One young man having read this work was asked, ^^ Do you 
think this case too rare to be useful as a lesson — a type?" He 
replied, ^ I know fully fifty similar ones in my college alone. 
Men may deny it, but it is in no sense rarcP 


Another said, " If I had read that book ten years ago, I would 
have been a different person. Most of us are pushed to the devil 
before we know it, and then — " 

Oh, the pity of it I Oh, the shame of it ! A young boy, until 
he learns an evil lesson, is as pure in thought as a young girl, but 
he is not as readily allowed to remain so. He is taught both directly 
and by implication, that vice for him means much less than it does 
for woman ; that he can have his fling while young, ^^ sow his 
wild oats," and marriage will reform him into a desirable husband 
and father. 

This remarkable work is not an attack upon either sex, but an 
attempt to show the result of conditions. Her pictures are 
chastely drawn, and some of the finest characters in her book are 
men. Neither does she fail to expose the petty thought of a cer- 
tain class of women whose sole aim is social position ; mothers 
whose vanity and weakness prove as destructive to sons as more 
gross teaching from others. 

Helen Gardener is heroic in thus daring to openly attack chronic 
evils that church, state, and society have so long fostered; the 
good influence of her book must be incalculable. It was long 
since recognized that only when wrongs find a voice do they be- 
come righted. But woman through the ages has been trained to 
silence, her views not to be given, nor her opinions stated, unless 
asked by man, and this has but rarely been done. 

This work is calculated to arouse intense opposition from older 
men fettered by early teaching and inherited thought. But thou- 
sands of young men will gladly receive its warning ; the moral 
hope of the world lies with them.. Let a young man become 
convinced of the degradation to himself through an immoral life, 
and he will hesitate to enter it. Let him but realize the de- 
struction to his own health, happiness, purity and self-respect 
involved in such a life and he will shun it. With fuller knowl- 
edge he will no longer delude himself into a belief that while 
woman should bring a 'blameless life into the marital union, it 
is right for him to seek such relation while steeped in vice. 
He will cease to believe that woman cares but little if man is 
vicious ; that she looks upon herself alone as dishonored through 
illicit relations, or that she thinks marriage with her betrayer can 
give her a respectability that he himself does not possess. 

He will discover this theory to be entirely false; he will 
realize that with Minnie Lane, thousands of women believe such 
a marriage to be a dishonorable relation ; that it is the betrayer, 
and not his victim, who has lost respectability. This book is a 
most timely and important one ; she has dared to speak the truth 
and herein lies the vitality and power of the work. 

Matilda Joslyn Gage. 




* ** There are questions which only those will discuss, who to some 
extent have raised the veil of life, who allow that no human institution 
j is so holy, as to out-top the sacred right of human reason, to probe its 

I foundations. We must not forget that the emancipation of woman, 

I while placing her In a position of social responsibility will make it her 

I duty to investigate matters, of which she is at present assumed to be 

I ignorant 

*' It may be doubted whether the identification of purity and ignorance 
has had wholly good effects in the past: indeed it has frequently been 
! the false cry, with which men have sought to hide their own anti-social 

j conduct** Kabl Psabson. 

To the ordinary man no doubt, Helen Gardener's last novel, 
entitled, "Is This Tour Son, My Lord?" will seem to touch sub- 
jects of which the yoang better remain ignorant, but as women 
become more thoughtful, clear sighted, and independent, they 
will see that the stronghold of their slavery lies in our social 
customs, and concentrate their forces on that point. The un- 
equivocal and pronounced manner in which refined, cultivated 
women have already from t^e to time, by word and deed, 
attacked the tangled problem of sex, and all the relations that 
grow out of it, prove, that when they enjoy the same freedom 
men have always had in expressing their opinions, they will take 
the lead in the pending social revolution, or they will, at least, 
keep abreast with those men who seek to substitute science for 
emotion. It is a question with many wise people, whether the 
best interests of society can be better served by unearthing the 
abominations connected with the social slavery of woman, or by 
concealing from the young all but the most beautiful phases of 
life, and in ignorance of the dangers that surround them, pre- 
serve their innocence and trust in the goodness of mankind. 

I think it is safer in these matters to follow the pathway 
marked out by the wise and thoughtful of our own sex, than to trust 
those who have invariably sacrificed woman's best interests to 
their own pleasure and convenience. Mary Wolstoncraft, Fran- 
ces Wright, George Sand, George Eliot, each in her own way 
I lived her independent life, and uttered her highest thought on 

whatever subject was presented to her mind. Charlotte Bronte, 
the author of " Jane Eyre," made her heroine attractive without the 
aid of wealth, beauty, or position ; she lived in harmony with her 
own ideal, relying wholly on her own judgment amid the compli- 
cations of a dependent position. All alike taught the lesson of 
individual conscience and judgment for woman. The authors of 
" John Ward, Preacher " and " Robert Elsmere " have shown 
themselves equally independent on questions of religion. Mona 
Caird in her magazine articles as well as her novels, has told the 
world what she thinks on social problems, so plainly as to shock 


prudery and hypocrisy. And now comes Helen Gardener, who, 
in one small volume of 257 pageb, portrays the political, reli- 
gious, and social hypocrisies and corruptions of our present civili- 
zation, and probes to its foundation our false system of education, 
in the morals of the church, the college, and the home. The evil 
influences that surround the chief character at school, culminate 
in a vice far more common than teachers and parents would 
willingly admit. 

In revealing these pitfalls of corruption each writer assumoR 
the moral responsibility of her own action. 

Helen Gardener thinks it is for the protection of girls and 
boys alike to know all the minor vices into which unhealthy 
passions may betray them, as well as the selfishness of which men 
are capable in their dealings with the youth of both sexes. This 
novel will prove a landmark to warn the unwary from dangerous 
ground, and will unquestionably have the beneficent effect the 
author desires. In the present antagonistic relations of the sexes, 
girls need to be armed at all points. It is folly to say, as many do, 
that there is no real antagonism between men and women, for 
our laws and social customs all show the contrary. So long as we 
have one code of morals for men, and another for women, we 
cannot have harmonious relations between the sexes. 

The religious conscience of our sons should be trained to rever- 
ence the mothers of the race ; to extend to every woman they 
meet the same consideration they desire from all men for their 
own wives and sisters. True chivalry should make every man a 
protector and not a betrayer of girlhood ; then will real friend- 
ships between men and women be possible. . This novel is 
written with a high moral purpose, and will teach the young 
many valuable lessons. Vice is not painted in attractive colors, but 
all its most odious features stand out in bold relief. Neither is 
the author pessimistic in her tendencies ; for in this, as in all her 
sketches of real life, noble characters predominate. Maude 
Stone, Harvey Ball, and their parents form a charming group, 
representing all the cardinal virtues. Preston Mansfield, ^he 
weak, good-natured, but vicious hero, who had sufficient con- 
science to poison all his life and drive him to a violent death at 
last, but not enough to give him the necessary strength and 
decision to make his life what in his best moods he desired, is in 
some respects no uncommon character. He is a type of far too 
many young men of wealth, position, and education, and his 
father represents a large class of parents, who, to save a son 
from his vices, would willingly sacrifice his neighbor's daughter 
for that purpose. Many good people who are guided by principle 
in most matters have no conscience in this. Whatever a son's 
character may be, most parents will rejoice that some pure, lovely 


girl has consented to be his wife; and if the young man has •' 
wealth and position, even the • girl's own parents will rejoice in ', 
what is called an eligible match, and join with complacency in ' 
the general congratulations and wedding festivities. 

" Is This Your Son, My Lord ? " is distinctly a novel which has a 
reformatory object, and in so far it fails as a work of art; not that ^^ 
a reformatory object renders it impossible to draw a real picture of 
life, I only intend to say that the feat has never yet been per- 
formed. So far in literature the authors, with such an object, have , 
been so absorbed by their idea, that they have quite ignored the \ 
demands of art. In the volume before us one can see the able a 
essayist, and the clever pamphleteer, but not the born novelist. 

The book is thrown into the most difficult form for a romance ' y,j\ 
to take, for the story is told by one of the characters. Such a 
method needs the author to be eternally on the watch tower, or . 
else inconsistencies will creep in. At times, the doctor who tells ' ' 
the story is quite forgotten, and one is brought back to the 
fact only by a violent jog of the memory. An "I" appears, 
seemingly without a noun, and at last in despair you fix it on the 
doctor. How he comes to be conversant with all the characters 
of the book remains to the end a mystery. He has never met 
Mrs. Harmon, yet he gives his readers long conversations and 
correspondences that this little Boston lady has with her intimate 
friends. By allowing the doctor to tell the story, Helen Gardener 
deprives herself of that usual lofty position of the novelist, an all- 
seeing and all-knowing providence. Another fault is throwing so 
much of the story into the form of letters. The letters of real 
people are always wanting in that touch of individuality that 
makes acquaintance easy, and the letters of imaginary folks are 
indeed intangible things. They deprive incidents of all local color- 
ing. Mrs. Harmon, though an important personage in the book, 
nowhere comes near us. We do not know whether she was tall or 
short, thin or plump, awkward or graceful, austere or gay. We 

should like to hAvA ^nn ^nT^terpd the )a^y it y rlnsft qiif^y ^.<>rR. but We 

must content ourselves with the revelations she makes of herself 
in letters, which show her to be an ambitious, unprincipled 
woman, so perhaps the author thought the less we knew of her 
the better. The characters of the book are shadowy, the motive 
is clear cut and well defined, the humanitarian has completely 
swallowed up the artist. Helen Gardener has studied her ideals 
in real life, but her characters are not flesh and blood. In one 
point this book is a blessed improvement upon the ordinary 
modem novel : Helen Gardener recognizes that there is other 
love than that existing between lovers. The most living and at 
times touching scenes are those where Mr. Stone pours out his 
tender father's love upon his idolized daughter, and by his com- 



passion wins her confidence, and helps her to break her engage- 
ment with an unworthy man. 

Preston Mansfield seems rather an impossible character. Accord- 
ing to the story he has lived an utterly vicious, vapid life, and yet 
his ideas in regard to women are of the loftiest character. Is it 
not a certain effect of such a course of conduct that the higher 
emotions become dulled, if not extinct ? This is the price paid for 
licentiousness. Low living and high thinking are incompatible. 

In Fred Harmon, Helen Gardener hits off very well American 
aristocracy and the requirements of good society. She might 
give Ward McAllister some good lessons on these points. The 
scene between Mr. Stone, Fred Harmon, and Maude is well 
drawn. Mr. Stone gives Fred Harmon his opinion of him in 
particular, and his set in general very plainly. Yet he fails to 
rouse in him any feeling of honor or shame, but when they 
walked past the Boston aristocrat, ^'Maude^s sdft silk drapery 
caught his knees,'' it roused him far more than all the father's 
stern words of reproach. Men are so emotional in all that con- 
cerns women ! They use no reason, let alone justice, in their 
relations with Eve's daughters. In this same scene, Mr. Stone 
says to Harmon, " Do you know why you love Maude ? Because 
she is beautiful." He might have added. You have no apprecia- 
tion of the nobility of her nature, of her warm affections, her 
frankness, her sincerity, and her truthfulness. 

Harvey Ball's letter on choosing a profession is very good, — in 
Helen Gardener's best essay style. As to the profession of the 
soldier, we must, however, remember what Rnskin says, ** That 
the soldier is honored not because he is ready to kiUy but because 
he is ready to die for his country." 

Helen Gardener has given us a vivid picture of the daily sacri- 
fice of innocent victims of her own sex. For the contemplation of 
a heedless world, the deeper the shadows the more impressive is 
the view. The unrolling of the dark panorama of woman's 
experiences may shock the thoughtless and apathetic, but they 
never can be painted in colors too sombre for the facts of life. 
Women know more of men's cruelty than they can ever know of 
each other. Silence and concealment have never been potent 
factors in reformation. 

This book is full of subjects for thought, and could furnish an 
ethical preacher texts for a lifetime, and no character in the book 
throws out more truths than Mr. Stone. His ideas on the 
training of children to self-control and independence are 
worthy a veteran educationalist and his observation of the facts 
of life are shown in that short sentence, " Everything holds girls 
back from going wrong, and pretty nearly everything pushes boys 
to the devil." Young men will never place a fair estimate on 




social virtue, so long as leading thinkers openly say, "There 
must be two codes of morals for men and women." 

There is nowhere as yet in real life any true appreciation of the 
dignity of woman's position, nor that worshipful reverence 
befitting her as mother of the race. 

Elizabeth Cadt Stanton*. 


Near the close of a day in the early June of 1889, that was so 
! perfect that it seemed to have dropped out of Paradise, I sat in 

j my editorial rooms at New York, weary of work and dreaming 

of the shady glens, and green, willow-fringed meadows of the 
Mak-o-chee. From these reveries I was awakened by the 
musical rustle of feminine drapery, and wheeling in my chair, I 
saw before me a girlish face and figure, one slender and graceful, 
and the other not only beautiful in its delicate outlines, but so 
I alive with expressions of sense and sensibility, that it photo- 

graphed itself upon the heart through that instantaneous process 
Nature gave us long in advance of its coarser imitation. The 
dark, luminous eyes had in them thought, shadowed with pain, as 
if touched with the reminiscence of suffering, common to life- 
long invalids. There was naught else in my fair visitor indicative 
of ill-health. Indeed, the full ripe mouth told a story of its own, 
especially when parted in a smile from pearly little teeth. In a 
shy, yet frank way, always so winning when united in a hand- 
some woman, she offered me her little hand. 

My visitor announced herself as Helen Gardener, and she 
tendered me some of her work for publication in Belford. 

I read her sketches, and was charmed with them. I found her 
a genius. There was not only freshness and originality of 
thought, but a felicity and a facility of expression, that appeared 
in a most delicate touch. There was just enough left to the 
reader's imagination to enhance the value of the work. This 
j quality in fiction is what a hazy atmosphere, or even a mist, is to 

i a landscape. " Style is thought," said the French critic. N. P. 

Willis was as liappy when he said '< peculiarity of style is disease. 
Like the pearl in the oyster, very beautiful, but a disease all the 
j I published Helen H. Gardener's sketches, and collected after 

I in a book, they met with decided success. 

I observed that this charming work was not altogether healthy. 
There was a feverish intensity, and an inclination to assertions not 
altogether in harmony with the otherwise graceful qualities. , The 
grievous discovery came to me that my little friend was a furious 
reformer from an agnostic standpoint. That is, one who, while 


confessmg to the fact that he ]cnow8 nothing, assumes to know all, 
and looks down upon a religious believer with a supercilious com- 
miseration that is simply exasperating. Your agnostic of to-day 
is the infidel of yesterday, somewhat refined in manner, but not 
improved at all m matter. He has added nothing to our limited 
stock of knowledge, nor gained a particle of superior information 
— a state he confesses in the name assumed. He is the dude in 
science, and seeks to hide under an air of indifference the coarse 
bigotry of his predecessor, the infidel. The old style sceptic was 
loud in his denunciation of a believer in divine truth as a fool — 
your agnostic contents himself with pity for the idiot. 

It is a popular delusion that a betterment of our condition on 
earth is to be attained in an enlargement of our intellect. Yet, 
why a boy taught to spell " baker " will be less liable, when half 
starved, to steal a loaf of bread, is a problem not yet solved. The 
orthography is excellent, but the hunger remains. 

This holds good in the man brought up on books that contain 
the wisdom of ages. The evil impulses implanted in our nature 
are not lessened by such knowledge. On the contrary it stimu- 
lates,iand renders more uncontrollable the evil, selfish nature in 
us, for imagination enters to make the beastly passions more at- 
tractive. Our first parents were eating of the tree of knowledge 
when they fell. It is on this account that the more refined a peo- 
ple become, the more dissolute they are, unless restrained by 

In no instance is the oft quoted line of '' A little learning is a 
dangerous thing " as applicable as in this. And it is the more 
fatal because of our inability to have greater learning. To look 
at man, we may pride ourselves upon his intellect, so much above 
the lower animals, but as compared to the endless universe, of 
which he is less than an atom, pride disappears, and the humility, 
spoken of by our Saviour, takes possession. 

We know nothing of creation about us, we know nothing 
about ourselves. We gaze in on that part of us that thinks, 
wills, and remembers, called mind by scientists and soul by theo- 
logians, and are amazed to find that we know as little of that, as 
of the material world about us, that we look on and study. 

The thought of endless space, or of eternity, threaten insanity, 
and if we turn from these to more familiar things about us, even 
the blade of grass beneath our feet is a puzzling mystery. We 
have stumbled blindly upon the effects of certain laws and 
proudly claim to know them. And these are all material. The 
spiritual life that we feel, and recognize, indeed know as well as 
the natural, and laws of the material is in fact a sealed book. All 
human knowledge can be summed up in a sentence. When a 
thing happens once, we call it a phenomenon ; when it occurs 



twice we term it a coincidence ; wlien it comes a third time we 
entitle it a law, and give it a name. That is all. The familiarity 
that breeds contempt, also breeds confidence. Thus run a man 
too near the phonograph but once, without a supposed explanation, 

I that does not explain, he would go to his grave believing it to 

have been a supernatural event and is it not ? The shrewd inven- 
tor cannot assure us through any information that he possesses, 
that every sound caught up and held for reproduction a century 
hence, is not a special manifestation of God. He will sadly 
shake his head and say, ^' I only make the instrument, I cannot 

I tell you what it is." 

I The man who orders a consignment of soap and candles, 

through the telegraph, would consider one a crank who would 
j stop him in his busy little life, to say, that he had witnessed in 

I his order for soap and candles, a work of God as wonderful as 

I the creation of a world. Yet one is as much a mystery as the other. 

Hence it is that all the great inventions, that have so benefited 
the human family, and upon which we so pride ourselves, were 
• c . made by ignorant men. Poor little creatures; we, in our brief 
space of existence, are as ridiculous as the monkeys Darwia told . 
us we came from, and the most ridiculous is the old scientific ape, 
who solemnly seeks to measure God's universe with a packthread. 
We paddle about in the shallow waters of reason, until we sud- 
denly plunge into fathomless depths to perish. 

Admitting, however, that it is well to be wise in the knowledge 
offered us from the garnered storage of six thousand years of 
little mysteries, what is there in such information to control our 
passions, weaken our appetites, or make us kinder to each other? 
Tliese are results, that in religion you jump on so savagely, and 
cry, ** But your religion is superstition, a dream. It has no war- 
rant in reason, no support in history. It is puerile, childish, and 
ridiculous." Well, this last may be true — recognizing how absurd 
I am, I am prepared to believe all my belongings are of the 
same sort — as for the so-called reason and the dull picture of 
history, I do not consider them. 

From whence my religion came, and how, and whether sensi- 
ble or not — I only know that it is here, and that it is true. The 
sense of dependence, the longing for aid, the hope of something 
yet to come, purer and better, are born in us. The recognition of 
God is a part of humanity. The poor ignorant savage hears His 
awful voice in the thunder, as positively as does the bald-headed 
old ape of an agnostic who prates about " evolution " and " the 
survival of the most fit." But it is the Christ that is in us which 
is making Christianity conquer the world, and gives my church its 

The learning of the world is naught in the way of advance- 


ment. It will not lift one a hair^s breadth from the evils of our 
life, bat it is capable of harm. When one turns from the religion 
of Christ to he guided only by the so-called learni^g^ one lets go/. ,, 
of the only hold on a better life, and deteriorates rapidly. The 
book before me illustrates this painfully. I read with amazement, 
not to say grief, the work, in which no trace either of the delicate 
fancy, the magical touch and real genius that made ^^ The Lady 
of file Club," the " Time-lock of our Ancestors," and other 
sketches by the same author, so fascinating. 

It is a fierce plunge into the horrible. It has not even the 
redemption found in the truth. The story turns on an impossible 
crime. I say impossible, for admitting such a cruel wrong as that 
told could be done by a man, it becomes simply horribly impossible 
in its being done with the knowledge and almost in the presence 
of the son. A man may be capable of crime of the most awful 
sort, but bad as he is, he will shrink from making his own child 
a participant in the sin. Said the late Richard Merrick, of 
Washington, after a successful defence of John Surratt : ^< I know 
that Mrs. Surratt was innocent of any participation in the assassi- 
nation of President Lincoln, for she would have known that her 
son was one of the assassins. No mother, however criminal, 
could be such in common with her son." While upon the 
bench I granted a divorce to every wife asking it, for her appear- 
ance in court, as a rule, proved her incapable of being a wife, 
and I invariably gave the custody of the children to the mother. 
She might be a bad wife and yet a good mother. At least she 
is the only mother the child can have. 

Again, the story is untrue, for the author, as a reformer, 
attempts to show the evils of superstition, which she calls reli- 
gion, and, therefore, deals with a class. Now it may be that one 
deacon of a church may commit a horrible crime, not because he 
is a deacon, but because he is a bad man ; but we shrink from 
the assertion that all deacons are criminals, because they are 

The saddest part of it all, in reading this dreadful book, is that 
one is impressed with the belief that it is written by a good 
woman. It is an earnest, pathetic appeal in behalf of the weak 
and innocent, against the injustice of social law and the cruel 
despotism of public opinion. But all indignation at wrong is 
lost in the horrible presentation of the wrong itself. 

Women make bad reformers, because of their emotional nature 
and the courage of their convictions, that renders them bigots. 
Like all non-combatants they are full of fight, and brook no 
opposition. Shielded through life from man's contentions, they 
are bold because of inexperience. In the fierce struggle of life's 
arena, a man learns that blows are to be received, as well as 




given, and he grows cautious, and cunning of force. Shielded 
in the home from the cradle to the coffin, by fathers, brothers, 
sons, and husbands, 'the would-be femalcL^reformer is of the 
sort told of by the poet, " He laughs at wounds who never felt 
afiiar." These feminine hot-gospelers will not seek to please, 
or waste time in attempts at persuasion. In the presence of 
such, we have to choose between being choked to death by pep- 
pered truths being crowded down our throats, or have bayonets 
run through our miserable bodies. 

This is written more in sorrow than in anger, and with the 
hope that the ill-success of this terrible book will induce 
the gifted Gardener to leave the deodorizing of social cesspools 
through literary efforts to the male Tolstoi's, and give us, as she 
can, sweet, pure, touching stories of human life. 

DoNN Piatt. 



The novel with a purpose and its portrayal upon the stage are 
the mightiest implements of advanced thought, and are destined 
to become the most effective methods of modern reform. Uncle 
Torres Cabin against slavery. Under which Lord against eccle- 
siasticism, Mobert Elsmere against orthodoxy, are now joined by 
la This Ymir Son^ ray Lord? against false sexual ethics and the 
vagaries of those " who are thorough believers in religion and 
who do not know the meaning of morality." 

The faults of this latest purposeful novel are those incident to 
its class, and are due to the difficulty of presenting instruction 
without lugging it in and of intensifying peculiarities without 
caricature. But the authoress has shown much skill in avoiding 
these defects ; and, if some prominent features may be said to be 
unusual, it cannot be denied that they represent true phases of 
character. Such literary faults have been proved to be effective 
for reform, and are hallowed by the practice of Charles Dickens. 
The instructive conversations seldom drag ; and the love episode 
and closing tragedy furnish a sensational coating for the didactic 

Those will be disappointed who desire to have the eesthetic 
sense entertained with minute descriptions of nature's aspects 
and performances, for this is not an attempt at fine writing, but 
the result of a tremendously earnest impulse to give to the 
world, by plain words and impressive facts, a denunciation of 
shams and oppressions. It is so well written that one does not 
notice the style. No modem novel surpasses it in the art of 
saying what it has to say without attracting attention to the way 


in which it is said. It is a book in which every word means 
something. No pads or improvers distort the natm'al form of 
expression into fashionable literary shape. 

The merit of the book, above all else, is its absolute frankness ; 
the plain spoken declaration of what every one thinks about and 
nobody speaks of. It is the one honest book of the day that 
does not attempt to curry favor^ offers no apologies to respect- 
able error, advances its opinions squarely and takes its stand ^^ 
footed for needed reforms. The sympathetic reader is so im- 
pressed by this element of heroic candor and common sense 
treatment of current habits of life and thought that he finds the 
popular terms of the day best suited to its praise. 

The main facts of the story can be verified by every man who 
knows modern society ; and its most startling incidents can be 
paralleled from his own observation or information. Its lessons 
are intelligible and cannot be gainsaid. The chief teaching is, — 
that morality has but one standard, irrespective of sex ; that what 
is wrong for woman is wrong for man and that what is right for 
man is right for woman. It aims to show that the maintenance 
of a separate code of morals for woman is a survival of man's 
tyranny over the weaker sex, and that legal disabilities imposed 
upon the wife and lawful mother are tokens of slavery. A second 
and scarcely less prominent motive is to protest against the dis- 
honesty of the " new theology." Recognizing the fact that 
modern science has disproved all the dogmas' which distinguish ^ 

Christianity from Natural Religion, it heaps merited scorn upon 
those who, by giving new meanings to old words, seek to pre- 
serve the temporal advantages of a faith wounded unto death. It 
rightly points out the moral injury caused by the " reconcilers " 
and " trimmers " who, by example, inculcate insincerity and sub- 
terfuge, and thus hinder the progress of Naturalism. 

RoBEBT C. Adams. 


i A DISCIPLE The hunger for truth ; the quenchless desire to 

I obtain knowledge, to catch and interrogate the vague 

I OF phantoms of facts which float but dimly before the intel- 

lectual vision; to satisfy the deathless craving of the soul; 
SCIENCE, to know the mysteries of Nature, — such are the innate 
longings which fill the soul and fire the brain of earth^s 
great prophets and pioneers in science. The recluse of the Middle Ages, 
who abandoned the frivolity of life and withdrew into the wilderness, hop- 
ing by a life of deprivation to insure eternal bliss, was not the lofty soul 
he has been painted. His promptings were selfish; his course that of a 
coward. In bold antithesis stand the lives of two great modem disciples 
of science, Charles Darwin and Alfred Russell Wallace, who renounced 
the comforts of home life, the companionship of congenial spirits, the 
pleasures of social life, the acquirement of wealth, and the pursuit of 
popularity and contemporaneous renown, for years of privation *neath the 
burning suns of the torrid zone, that they might happily demonstrate a 
truth which they suspected, though well they knew that its demonstra- 
tion would cover them for a time with obloquy; that ridicule, misrepre- 
sentation, calumny, and social ostracism would follow them if they 
succeeded in proving the great theory of evolution, of which Buffon, St. 
Hilaire and Erasmus Darwin had caught vague glimpses, and which 
Lamarck had foreshadowed, but which was so foreign to the accepted 
views of the religious and intellectual conservatism of the age as to 
' necessarily encounter furious opposition, and the scornful contempt or 

fierce anathemas of those leaders to whom the masses look for a cue. 
Yet fronting the severe privations and well known perils on the one 
hand, and expecting the common fate of truths, prophets, pioneers, and 
torchbearers, they went forth, led only by a great yearning to demonstrate 
a new truth, desiring only the supreme satisfaction of having helped the 
world to a broader vision by contributing to its store of scientific knowl- 
edge. Of the life of Charles Darwin, so long sneered at by the religious 
and fashionable world, but now justly revered by the scholarship of 
Christendom, it is not our purpose to write at the present time. It is 
well known, and gains in glory as, step by step, the intellectual world 
rises to the acceptation of the truths he presented. That of his friend 
and co-laborer. Dr. Wallace, though not so well known, because he i.s 
still with us, and because he has ever sought to hold the truth between 
himself and the world, is rich in interest and instruction. Bom in Usk, 
in Monmouthshire, on the eighth of January, 1822, he early evinced a 
passion for everything relating to natural history. Aside from his gen- 
eral education, he received special education in architecture and survey- 



!ng, as ft was deemed advisable for him to follow one of these pursuits. 
His soul, however, was not in his studies ; as the needle to the pole, so 
his heart turned to Nature. Her storehouse of hidden wealth, her mys- 
teries treasured since creation's dawn, her sphinx face cast over him an 
irresistible spell. At her feet he bowed. To gain from her clues and 
hints which might flood light on the great question of the ages, was 
henceforth to be his mission. In 1845, he discarded his special studies, 
and gave himself entirely to tlie investigation of natural history. In 
1848, we find him patiently, tirelessly, earnestly searching for new light 
in the multitudinous forms of life on the banks of the Amazon and 
Negro rivers, an adventure abounding in great peril, and offering no in- 
ducements which to the ordinary mind would compensate for its 
hardships, to say nothing of its dangers. Here we find him studying 
the mysteries of life. The torrid sun beats upon his head. Fever 
threatens him. Serpents, vipers, scorpions, venomous insects, and 
reptiles seem omnipresentb The flora is charged with poison. Every 
step taken is fraught with perils. He wavers not. For four years 
we find this disciple of science dwelling among the Indian 
tribes of South America, haunting the banks of the rivers, wandering 
through forest and jungle, collecting specimens of vegetable and animal 
life which promised to throw light on the great problem he was unrav- 
elling. This rare collection was almost entirely lost at sea. In 1852, he 
returned to England and published his " Travels on the Amazon and 
Negro Rivers.** This work was followed by a scientific treatise entitled 
** Palm Trees of the Amazon and their Uses." Not satisfied with his 
investigations he embarked for the Malay Archipelago, where he spent 
eight years of persistent tolL It was during this time that Charles 
Darwin was industriously pursuing the same object in foreign lands. 
Unknown to each other, these great workers were patiently collecting 
data, and making observations of inestimable value to science, and 
against which the missiles of their antagonists were to fall powerless. 
In 1858, Mr. Wallace embodied the result of his investigation with his 
deductions in a comprehensive essay on ** The Tendency of Varieties to 
depart from their Original Type." This paper was forwarded to Sir 
Charles Lyell to be read before the Linnean Society in July, 1858. At 
the same meeting was read Mr. Darwin's paper on ^* The Tendency of 
Species to Form Varieties." This is one of the most remarkable coinci- 
dences in the history of scientific thought. Two thinkers patiently labor- 
ing amid the fertile and fruitful regions of the earth, widely removed 
from each other, arrive at the same conclusion, forward their views, which 
are simultaneously read at the annual meeting of a scientific society of 
which they are members. In the history of invention these coincidences 
have been very frequent. In scientific discoveries they have not been 
rare, but I know of no other instance so striking as the above. 

On his return from the Malay Archipelago, in 1862, Mr. Wallace 
brought with him more than eight thousand birds, and over one hun- 




dred thousand etymological specimens, the classifying and arranging of 
which occupied much of his attention for several years. In 1860, he 
published in two volumes his remarkable scientific work, *' The Malay 
Archipelago.*' A year later his ** Contributions to the Theory of 
Natural Selection," appeared. This was followed by ** Geographical 
Distribution of Animals," published in 1876. " Tropical Nature," 1887, 
*' Island Life," 1880, and «' Land Nationalization," in»1882. But his 
most recent effort entitled *' Darwinism," published in 1889, is unques- 
tionably destined to be his most popular scientific contribution, as here, 
in the compass of something less than five hundred pages, he outlines 
the theory of evolution w^ith such force and clearness as to be readily 
grasped by the popular mind, and while at all times strictly scientific, 
it abounds in striking illustrations which add to its interest and serve 
to emphasize the more abstract thoughts. Unlike many scientists whose 
lives seem to have been absorbed in a special branch of scientific in- 
vestigation, Dr. Wallace has taken a keen interest in social problems. All 
questions affecting the welfare of the people have challenged his earnest 
consideration, and though I cannot agree with many of his views as to 
the best measures for remedying our present social ills, I recognize in 
them the single desire to elevate and ennoble humanity, to increase the 
happiness and minify the poverty and misery of the masses, which is, of 
course, the aim of all true philanthropists and humanitarians. In regard 
to another life Dr. Wallace holds decided views. With the commendable 
spirit of a true scientist, he has exhaustively investigated the remarkable 
psychic phenomena which the past fifty years have witnessed. In this 
respect, his course is in bold contrast with tliat of Professor Huxley, 
whom Dr. Wallace vainly sought to deeply interest in these questions, 
but who chose to dismiss the whole subject as unworthy of his time, and 
who since has volunteered an explanation of some of the phenomena, 
which, to every psychic investigator, is at once as ridiculously absurd as 
his attitude toward psychical investigation has been unscientific. Dr. 
Wallace believes most profoundly in another life. To him this brief span 
is merely the prelude to a life of eternal progress. In a noteworthy 
address delivered in 1887, he describes what, in his opinion, would result 
in the event of materialism being universally accepted by humanity. 

** If all men without exception ever come to believe that there is no 
life beyond this, if children are all brought up to believe that the only 
happiness they can ever enjoy will be upon this earth, then it seems to 
me that the condition of man would be altogether hopeless, because 
there would cease to be any adequate motive for justice, for truth, for 
unselfishness, and no sufilcient reason could be given to the poor man, 
to the bad man, or to the selfish man, why he should not systematically 
seek his own personal welfare at the cost of others. 

** The well-being of tho race in the distant future, set before us by some 
philosophers, would not certainly influence the majority of men, more 
especially as the universal teaching of science is, that the entire race, 
with the world it inhabits, must sooner or later co^ne to an end. The 
greatest good to the greatest number, that noble ideal of many philoso- 
phers, would never be admitted as a motive for action by those who are 


seeking their own personal welfare. The scoffing question, What has 
posterity done for us ? which inlluences many men even now, would 
then he thought to justify universal self seeking, utterly regardless of 
what might happen to those who come afterwards. Even now, notwith- 
standing the hereditary influences, the religious helief, and religious 
training in which our characters have been molded, selfishness is far too 
prevalent. When these influences cease altogether, when under total 
incredulity, and with no influences whatever, leading men to self-devel- 
opment as a means of permanent happiness, the inevitable result will be 
that might alone would constitute right, that the weakest would always 
and inevitably go to the wall, and that the unbridled passions of the 
strongest and most selfish men would dominate the world. Such a 
hell upon earth as would thus be brought about, will happily never 
exist, because it would be founded upon a falsehood, and because there 
are causes now at work which forbid the disbelief in man's spiritual 
nature and his continued existence after death.'' 

In '* Darwinism " Dr. Wallace boldly takes issue with the material- 
istic thinkers among his brother evolutionists. So important is his 
position, and so ably arer his views set forth, that I quote at length from 
the last chapter of the above work, from which it will be observed that 
he claims the assumption of the materialistic hypothesis more untenable 
and unworthy of acceptation by scientists, than the higher view of 
creation which maintains that around the physical world is a spiritual 
universe, ever acting on matter in conformity with the laws of life. 

'* The special faculties we have been discussing, clearly point to the 
existence in man of something which he has not derived from his 
animal progenitors — something which we may best refer to as being of 
a spiritual essence or nature, capable of progressive development under 
favorable conditions. On the hypothesis of this spiritual nature, super- 
added to the animal nature of man, we are able to understand much 
that is otherwise mysterious, or unintelligible, in regard to him, espe- 
ciallv the enormous influence of ideas, principles, and beliefs, over his 
whole life and actions. Thus alone we can understand the constancy of 
the martyr, the unselfishness of the philanthropist, the devotion of the 
patriot, the enthusiasm of the artist, and the resolute and perseveHng 
search of the scientific worker after Nature's secrets. Thus we may 
perceive that the love of truth, the delight in beauty, the passion for 
justice, and the thrill of exultation with which we hear of any act of 
courageous self-sacrifice, are the workings within us of a higher nature, 
which has not been developed by means of the struggle for material 

" It will, no doubt, be urged that the admitted continuity of man's 
progress from the brute does not admit of the introduction of new 
causes, and that we have no evidence of the sudden change of nature 
which such introduction would bring about The fallacy as to new 
causes involving any breach of continuity, or any sudden or abrupt 
change, in the effects, has already been shown; but we will further 
point out that there are at least three stages in the development of the 
organic world, when some new cause or power must necessarily have 
come into action. ' 

*^ The first stage is the change from the inorganic to organic, when 
the earliest vegetable cell, or the living protoplasm out of which it 
arose, first appeared. This is often imputed to a mere Increase of 
complexity of chemical compounds; but increase of complexity with 
consequent instability, even if we admit that it may have produced 

254 THE AB£NA. 

protoplasm as a chemical compound, could certainly not have produced 
living protoplasm — protoplasm which has the power of growth and of 
reproduction, and of that continuous process of development which hajs 
resulted in the marvellous variety and complex organization of the 
whole vegetable kingdom. There is in all this, something quite beyond 
and apart from chemical changes, however complex ; and it has been well 
said that the first vegetable cell was a new thing in the world, possessing 
altogether new powers — that of extracting and fixing carbon from the 
carbon dioxide of the atmosphere, that of indefinite reproduction, and, 
still more marvellous, the power of variation, and of reproducing those 
variations till endless complications of structure and varieties of form 
have been tlie result. Here, then, we have indications of a new power 
at work, which we may term vitality, since it gives to certain forms of 
matter all those characters and properties which constitute life. 

^'The next stage is still more marvellous, still more completely beyond 
aU possibility of explanation by matter, its laws and forces. It is the 
introduction of sensation, or consciousness, constituting the fundamental 
distinction between the animal and vegetable kingdoms. Here all idea 
of mere complication of structure producing the result is out of the 
question^ We feel it to be altogether preposterous to assume that at a 
certain stage of complexity of atomic constitution, aud as a necessary 
result of that complexity alone, an ego should start into existence, a 
thing that feels, that is conscious of its own existence. Here we 
have the certainty that something new has ariseik, a bein^ whose 
nascent consciousness has gone on increasing in power and dehniteness 
till it has culminated in the higher animals. No verbal explanation, or 
attempt at explanation — such as the statement that life is the result of 
the molecular forces of the protoplasm, or that the whole existing 
organic universe from the amseba up to man was latent in the fire-mist 
from which the solar system was developed — can afford any mental 
satisfaction, or help us in any way to a solution of the mystery. 

*^ The third stage is, as we have seen, the existence in man of a number 
of his most characteristic and noblest faculties, those which raise him 
farthest above the brutes, and open up possibilities of almost indefinite 
advancement. These faculties could not possibly have been developed 
by means of the same laws which have determined the progressive 
development of the organic world in general, and also of man^s physical 
organism. These three distinct stages of progress from the inorganic 
world of matter and motion up to man, point clearly to an unseen 
universe — to a world of spirit, to which the world of matter is alto- 
gether subordinate. 

**To this spiritual world we may refer the marvellously complex forces 
which we know as gravitation, cohesion, chemical force, radiant force, 
and electricity, without which the material universe could not exist for 
a moment in its present form, and perhaps not at all, since without these 
forces, and perhaps others which may be termed atomic, it is doubtful 
whether matter itself could have any existence. And still more surely 
can we refer to it, those progressive manifestations of Life in the vege- 
table, the animal, and man — which we may classify as unconscious, con- 
scious, and intellectual life, and which probably depends upon different 
degrees of spiritual influx. I have already shown that this involves no 
necessary infraction of the law of continuity in physical or mental evo- 
lution ; whence it follows that any difficulty we may find in discriminat- 
ing the inorganic from the organic, tlie lower vegetable from the lower 
animal organisms, or the higher animals from the lowest types of man, 
has no bearing at all upon the question. This is to be decided by show- 
ing that a change in essential nature [due, probably, to causes of a 
higher order than those of the material universe] took place at the sev- 


era! stages of progress which I have indicated ; a change which may be 
none the less resJ because absolutely imperceptible at its point of origin, 
as is tlie change that takes place in the curve in which a body ds moving 
when the appScation of some new force causes the curve to be slightly 
altered. Those who admit my interpretation of the evidence now 
adduced — strictly scientific evidence in its appeal to facts, which are 
clearly what ought not to be on the materialistic theory — will be able 
to accept the spiritual nature of man, as not in any way inconsistent 
with the theory of evolution, but as dependent on those fundamental 
laws and causes, which furnish the very materials for evolution to work 
with. They will also be relieved from the crushing mental burden im- 
posed upon those who — maintaining that we, in common with the rest 
of Nature, are but products of the blind eternal forces of the universe, and 
believing also that the time must come when the sun will lose his heat, 
and all Ufe on the earth necessarily cease — have to contemplate a not 
very distant future in which all this glorious earth which for untold mil- 
lions of years has been slowly developing forms of life and beauty, to 
culminate at last in man, shall be as if it had never existed ; who are 
compelled to suppose that all the slow growths of our race struggling 
towards a higher life, all the agony of martyrs, all the groans of victims, 
all the evil and misery and undeserved suffering of the ages, all the 
struggles for freedom, all the efforts towards justice, all the aspirations 
for virtue and the well-being of humanity, shall absolutely vanish, and, 
^like the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a wrack behind.' 

^^ As contrasted with this hopeless and soul-deadening belief, we, who 
accept the existence of a spiritual world, can look upon the universe as 
a grand consistent whole, adapted In all its parts to the development of 
spiritual beings, capable of indefinite life and perfectibility. To us, 
the whole purpose, the only raiaon d'etre of the world — with all its 
complexities of physical structure, with its grand geological progress, 
the slow evolution of the vegetable and animal kingdoms, and the n\ti- 
mate appearance of man — was the development of the human spirit in 
association with the human body. From the fact that the spirit of man 
— the man himself — is so developed, we may well believe that this is 
the only, or at least the best way for its development ; and we may even 
see in what is usually termed * evil' on tlie earth, one of the most effi- 
cient means of its growth. For we know that the noblest faculties of 
man are strengthened and perfected by struggle and effort ; it Is by un- 
ceasing warfare against physical evils, and in the midst of difficulty and 
danger that energy, courage, self-reliance, and industry have become^ the 
common qualities of the northern races ; it is by the battle with moral 
evil in all its hydra-headed forms, that the still nobler qualities of justice, 
and mercy, and humanity, and self-sacrifice have been steadily increasing 
in the world. Beings thus trained and strengthened by their surround- 
ings, and possessing latent faculties capable of such noble development, 
are surely destined for a higher and more permanent existence ; and we 
may confidently believe with our greatest living poet — 

That life is not as idle ore, 
Bat iron dug from central f^loom, 
And heated hot with burning fears, 
And dipt in batlis of bisRing tears, 
And batter'd with the shocks of doom 
To shape and use.' 

"We thus find that the Darwinian theory, even when carried out to its 
extreme logical conclusion, not only does not oppose,but lends a decided 
support, to a belief in the spiritual nature of man. It shows us how 
man's body may have been developed from that of a lower animal form 
under the law of natural selection ; but it also teaches us, that we pos- 


sess intellectual and moral faculties, which could not have been so de* 
veloped, but must liave had another orijjin ; and for this origin we can 
only find an adequate cause in the unseen universe of Spirit." 

Such is the profound conviction of one of the foremost living natural- 
ists ; a man whose life has been devoted to the investigation, demonstra- 
tion, and elucidation of truth on a strictly scientific basis. It is seldom 
we meet with a scientist who has thought deeply along so many channels, 
and what is perhaps still more remarkable, the three subjects to which 
he has given his profoundest thought, — evolution, psychic and spiritual 
research, and the social and industrial problems, are the three themes 
which are challenging the best thought of our age to-day. 


No. XV. 

FEBRUARY, 1891. 




The theories which have been suggested by the more 
prominent members of the Society fbr Psychical Research in. 
order to explain the phenomena of phantasms or apparitions 
of various kinds, are all founded on telepathy, or thought- 
transference, the facts of which have been demonstrated by 
a long series of experiments. It is found that many persons 
are more or less sensitive to the thoughts or will-powers of 
others, and are able to reproduce, more or less closely, any 
definite mental images sought to be conveyed to them. It 
is urged that those who experience phantasmal sights or 
sounds are a kind of thought-readers, and are so powerfully 
affected by the thoughts of friends who are in certain excita- 
ble mental states or physical crises, especially at periods of 
imminent danger or when at the point of death, as to exter- 
nalize those thoughts in visual. or auditory hallhcinations 
either in the waking state or as unusually vivid dreams. 

This telepathic theory is held to receive strong support, and 
in fact to be almost proved, by the curious phenomena of 
the doubles, or phant^wras, of living persons being seen by 
certain sensitive friends, when those persons strongly will 
that they shall be so seen. Such are the cases of a friend 
appearing to Mr. Stainton Moses at a time when this friend 
had fixed his thoughts upon him before going to bed ; and 
those of Mr. B who several times appeared in the night to 

Copyright 1890, by The Arena Publishing Co. 267 


two ladie§, on occasions when he went to sleep with the ex- 
press wish and intention of appearing to them.* There are, 
however, difficulties in these cases. The supposed agent 
does not usually decide exactly how he will appear or what 

he will do. In one case Mr. B appeared, not to the ladies 

he was thinking of, but a married sister, hardly known to 
him, who happened to be occupying their room. This lady 
saw the phantasm in the passage, going from one room to 
the other, at a time when the agent wished to be in the 
house ; and again, the same night, at a time when he wished 
to be in the front bedroom, and on this occasion the phan- 
tasm came to her bedside and took hold of her hair, and 
then of her hand, gazing intently into it. Now it is an as- 
sumption hardly warranted by the facts, that the mere wisli 
or determination to be in a certain part of a house at a cer^ 
tain time could cause a phantasm to appear to a person who 
happened unexpectedly to be there, and cause that phantasm 
to perform, or appear to perform, certain actis which do not 
appear to have been willed by the supposed agent. This is 
certainly not telepathy in the usually accepted sense ; it is 
not the transference of a thought to an individual, but the 
production of what seems to be an objective phantasm in a 
definite locality. It is altogether inconceivable, that a mere 
i wish could produce such a phantasm, unless, indeed, we sujj- 

I pose the spirit of the sleeper to leave the body in order to go 

to the desired place, and that it possesses the power to render 
itself visible to anyone who happens to be there. Let us then 
see whether there are any other facts concerning doubles 
which may throw some light on this question. 

Mr. Fryer, of Bath, England, heard his name distinctly 
called in the voice of a brother who had been some days 
absent from home. At the same moment, as near as could 
be ascertained, tlie brother missed his footing and fell on a 
railway platform, calling out his brother's name as he fell.f 
Similar in character is the case of Mrs. Severn, who, while in 
bed one morning, felt a violent blow on her lip so real that 
she put her handkerchief to it, expecting to find it bleeding. 
At tlie same time Mr. Severn, caught by a squall in a boat, 
reneived a violent blow on the same part of his mouth from 
tlio tiller. In the first case, Mr. Fryer's brother had no con- 

* PhaiitaHmR of the Living, Vol. I., pp. 103-108. 
t Proc. See. Pa. Bea., Vol. I., p. 134. 


sclous wish to be heard by him; and in the other case, Jlr. 
Severn certainly did not wish his wife to feel the blow, but, 
on the contrary, was extremely anxious to conceal from her 
that he had had a blow at all.* In both these cases, if the 
supposed agents had anything to do with the actual produc- 
tion of. the phantasmal voice and sensation, it was by some 
unconscious or automatic process. But the experimental evi- 
dence for telepathy shows it to be produced by the conscious 
and active will-power of the agent or agents, and would 
therefore prove, if anything, that in both these cases there was 
some third party who was really the agent in willing and pro- 
ducing the telepathic effect. This is rendered still more 
probable by other cases of "doubles" and of warnings, of 
which the following is one of the most remarkable. 

Mr. Algernon Joy, an engineer employed on the Penarth 
Docks, at Cardiff^ South Wales, was walking in a country 
lane near the town, absorbed in a calculation connected with 
the Docks, when he was attacked and knocked down by two 
young colliers. His thoughts were then immediately directed 
to the possible cause of the attack, to the possibility of iden- 
tifying the men, and to informing the police. He is positive 
that for about half an hour previous to the attack and for an 
hour or two after it, there was no connection whatever, direct 
or indirect, between his thoughts and a friend in London. 
Yet at almost the precise moment of the assault, this friend 
recognized mr. Joy's footstep in the street, behind him, then 
turned and saw Mr. Joy "as distinctly as ever he saw him in 
his life," saw he looked distressed, asked what was the matter, 
and received the answer, "Go home, old fellow, I've been hurt." 
All this was communicated in a letter from the friend which 
crossed one from Mr. Joy, giving an account of the accident.f 
In this case, whether the " double " was an audible and visual 
veridical hallucination, or an objective phantasm, it could not 
have been produced without some adequate cause. To assert 
that Mr. Joy was himself the unconscious cause cannot be 
looked upon as an explanation, or as in any way helping us 
to a comprehension of how such things can happen. We impera- 
tively need a producing agent, some intellectual being having 
lx)th the will and the power to produce such a veridical 

• Proc. Sor. Pa. Res., Vol. VI., p. 128. 

t Phautasins of the Living, Vol. II., p. 524. 


The next case still more clearly demands an agent other 
than that of any of the parties immediately concerned. Mr. 
F. Morgan, of Bristol, a young man who lived with his 
mother, was attending a lecture in which he was much inter- 
ested. On entering the lecture room he saw a friend, with 
whom Jie determined to walk home after the lecture. About 
the middle of the lecture he noticed a door at the side of the 
platform farthest from the entrance to the hall, and he sud- 
denly, without knowing why, got up and walked half the 
length of the hall to see if the door would open. He turned 
the handle, entered, and closed the door behind him, finding 
himself in the dark under the platform. Noticing a glim- 
mer of light he went towards it, got into a passage which led 
again into the hall, the end of which he crossed to the en- 
trance door, without any thought of the lecture which was 
still going on, or of the friend with whon\ he had meant to 
return, and then walked home quietly, without any excite- 
ment or impression of any kind, and quite unconscious till 
long after that he had done anything unusual. When he 
got home, however, he found that the house next to his was 
on fire and his mother in great alarm. He instantly removed 
his mother to a place of safety, and then had two or three 
hours' struggle with the flames. The adjoining house was 
burnt down, and his own was in great danger, and was slightly 
damaged. , 

Mr. Morg*<in states that his character is such that had he 
felt any impression that there was a fire, or that his mother 
was in danger, he should probably have shaken it off as mere, 
fancy and refused to obey it. His mother simply wished for 
his presence, but exerted no will-power towards him. What 
agency, then, was it that acted upon his mental organization, 
at first apparently through simple curiosity, in such a strange 
yet effectual way, bringing him home so promptly, and yet 
without his feeling that he was in any way being influenced 
or guided in his actions, which seemed to himself to be per- 
fectly voluntary and normal ? We cannot avoid seeing in this 
cfise the continuous exercise of some mental influence, guided 
by accurate knowledge of the character of the individual and 
of his special surroundings at the moment, and directed with 
such care and judgment as to avoid exciting in him that 
antagonism which would have been fatal to the object aimed 
at. We see then that, even confining ourselves to undoubted 


phantasms of the living, or to impressions not connected with 
death, the facts are totally inexplicable on any theory of telep- 
athy between living persons, but clearly point to the agency 
of preter-human intelligences — in other words, of spirits. 
The prejudice against such a conception is enormous, but the 
work of the Psychical Research Society has, it is to be hoped, 
somewhat undermined it. They have established, beyond 
further dispute for all who study the evidence, that veridical 
phantasms of the dead do exist; and the evidence itself 
— not ignorant or even scientific prejudice — must decide 
whether these phantasms which, as we have seen in my last 
article, are often objective, are the work of men or of spirits. 
Before adducing further evidence on this point, it will be 
well to consider briefly, the extraordinary theory of the 
" second self " or " unconscious e^o," which is appealed to by 
many modem writers as a substitute for spirit agency when 
that of the normal human being is plainly inadequate. This 
theory is foimded on the phenomena of dreams, of clairvoy- 
ance, and of duplex personality, and has been elaborately 
expounded by Du Prel in two volumes 8vo, translated by 
Mr. C. C. Massey. As an example of the kind of facts this 
theory is held to explain, we may refer to the experiments of 
the Rev. P. H. Newnham and Mrs. Newnham with planchette. 

The experiments were conducted by Mrs. N sitting at a 

low table with her hand on the planchette, while Mr. H 

sat with his back towards her at another table eight feet dis- 
tant. Mr. N wrote questions on paper, and instantly, 

sometimes simultaneously, the planchette under Mrs. N 's 

hand wrote the answers. Experiments were carried on for 
eight months, during which time three hundred and nine 
questions and answers were recorded. All kinds of ques- 
tions were asked, and the answers were always pertinent to 
the questions though often evasions rather than direct answers. 
Great numbers of the answers did not correspond with the 

opinions or expectations of either Mr. or Mrs. N , and 

were sometimes beyond their knowledge. To convince an 

incredulous visitor, Mr. N went with him into the hall, 

where he, the visitor, wrote down the question, "What is 

the Christian name of my eldest sister ? " Mr. N saw the 

question but did not know the name, yet on returning to 
the study they found that planchette had already written 
" Mina," the family abbreviation of Wilhelmina, which was 


■( I 

f I 


the correct name. Mr. N is a Free Mason, and asked 

many questions as to the Masonic ritual of which Mrs. N 

knew nothing. The answers were. partly correct and partly- 
incorrect, sometimes quite original, as when a prayer used at 
the advancement of a Mark Master Mason was asked for, and 
a very admirable prayer instantly written out, using Masonic 

terms, but, Mr. N says, quite unlike the actual prayer 

he was thinking of, and also unlike any prayer used by 

Masons or known to Mr. N . It was in fact, as Mr. 

N says, "a formula composed by some intelligence 

totally distinct from the conscious intelligence of either of 
the persons engaged in the experiment." 

Now all this, and a great deal more equally remarkable, 
is imputed to the agency of Mrs. Newnham's " unconscious 
self," a second independent, intelligent personality of which 
Mrs. Newnham herself knows nothing except when it '' emer- 
ges " under special conditions, such as those here described. 
In the same way Du Prel explains all the phenomena of 
clairvoyance, of premonitions, of apparent possession, and of 
the innumerable cases in which sensitives exhibit knowledge 
of facts which in their normal state they do not possess, and 
have had no possible means of acquiring. 

But is this so-called explanation any real explanation, or 
anything more than a juggle of words which creates more 
difficulties than it solves? The conception of such a double 
personality in each of us, a second self which in most cases 
remains unknown to us all our lives, which is said to live an 
independent mental life, to have means of acquiring knowl- 
edge our normal self does not possess, to exhibit all the charac- 
teristics of a distinct individuality with a different character 
from our own is surely a conception more ponderously 
difficult, more truly supernatural than that of a spirit-world, 
composed of beings who have lived, and learned, and suffered 
on earth, and whose mental nature still subsists after its sep- 
aration from the earthly body. We shall find, too, that this 
latter theory explains ail the facts simply and directly, that 
it is in accordance with all the evidence, and that in an over- 
whelming majority of cases, it is the explanation given by 
the communicating intelligences themselves. On the "second 
self " theory, we have to suppose that this recondite but worser 
half of ourselves, while possessing some knowledge we have 
not, does not know that it is part of us, or if it knows, is a 


persistent liar, for in most cases it adopts a distinct name, 
and pei-sists in speaking of us, its better half, in the third 

But there is yet another, and I think a more fundamental 
objection to this view, in the impossibility of conceiving how, 
or why, this secondnself was developed in us under the law 
of survival of the fittest. The theory is upheld to avoid re- 
course to any " spiritual " explanation of phenomena, " spirit '* 
being the last thing our modern men of science " will give 
in to."* But if so — if there is no spiritual nature in man that 
survives the earthly body, if man is but a highly intellectual 
animal developed from a lower animal form under the law of 
the survival of the fittest, how did this " second-self,' ' this " un- 
conscious e^o," come into existence ? Have the moUusk and 
the reptile, the dog and the ape, " unconscious egos^ ? And if 
so, why ? And what use are they to these creatures, so that 
they might have been developed by means of the struggle for 
existence ? Darwin detected no sign of such " second-selves " 
either in animals or men ; and if they do not pertain to ani- 
mals but do pertain to men, then we are involved in the same 
difficulty that is so often urged against spiritualists, that we 
require some break in the law of continuous development, 
and some exertion of a higher power to create and bring into the 
human organism this strange and useless "unconscious «^o " 
— useless except to puzzle us with insoluble problems, and 
make our whole nature and existence seem more mysterious 
than ever. Of course this unconscious ego is supposed to die 
with the conscious man, for if not, we are introduced to a new 
and gratuitous difficulty, of the relation of these two intel- 
ligences and characters, distinct yet bound indissolubly to- 
gether, in the after life; 

Finding, therefore, that the theory of duplex personality 
creates more difficulties than it solves, while the facts it pro- 
poses to explain can be dealt with far more thoroughly on 
the spiritual hypothesis, let us pass on to consider the further 
evidence we possess for the agency of the spirits of the dead, 
or of some other preter-human intelligences. 

We will first consider the case of Mrs. Menneer, who 
dreamed twice the satne night, that she saw her headless brotlier 
standing at the foot of the bed with his head lying on a coffin 

. * This was Sir David Brewster's expression after witnessing Home '8 phe- 
nomena. See Home's " Incidents of my Life," Appendix, p. 245. 




I by his side. She did not at the time know where her bi other, 

I Mr. Wellington, was, except that he was abroad. He wa§, 

however, at Sarawak, with Sir James Brooke, and was killed 
(luring the Chinese insurrection there, in a brave attempt to 
defend Mrs. Middleton and her children. Being taken for 
the Rajah's son, his head was cut off and carried away in 
triumph, his body being burned with the Rajah's house. The 
date of the dream coincided approximately with that of the 
death.* Now in this case it is almost certain that the head 
was cut off after death, since these Chinese were not trained 
soldiers, but gold miners, who would strike, and stab, and cut 
with any weapons they possessed, but could certainly not kill 
a European on his defence by cutting off his head at a blow. 
The impression on the sister's brain must, therefore, have 
been made either by the dead brother, or by some other intel- 
ligence, probably the latter, as it was clearly a symbolic pic- 
ture, the head resting on the coffin showing that the head 
alone was recovered and buried. In a published letter of Sir 
James Brooke's he says — " Poor Wellington's remains were 
likewise consumed, his head borne off in triumph, alone attest- 
ing his previous murder." 

Another case recorded in the same volume, is still more 
clear against the theory of telepathy between living persons. 
Mrs. Storie, of Edinburgh, living at the time in Hobai*t Town, 
Tasmania, one night dreamed a strange, confused dream, like 
a series of dissolving views. She saw her twin brother sitting 
in the open air, in the moonlight, sideways, on a raised place. 
Then be lifted his arm saying, " The train^ the train T^ Some- 
thing struck him, he fell down fainting, a large dark object 
came by with a swish. Then she saw a railway compartment, 
in which sat a gentleman she knew. Rev. Mr. Johnstone, 
Then she saw her brother again. He put his right hand over 
his face as if in grief. Then a voice, not his voice, telling 
her he was going away. The same night her brother was 
killed by a train, having sat down to rest on the side of the 
track and fallen asleep. The details in the dream, of which 
the above is a bare abstract, were .almost exactly as in the 
event, and the Mr. Johnstone of the dream was in the train 
that killed her brother. Now this last mentioned fact could 
not have been known to the dead man during life, and the 

* Phantasms of the Living, Vol. I., p. 865. 

WHAT akp: phantasms? 205 

dream-picture of the event must, therefore, have been due to 
the telepathic power of the dead man, or of some spirit-friend 
acquainted with the facts, and wishing to give a proof of 

Take next the case of the Glasgow manufacturer settled in 
London, who dreams that one of his workmen in Glasgow, 
whom he had befriended as a lad, but with whom he had not 
had any direct relations for many years, comes to speak to him, 
begging him not to believe what he is accused of doing. On 
being asked what it is, he repeats three times, emphatically, 
" Ye'll sune ken." The dreamer also notices that the man 
has a remarkable appearance, bluish pale with great drops of 
sweat on his face. On awaking, his wife brings him a letter 
from his manager in Glasgow, telling him that this man, Robert 
Mackenzie, has committed suicide by drinking aqua fortis. 
The symptoms of poisoning by aquafortis are those observed 
in the dream figure.* Here the man had died two days be- 
fore the dream, which was just in time to correct the false im- 
pression of suicide that would have been produced by the 
letter. The whole of the features and details of the dream 
are such as could hardly have been due to any other agent 
than the dead workman himself, who was anxious that a mas- 
ter who had been kind to him when a lad, should not be led 
to credit the false accusation against him. 

Dreams giving the details of funerals at a distance are not 
uncommon. As an example we have one in which Mr. 
Stainton Moses was invited to the funeral of a friend in 
Lincolnshire, but could not go. About the time of the 
funeral, however, he fell into a trance, and appeared to be at the 
ceremony, and on again becoming conscious, wrote down all 
the details, describing the clergyman, who was not the one 
who had been expected to officiate, the churchyard, which 
was at a distance in Northamptonshire, with a particular tree 
near the grave. He then sent this description to a friend 
who had been present, and who wrote back in astonishment 
as to how he could have obtained the details, f This may be 
said to be mere clairvoyance ; but clairvoyance is a term that 
explains nothing, and is quite as mysterious and unintelli- 
gible if supposed to occur without the intervention of dis- 
embodied intelligences as if with their help. These cases 

•Proc. Soc. Ps. Res., Pt. VIII. pp. 95-98. 

t Harrison's " Spirits before our Eyes," p. 148. 

266 tHE AKENA. 

also merge into others which are of a symbolical nature, and 
which clairvoyance of actual scenes at a distance cannot 
explain. A well-attested case of this kind is the following : 

Philip Weld, a student at a Catholic College, was drowned 

in the river at Ware, Hertfordshire, in the year 1846. About 

' the same hour as the accident, the young man's father and 

' sister, while walking on the turnpike road near Southampton, 

saw him standing on the causeway with another young man 
I in a black robe. The sister said, " Look, papa, there is 

Philip." Mr. Weld replied, " It is Philip indeed, but he has 

the look of an angel." They went on to embrace him, but 

I before reaching him a laboring man seemed to walk through 

I the figures, and then with a smile both figures vanished. 

The President of the College, Dr. Cox, went immediately to 
Southampton, to break the sad news to the father, but before 
he could speak, Mr. Weld told him what he had seen, and 
I said he knew his son was dead. A few weeks afterwards, 

I Mr. Weld visited the Jesuit College of Stonyhurst in Lan- 

cashire, and in the guest-room saw a picture of the very same 
young man he had seen with his son, similarly dressed, and 
in the same attitude, and beneath the picture was inscribed 
" St. Stanislaus Kotska," a saint of the Jesuit order who 
had been chosen by Philip for his patron saint at his con- 
firmation. * 

Now, here is a case in which phantasms of the son and of 
another person appear to two relatives, and the presence of 
the unknown person was eminently calculated, when his 
identity was discovered, to relieve the fathers mind of all 
fear for his son's future happiness. It is hardly possible to 
have a clearer case of a true phantasm of the dead, not 
necessarily produced either by the dead son or the Jesuit 
saint, but most probably by them, or by some other spirit 
friend who had the power to produce such phantasms, and so 
relieve the anxiety of both father and sister. It is not con- 
ceivable that any living person's telepathic action could have 
produced such phantasms in two percipients, the only possible 
agent being the President of the College, who did not rec- 
ognize by Mr. Weld's description, the dark-robed young 
man who appeared with his son. 

This introduces a feature rather common in phantasms of 

♦Harrison's ** Spirits before our Eyes," p. 116, extracted from " Qlimpses 
of the Supernatural," by the Rev. F. 6. Lee. 


the dead some indication of happiness, something to take 
away any feeling of gloom or sorrow. Thus, a young man 
is drowned by the foundering of the La Plata telegraphic 
ship in December, 1874 ; and, just before the news arrived, 
his brother in London dreamed that lie was at a magnificent 
fSte, in a spacious garden with illuminated fountains and 
groups of gentlemen and ladies, when he met his brother in 
evening dress, and " the very image of buoyant health." He 

was surprised, and said : " Hallo ! D , how are you here ? " 

His brother shook hands with him and said : " Did you not 
know I have been wrecked again ? *' The next morning the 
news of the loss of the ship was in the papers.* Here, 
whether the phantasm was caused by the dead man himself, 
or by some other being, it was apparently intended to sliow 
that the deceased was as cheerful and well off after death as 
during life. 

So, when the voice of Miss Gambler Parry was heard 
twelve hours after her death by lier former governess. 
Sister Bertha, at the House of Mercy, Bovey Tracey, 
Devonshire, it said, "in the brightest and most cheerful tone, 
' I am here with you.' " And on being asked, " Who are 
you ? " the voice replied, " You mustn't know yet." f 

And again, when a gentleman going to the dining-room for 
an evening smoke, sees his sister-in-law, he says : " Maggie 
suddenly appeared, dressed in white, with a most heavenly 
expression on her face. She fixed her eyes on me, walked 
round the room, and disappeared through the door that leads 
into the garden." J This was the day after her death. Yet 
one more instance : Mr. J. G. Kenlemaus, when in Paris, was 
awoke one morning by the voice of a favorite little son of 
five years old, whom he had left quite well in London. He 
also saw his face in the centre of a bright opaque white mass, 
his eyes bright, his mouth smiling. The voice heard was 
that of extreme delight, such as only a happy child cgin utter. 
Yet the child had then just died. § Whose telepathic influ- 
ence caused this phantasm of this happy, smiling child to 
appear to the father? Surely no living person, but rather 
some spirit friend or guardian wishing to show that the 

• Pror. Soc. Ps. Res., Part XTV., p. 456. 
t Phautasms of the Living, Vol. I., p. 622. 
} Phantasms of the Living, Vol. II., p. 702. 
§ Proc. Soc. Ps. Bes., Vol. I., p. 126. 




joyousiiess of life still remained with the child, though its 
earthly body was cold and still. 

Another characteristic feature of many of these dreams or 
waking phantasms is that they often occur, not at the moment 
of death but just before the news of the death reaches the 
l)ercipient, or there is some other characteristic feature that 
seems especially calculated to cause a deep impression, and 
give a lasting conviction of spiritual existence. Several 
cases of this kind are given or referred to in the Proceedings 
of the Society for Psychical Research (Pt. XV., pp. 30, 31). A 
most extraordinary example is that of Mr. F. G., of Boston, 

I then of St. Louis, Mo., who, when in St. Joseph, Mo., fully 

occupied with business, saw a phantasm of his only sister, 
(who had been dead nine years. It was at noonday while he 
was writing, and she appeared close to him and perfectly life- 
> like, so that for a moment he thought it was really herself, 

and called her by her name. He saw every detail of her 
dress and appearance, and particularly noticed a bright red 
line or scratch on the right hand side of her face. The vi- 
sion so impressed him that he took the next train home, and 
told what he had seen to his father and mother. His father 
was inclined to ridicule him for his belief in its being any- 
thing supernatural, but when he mentioned the scratch on 
the face his mother nearly fainted, and told them with tears in 
her eyes, that she had herself made that scratch accidentally, 
after her daughter's death, but had carefully hidden it with 
powder, and that no living person but herself knew of it. 
A few weeks after, the mother died happy in her belief that 
she would rejoin her daughter in a better world.* Here we 
can clearly see an important purpose in the appearance of 
the phantasm, to g^ve comfort to a mother about to die, in 
the assurance that her beloved daughter, though mourned as 
dead, was still alive. 

A case which illustrates both of the characteristics just 
alluded to, is that of the Rev. C. C. Wambey of Salisbury, 
England, who, one Sunday evening, was walking on the 
downs, engaged in composing a congratulatory letter to a 
very dear friend so that he might have it on his birthday, 
when he heard a voice saying, " What, write to a dead man ; 
write to a dead man ! " No one was near him, and he tried to 

• I. Proc. Soc, Pa. Res., Part xv. p. 17, 18. 


think it was an illusion, and went on with his composition, 
when again he heard the voice saying more loudly than be- 
fore, " What, write to a dead man ; write to a dead man ! " 
He now understood the meaning of the voice, but, neverthe- 
less, sent the letter, and in reply received the expected intel- 
ligence that his friend was dead. Surely, in this case no 
living agent could have produced this auditory phantasm, 
which was strikingly calculated to impress the recipient with 
the idea that his friend was, though dead as regards the 
earthly life, in reality very much alive, while the spice of 
banter in the words would tend to show that death was by 
no means a melancholy event to the subject of it. 

In view of the examples now given of phantasms appear- 
ing for a very definite purpose, and being in most cases per- 
fectly adapted to produce the desired effect — examples 
which could be very largely increased from the rich store- 
house of the publications of the Society for Psychical 
Research — the theory put forth by Mr. Myers, that phan- 
tasms of the dead are so vague and purposeless as to suggest 
mere "dead men's dreams" telepathically communicated to 
the living, seems to me a most extraordinary one. No doubt 
the range of these phenomena Is very great, and in some 
cases there may be no purpose in the appearance so far as the 
percipient is concerned. But these are certainly not typical 
or by any means the best attested or the most numerous ; and 
it seems to me to be a proof of the weakness of the telepathic 
theory that almost all the cases I have adduced, and many 
more of like import, have been passed by almost or quite 
unnoticed by those who support that view. 

We have one more class of evidence to notice, — that of 
premonitions. These are of all kinds from those announcing 
very trivial events, to such as foretell accidents or death. 
They are not so frequent as other phantasms, but some of 
them are thoroucfhly well attested, and it is difficult to avoid 
the conclusion that they are realities, and that they are due, 
geneitiUy speaking, to the same agencies as objective veridical 
phantasms. One or two examples may be given. 

A striking case is that of Mi*s. Morrison, who was livini;- 
in the Province of Wellesley, Malay Peninsula, in 1878, and 
one morning, when awake, heard a voice distinctly say, " If 
there is darkness at the eleventh hour, there will be death." 
On starting up in bed the same words were slowly and delib- 



erately repeated. A week afterwards her little girl was taken 
seriously ill, and some days later, after a week of cloudless 
weather, a storm came on one morning, a few minutes before 
eleven, and the sky became black with clouds. At one o'clock 
the same day the child died.* The unusual character of 
the warning renders this case a very remarkable one. 

In another case. Miss R. F. Curtis, of London, dreams that 

she sees a lady in black who passes her, and is then seen 

lying on the road, with a crowd of people round her. Some 

. think she is dead, some that she is not dead ; and on asking 

her name, the dreamer is told she is Mrs. C , a friend 

living on Clapham Common, who had not been heard of for 
some time. In the morning Miss Curtis tells her sister of 
her di-eam ; and about a week afterwards, they hear that the 

day after the dream, Mrs. C had stumbled over a high 

curb-stone, and had fallen on the road very much hurt. 

Still more extraordinary is the case of the Yorkshire vicar, 
who, when a young man of nineteen, was at Invercargill, in 
New * Zealand, and there met a man be knew as a sailor on 
the ship he had come out in, and agreed to go with him and 
several others on an excursion to the island of Ruapuke, to 
stay a day or two for fishing and shooting. They were to 
start at four the next morning, in order to cross the bar with 
the high tide, and they agreed to call the vicar in time. He 
went to bed early with the fullest intention to go with them, 
and with no doubt or hesitation in his mind. The thing was 
settled. On his way upstairs to bed he seemed to hear a 
voice saying, " DorCt go with those men^ There was no one 
near, but he asked, "Why not?" The voice, which seemed 
inside him, said with emphasis, " You are not to go " ; and on 
further question these words were repeated. Then he asked, 
" How can I help it? They will call me up." And, most dis- 
tinctly and emphatically, the same voice said, " You must bolt 
your doory When he got to the room, he found there was 
a strong bolt to the door, which he had not remembered. At 
first he determined he would go, as he was accustomed to 
take his own way at all hazards. But he felt staggered, and 
had a feeling of mysterious peril, and after much hesitation 
finally bolted the door, and went to sleep. In the morning 
about three he was called, the door violently shaken and 

• Proc. Soc. Ps. Res., Part XIII.i p. 305. 


kicked but though awake he did not speak, and finally the men 
went away cursing and shouting. About nine o'clock he went 
down to breakfast, and was at once asked if he had heard 
what had happened, and was then told that the boat with the 
party for Ruapuke had been upset on the bar, and every one 
of them drmvned. Some of the bodies were washed up on 
the beach that day, and the others a day or two later, and he 
adds : *' If I had been with them, I must have perished be- 
yond a doubt." 

Now what are we to say of this determined, warning voice 
that insisted on being heard and attended to ? Who and 
what was the being that foresaw the catastrophe that was to 
happen, and saved the one that it could save ? Du Prel would 
say that it was the second self, the unconscious ego^ that pro- 
duced this inner voice ; but, as we have shown, this purely 
h)rpothetical explanation is both unintelligible and inconceiv- 
able, and explains nothing, since the suggested cause has not 
been proved to exist, nor can it be shown how the knowledge 
exhibited had been acquired. But phantasms of the dead, 
manifesting themselves in a way to prove their identity, or 
exhibiting knowledge which neither the percipient nor any 
conceivable living agent possesses, afford strong proof that the 
so-called dead still live, and are able in various ways to influ- 
ence their friends in earth-life. We will, therefore, briefly 
summarize the evidence now adduced, and see how the spir- 
itualistic theory gives a consistent and intelligible explana- 
tion of it. 

It is evident that any general theory of phantasms must deal 
also with the various cases of " doubles," or undoubted phan- 
tasms of the living. The few examples of apparent voluntary 
production of these by a living person have been supposed to 
prove the actual production by them, or by their unconscious 
effos ; but the difficulties in the way of this view have been al- 
ready pointed out. In many cases there is no exercise of 
will, sometimes not even a thought directed to the place or 
pei-son where, or to whom, the phantasm appears ; and it is al- 
together irrational to ascribe the production of so marvellous 
an effect as, for example, a perfectly life-like phantasm of two 
persons, a caniage, and a horse, visible to three persons at 
different points of its progress through space (as described in 
my first article), to an agent who is 'totally unconscious of 
any agency in the matter. What is termed the agent, that 



u the person whose " double " is produced, may be a condition 
towards the production of the phantasm without being the 
cause. I write a telegram to a friend a thousand miles away, 
and that friend receives my message in an hour or two. But 
the possibility of sending the message does not reside in me, 
but in a whole series of contributory agencies from the earliest 
inventors of the telegraph, down to the clerks who transmit 
and receive the message. 

The clue to a true explanation of these very puzzling 
'* doubles," as of all the other varied phenomena of phantasms 
and hauntings is, I believe, afforded by the following passage 
by one of the most thoughtful and experienced of modern 
spiritualists, Dr. Eugene Crowell: — 

" I have frequently consulted my spirit friends upon this 
question, and have invariably been told by them that a spirit 
while in mortal form cannot for an instant leave it ; were it 
to do so, death would at once ensue ; ^nd, that the appearance 
of one's self at another place from that in which the body at 
the moment is, is simply a personation by another spirit, who 
thus often accomplishes a purpose desired by his mortal 
friend, or some other useful purpose is accomplished by the 
personation. I am informed, and believe, that in cases of 
trance, where the subjects have supposed that their spirits 
have left their bodies, and visited the spheres, their minds 
have been psychologically impressed with views representing 
spiritual scenes, objects, and sounds, and many times these 
impressions are so apparently real and truthful that the 
reality itself barely exceeds these representations of it, but 
these are all subjective impressions, not actual experiences." * 

Accepting, then, as proved by the various classes of phan- 
tasms and the information conveyed by them, that the spirits 
of the so-called dead still live, and that some of them can, 
under special conditions, and in various ways, make their 
existence known to us, or influence us unconsciously to our- 
selves, let us see what reasonable explanation we can give of 
the cause and purpose of these phenomena. 

In every case that passes beyond simple transference of a 
tliought from one living person to another, it seems probable 
that other intelligences co-operate. There is much evidence 
to show that the continued association of spirits with mortals 

•Primitive Chriatianity and Modern Spiritoalism, Vol. II, p. 109, 


is in many cases beneficial or pleasurable to the former, and 
if we remember the number of very commonplace people 
who are daily and yearly dying around us, we shall have a 
sufficient explanation of those trivial and commonplace yet 
veridical dreams and impressions which at first sight seem so 
unintelligible. The production of these dreams, impressions, 
and phantasms, may be a pleasurable exercise of the lower 
spiritual faculties, as agreeable to some spirits as billiards, 
chemical experiments, or practical jokes are to some mortals. 

Many hauntings, on the other hand, seem to show one 
mode of the inevitable punishment of crime in the spirit world. 
The criminal is drawn by remorse or by some indefinable at- 
traction, to haunt the place of his crime, and to continually 
reproduce or act over some incidents connected with it. It 
is true that the victim appears in haunted houses, as often as 
the criminal, but it does not at all follow that the victim is 
always there, unless he or she was a participator in the crime, 
or continued to indulge feelings of revenge against the actual 

Again, if there be a spiritual world, if those whose existence 
on earth has come to an end still live, what is more natural 
than that many spirits should be distressed at the disbelief, 
or doubt, or misconception, that so widely prevail, with re- 
spect to a future life, and should use whatever power they 
possess to convince us of our en*or. What more natural than 
that they should wish, whenever possible, to give some mes- 
sage to their friends, if only to assure them that death is not 
the end, that they still live, and are not unhappy. Many 
facts seem to show us that the beautiful idea of guardian 
spirits is not a mere dream, but a frequent, perhaps universal 
reality. Thus will be explained the demon of Socrates, which 
always warned him against danger, and the various forms of 
advice, information, or premonition which so many persons 
receive. The numerous cases in which messages are given 
from those recently dead, in order to do some trivial act of 
justice or of kindness, are surely what we should expect ; while 
the fact that although indications are frequently given of a 
crime having been committed, it is but rarely that the crimi- 
nal is denounced, indicates, either that the feeling of revenge 
does not long persist, or that earthly modes of punishment 
are not approved of by the denizens of the spirit world. 

The powers of communication of spirits with us, and ours of 


receiving their communications, vary greatly. Some of us can 
only be influenced by ideas or impressions, which we think 
are altogether the product of our own minds. Others can be 
so strongly acted on that they feel an inexplicable emotion, 
leading to action beneficial to themselves or to othei-s. In 
some cases, warning or information can be given throi^gh 
dreams, in others by waking vision. Some spirits have the 
power of producing visual, others audible hallucinations to 
certain persons. More rarely, and needing more special con- 
ditions, they can produce phantasms, which are audible or 
visible to all who may be present — real entities which give 
off light or sound waves, and thus act upon our senses like 
living beings or material objects. Still more rarely these 
phantasms are tangible as well as visual — real though tem- 
porary living forms, capable of acting like human beings, and 
of exerting considerable force on ordinary matter. 

If we look upon these phenomena not as anything super- 
natural, but as the perfectly natural and orderly exercise of 
the faculties and powers of spiritual beings for the purpose 
of communicating with those still in the physical body, we 
shall find every objection answered, and every difficulty disap- 
pear. Nothing is more common than objections to the trivi- 
ality or the partiality of the communications alleged to be from 
spirits. But the most trivial message or act, if such that no 
living person could have given or performed it, may give 
proof of the existence of other intelligences around us. And 
the partiality often displayed, one person being warned and 
saved, while others are left to die, is but an indication of the 
limited power of spirits to act upon us, combined with the 
limited receptivity of spirit influence on our part. In con- 
clusion, I submit, that the brief review now given of the va- 
rious classes of phantasms of the living and of the dead, 
demonstrates the inadequacy of all* the explanations in which 
telepathy between living persons, or the agency of the uncon- 
scious ego are exclusively concerned, since these explanations 
are only capable of dealing with a small proportion of the 
cases that actually occur. Furthermore, I urge, that nothing 
less fundamental and far-reaching than the agency of disem- 
bodied intelligences acting in co-operation with our own 
powers of thought-transference and spiritual insight, can af- 
ford a rational and intelligible explanation of the whole range 
of the phenomena. 



However great the interest pertaining to things terres- 
trial, it is not unpleasant to rise from time to time a little 
higher, and live for a moment in contemplation of the im- 
mense perspective of infinity. The starry firmament, which 
surrounds us on all sides, is unceasingly observed by astrono- 
mers, and not unfrequently some new discovery causes us to 
advance one step further towards the solution of grand 

The childish notion that the planet on which we dwell is 
the only world inhabited — among the billions of globes which 
now exist, have heretofore existed, or may yet exist in the 
eternal immensity — is no longer held in our day, save by a 
few belated minds, who obstinately shut their eyes to the 
light of the sun. Our mediocre habitation has received from na- 
ture no special privileges ; and every new investigation through 
the telescope shows that the other planets are, like our own, 
the seat of perpetual activity, in which all the physical forces 
are at work, giving birth to incessant and varied changes. 

During the last few months * astronomere have been spe- 
cially interested in discussions relating to observations 
recently made in regard to the planet Mars, which has this 
year come within reach of our observation, — only 44,552,229 
miles (or 71,700,000 kilometers) away. Our attention Jias 
been fixed upon this planet the more, because, during sev- 
eral consecutive years, certain extraordinary meteorological 
and climatological events ( extraordinary to us ! ) have been 
noticeable upon its surface. What we see there resembles 
what we see on earth ; but one feels that it is an entirely 
different land, with different elements, different forces, dif- 
ferent inhabitants- We see continents illuminated by the 
sun, — the very same sun which sustains our lives also, 
— and these continents reflect towards us his light. There 
are darker seas, which absorb thirt light, and seem, from our 

• This article was writteD October 22, 1890. 



standpoint, like gray spots, more or less broken up ; snows, 
which in winter accumulate around the pole, and melt grad- 
ually away in the spring and summer, in proportion as the 
solar heat rises higher; fogs, which extend over the plains 
and mask them from our view ; fleeting clouds, carried away 
by the wind ; sunny mornings ; noons resplendent with light ; 
vaporous evenings, falling asleep in the glories of twilight. 
All these pictures, observable in Mai-s, remind us of our earth, 
and suggest to us some sort of kinship between that world 
and ours ; but if we look farther, the resemblance is presently 
transformed, and is even almost obliterated, by certain strange 

This essay is to be devoted to a summary of the investiga- 
tions upon this subject, — a summary as complete, however, 
as the limits will permit, — a subject eminently interesting 
from a double point of view, scientific and philosophic ; and 
we shall dwell principally upon observations made during 
the current year. 


Assuredly we have all been greatly surprised, within the 
last few years, to see that the straight lines which cross the 
Martian continents, and bring all the seas into mutual com- 
munication, divide themselves into two parts at certain sear 
sons. What are those rectilinear lines ? Are they canals ? 
This is the general belief ; yet how can we explain the cross- 
ing of these watery currents by one another? There is an im- 
mense network of straight lines, more or less deep-colored. 
Can they be crevasses ? They change in size. Are they vege- 
tation? If so, it must be very rectilinear. Are they mists, or 
thick fogs ? The explanation is difficult, at best ; but it becomes 
still more so, when we see these enigmatical lines dividing 
themselves into two parts at certain seasons. No terrestrial 
phenomena can put us on the track of interpretation. 

This year, moreover, not only have the canals been seen 
separating themselves into two parts, but lakes and seas have 
done the same. Take the following example. 

The Lake of the Sun (Sol, or Soliel) is a small interior sea. 
It is very noticeable, and is situated at the intersection of the 
eighty-eighth longitudinal degree, with the twenty-fifth de- 
gree of south latitude. It measures seventeen degrees in 
length and fourteen in width, that is, 634 miles by 522 


( 1,020 by 840 kilometera). This means that its area is a little 
larger than that of France. Ita form is almost circular, though 
often elongated from west to east. Well, this lake ha« been 
this year cleai-ly seen divided into two distinct part«, as if by a 
sandbank or by a gigantic -bridge. 

One might think, for a moment, that a cloud had shadowed 
it ; but this hypothesis cannot be maintained, inasmuch as 
BO rectilinear, immovable, and durable a cloud would be a 
phenomenon in itself. Furthermore, exactly on each side bf 
the separation can be seen, this year, a sort of elongation 
of the lake; and the canal, which empties into that basin, 
is likewise divided. The same is true of a little neighboring 
lake, which has been named Tithonins. 

Besides, this great Lake of the Sun often shows itself 
iinited with another neighboring sea, and its surrounding 
waters, by three confluenta, of which the two on the left 
have received the names of Ambrosia and of Nectar, Well, 
this year neither of these confluents has been visible except the 
one on the right ; though fonrotherg have been discerned. This 
indeed changes the whole configuration of that great territory. 

In order that our readers may obtain a correct idea of the 
changes observed, we will describe first the map of these 
regions, according to the best observations, — those of Signor 
Schiaparelli, Director of the Milan Observatory. 

Fm. I.— HABiTtTAi. Aara.1 of tbb Labb or tub Svs, ob Tebbt Su. 



Ill 1877 the lake was circular. A confluent bound it on 
the right to the small lake called Phoenix. A second con- 
fluent, larger but paler, connected it above to the Austral 
Sea. The author examined this region with special care, 
because its appearance differed sensibly from the drawings 
made by Dawes, Lockyer, and Kaiser, in 1862 and 1864. 
The lake was then oval, elongated from east to west. In 
1877, on the contrary, it was " perfectly circular, with the 
shore slightly undulating," though sometimes it seemed 
rather elongated in the vertical direction, from north to 
south. Moreover, in 1862 and 1864, a large confluent could 
be seen on the left, binding the lake to the neighboring ocean ; 
whereas the Milan observer saw this place open, and discov- 
ered, in 1877, the little circle inscribed under the name of 
Fountain of Youth (Fons JuventsB). 

Mars returns towards the earth in 1879, and is again 
observed. Evident ' changes are noted. The confluent of 
which we have spoken, and which was altogether invisible 
in 1877, is now perceptible, although very thin, and receives 

I ' the name of Nectar Canal. The Aurea Cherao is enlarged. 

i The Chrysorrhoas has changed its place ; and instead of 

descending vertically along the eighty-sixth degree, it starts 
from the seventy-eighth to reunite at the seventy-second. The 
lake is slightly elongated towards Nectar Canal, which gives 
it the form of a pear, whose stem rises from fifteen to twenty 
degrees. The superior confluent is incomparably narrower 
than in 1877, and receives the name of Ambrosia. Lake 
Phoenix is greatly diminished. One searches in vain for the 
Fountain of Youth. 

There are new studies and new transformations in 1881. 
The lake shows itself to be decidedly longer from east to 
west, and is concentric with the outline of Thammaria. 
Phoenix Lake has become the centre of numerous confluents. 
The Agathadsemon gives birth to a lake already indicated in 
1877, but now so greatly developed that it receives the name 
of Lake Tithonius. This view agrees with those of 1862 
and 1864. The Fountain of Youth, which had disap- 
peared in 1879, has now returned. Che il Logo del Sole 
cambi di forma e di grandezza^ writes the eminent observer, 
e coBa induMtabile, ( " It is an undeniable fact that the Lake of 
the Sun changes from time to time in form and size." ) Its 
coloration is very dull ; and it is darker when the rotation 


brings it to the edge of the disk, than when it passes the central 
meridian. This is doubtless due, as'in many other cases, to 
the fact that the surrounding regions then become whiter. 

A sort of river, the Araxes, running directly from the 
Sirenum Sea to Lake Phcenix, is seen to be straight, and no 
longer serpentine as in 1877- 

Behold a lake, or something resembling a lake, which was 
oval in 1862 and 1881, and round in 1877 I and all its sur- 
roundings have changed correspondingly. 

The following observations have been made this year, 1890 . 
The Lake of the Sun is split into two parts. Little Lake 
Tithonius is also divided. The great confluent of the lake, 
which we have already likened to the stem of a pear, projects 
from the northeast, instead of from the southeast. The Am- 
brosia inclines to the right of the meridian, instead of the 
left. The Chrysorrhoas Canal is double as far as the Lake 
of the Moon (Luna), and beyond, as far aa the Acidalium Sea. 
Two new confluents, heretofore unknown, flow from the Lake 
of the Sun. 

Fia.n.— THELARBorTnBSrsi;(iB90, (Splitintwo.) 

Such is the state of things ; and it cannot be doubted that 
real, incontestable, and important changes are taking place 
on the surface of this neighboring world. We certainly do 
not think these events will deprive any one of sleep. Every- 
body might remain entirely indifferent to them. We might 
ignore them altogether. Even astronomers might not trouble 
themselves about these changes, or asaume that it is too early 
to attempt -Miy explanation thereof. It is always pruir.atnre 




to make any effort towards the solution oi a problem ; and it 
is far easier to play cards or take a walk, 

The question, however, is not lacking in interest. It is 
indeed remarkable, that from our earth we can see what is 
going on in Mars ; but it is not less curious to observe that 
this neighboring planet — though much resembling our own, 
^7 ite general constitution, its atmosphere, its waters, its 
snows, its continents, its climates, its seasons — yet differs 
from it, in the most singular way, by its geographical con- 
figuration, its divided canals, and especially by its power of 
superficial transformation, and of changing divisions in lakes 
themselves — of lakes as large as the whole of France. 

How can these variations be explained ? The most sim- 
ple hypothesis would be to imagine that the surface of Mars 
is flat and sandy; that its lakes and canals have no beds, 
so to speak, but are very shallow, having a thin layer of 
water, which may easily contract, expand, overflow, or even 
r change its location, according to atmospheric circumstances, 

j! rains, and perhaps tides. The atmosphere may be light, and 

j[ the evaporation and condensation of the waters correspond- 

j I ingly easy. We should thus behold, from this distance, inun- 

dations more or less vast and prolonged The division this 
year of the Lake of the Sun, for example, would be due to 
a reduction or a displacement of the waters of that lake ; 
find the separating line, in this case, might be regarded as 
an uncovered shoal. 

More than one objection arises to this hypothesis. The 
fii*st is, that it does not seem as if there could be less water 

I in the lake, when the confluents are more numerous, and the 

one on the left is as large as an arm of the sea. 

Is there displacement of water from the tides? This 
would ensure periodical changes, lasting only a few hours, 
i 1 and would not mark entire seasons, as is now the case. 

I I Must we admit that the sandbank has risen above the 

level of the sea, and that the displacement of water is gen- 
erally due to upheavals of the earthy bed ? It is equally diffi- 
cult to accept this interpretation : on the one hand, because 
such instability of the soil would be extraordinary ; and on 
the other hand, because the upheavals of the soil would of 
necessity be usually rectilinear; and, finally, because the 
selfsame aspects are repeated, after intervals of several 
years. Besides, tliis hypothesis would not explain a capital 

•I ' 
1 1 

t i 




fact (one might say the characteristic fact) of the changes 
observable in Mars, — namely, the tendency to division 
into halves. 

Let ns proceed to the examination of other observations. 
A strait running from the triangular Hourglass (Sablier) Sea, 
and extending tO Meridian Bay, is generally seen to be 
winding, and of a uniform gray color. This year the top- 
ographical aspect is entirely changed. Instead of being ser- 
pentine, the shore line is now straight, but double ; and it is 
divided by a white longitudinal furrow. Meridian Bay, as 
usual, is also doubled ; and so is a little, inferior lake. 

It is this duplicating tendency which it specially behooves 
us to explain. If these duplicate canals are the two sides of 
a strip of water, — as one might be led to think, by the com- 
parative aspect of this strait, which has many a time been 
seen more clearly in the central line than along the shores, — 
it remains for us to explain how this transformation takes 
place. The assumption that a sandbank rises thus seems 
rather bold ; and, moreover, such an upheaval would cause 
the water on both sides to overflow, without necessarily 
giviirg rise to rectilinear shores. 


Let us, therefore, admit that it is extremely difficult, not 
to say impossible, to account for these transformations in 
Mars, by reference to the natural forces known to us. Let 
us also remember that we are not acquainted with all the 
natural forces, and that the nearest things often remain 

Inhabitants of the tropical regions, who visit Paris for 
the first time in winter, and who have never before seen 
leafless trees, or snow, are amazed at our climate. It is an 
entirely new experience for them to take into their hands 
solidified water of such dazzling transparency; and they 
hesitate, for a moment, to believe that these black skeletons 
of trees will, a few months later, be clothed with luxuriant 

Let lis imagine the case of an inhabitant of Venus, who 
has never seen any snow. Would he be able, in telescop- 
ically observing our earth, to understand the meaning of the 
white spots covering our poles ? Certainly not. We, in- 



habitants of the earth, can comprehend the significance of 
; the snows in Mars; but we cannot explain these variations 

I of the water-line, these displacements of water, these rec- 

j tilinear canals, and their curious divisions, because we have 

nothing similar on our own planet. 

It may be admitted that inundations are the cause of the 

widening of the shores, such as have been observed along 

} Hourglass Sea, and on the Lybia, below the Flammarion Sea. 

» As much may be admitted about the regions which from 

time to time become a little darker ; but the displacements 
and transformations seem of a different order. 

The straight lines do not seem natural to us inhabitants 
of the earth. Besides, they, bisect one another at all sorts 
of angles. Never have earth's rivers been seen crossing 
each other in this way. Shall we admit that the soil is 
perfectly level, that these waters have therefore no proper 
course or inclination, and that this waterj^ network is somehow 
connected with irrigating canals? All these watercourses 
vary so strangely, both in aspect and size, that we remain 
confounded; and although the tint of the courses is often 
as dark as that of the sea*, though reddish, rather than 
bluish or greenish, the notion of these being real currents of 
water gradually loses all semblance to reality. 

For example, in 1877 Hourglass Sea was very narrow, 
and none of the canals were duplicated. One, in particular, 
was observed, to which the name of Pison was given. In 
1879 a larger sea, the Nile, seems to have changed its 
course, and two canals are seen, where there was only one. 
In 1882 there were new changes in the course of the Nile, 
with division and duplication. The two canals of 1879 
showed themselves likewise as divided and duplicated ; and 
five others were discovered. In 1888 there were more 
changes. The Euphrates, the Pison, the Nile (now called 
Protonilus) showed themselves duplicated, as in 1882 ; and 
new separations were seen, in Astaboras and another canal. 
In 1890 the Euphrates and tlie Pison show themselves 
divided. A portion of the Protonilus is also divided, but 
not the Astaboras. A canal hap disappeared; and, as we 
have already said, the superior strait is divided in the 
direction of its length. 

It is very difficult to admit that these straight, yet variable 
lines are really water. It is true that they all, without 



exception, have, at their two extremities, a sea, a lake, or a 
canal, and that consequently water cannot be foreign to 
them. Can they have originated in geometrical ravines, 
due to some natural process in the formation of Mars ? Per- 
haps so ; but crevasses alone, even when filled with water, 
would not account for the variations observed, concerning 
which we must give a few more details. 

The canals are at times completely hidden from our sight, 
even under the best conditions for observation. This seems 
to happen especially towards the southern solstice of the 

They differ greatly in size. For instance, the Nilosyrtis 
measures sometimes five degrees, or 186 1-2 miles (300 kil- 
ometers); while at other times it measures less than one 
degree, or 87 1-4 miles (60 kilometers). 

The length of some canals is immense, measuring more 
than one-fourth of the meridian, — that is, more than 8,355 
1-2 miles (5,400 kilometers). 

All these canals change in size. All, or nearly all, divide 
into two parts. This process of duplication is most wonder- 
ful. In two days, in twenty-four hours, and even in less 
time, the transformation occurs simultaneously throughout 
the whole length of the canal. When the transformation is 
to take place, the canal, until then single and clear, like . a 
black line, becomes nebulous and grows wider. This nebu- 
losity is then transformed into two straight parallel lines, 
like a multitude of scattered soldiers, ranging themselves 
suddenly into two columns at a given signal. The distance 
between the two parallel canals, resulting from this new dis- 
tribution and arrangement, averages six degrees, or 223 3-4 
miles (360 kilometers). 

It is sometimes only of three degrees, or 111 3-4 miles (180 
kilometers), for small and very narrow canals. Sometimes, 
on the contrary, the interviening distance rises to ten or 
twenty degrees, and even more ; that is to say, to 372 3-4, 
or 435 miles (600 or 700 kilometers), or even more, for the 
longest and widest canals. 

When a double canal is crossed transversely by another 
canal, and one of the streams is larger and more intense on 
one side of the intersection, the other band will appear so 

If one stream is very meagre, and hardly visible on one 


side of the iiitei-section, it will be the same with the other. 
Thus it happens, at times, that one of the two streams is not 
seen at all, and the canal then appears to be double on one 
side, and single on the other. The transverse canal conse- 
quently acts on the former. 

Sometimes the two lines are regular, and their axes per- 
fectly parallel, but the whole canal is surrounded by a sort 
of penumbra. Commonly, however, the two lines are marked 
with absolute regularity and geometric clearness. Moreover, 
the doubling of a canal causes any irregularities to disappear, 
which might have existed while the canal was single ; and 
other canals, though slightly curved, divide into perfectly 
straight branches, as happened to the Jamuna, in 1882, 
and to the Boreasyptis, in 1888. 

The aspect of an offshoot often changes, according to cer- 
tain epochs. In 1882, for instance, two bands of the 
Euphrates showed a slight convergence towards the north ; 
while, in 1888, the same two bands were equidistant at all 
points. The interval between the two bands varies with 
their width, according to.years. At the points of intersection, 
where single or double canals meet, is often seen a black spot, 
resembling a lake. The aspect of these knots changes in a 
manner similar to the variation of the canal. When all the 
canals ending in a knot are obscure, the knot also is obscure ; 
or, rather, it appears like a light and diffused shadow. The 
appearance of canals, single or double, produces a confused 
spot, whiph sometimes doubles in the direction of the strong- 
est canal. For example, in 1881 the Protonilus Canal, which 
is bisected by the Euphrates, was double and thick, and the 
intersecting lake took the same form. 


If we admit the accuracy of these observations, — and it 
seems difiBcult to do otherwise, — we must conclude that they 
indicate great variability. The productive cause of these off- 
shoots operates not only along the canals, but also upon wa- 
tery patches of various forms, provided they are not too vast. 

This cause seems to extend its power even to the permar 
nent seas. Of this we have had a new proof this year, in 
the strait called Herschel Second. The tendency to bisect 
dark spaces with yellow bands manifests itself also in the 


production of regular isthmuses, which form in certain parts 
of the northern hemisphere of the planet. 

These variations are connected with the seasons. As an 
example, let us proceed to the consideration of those observed 
by Signor Schiaparelli along the large canal, Hydraotes-Nilus. 

The following is the history of the duplication process in 
this large canal. In 1879 the vernal equinox took plaice in 
Mars on January 22. A month before, on December 21, 
the Lake of the Moon became darker and larger. Two days 
after this, on December 23, it took the form of a trapeze, 
composed of four black bands, in the midst of which was 
the island, well defined, and of an ordinary yellow color. 
Meanwhile the Nile remained single ; but on December 26 that 
also became double, the two lines being perfectly equal, but 
not so wide and dark as the two strips of the Lake of the Moon. 

The observations relative to this process of duplication 
were resumed on the return of the planet to our neighbor- 
hood in 1881. That year the vernal equinox took place on 
December 9. The divisions of the Lake of the Moon and 
the Ganges were well defined, while the Nile was single. On 
January 11 the Nile also became double ; and on January 
13 the same division was perceptible in the Ganges. On 
January 19 the Lake of the Moon again assumed the trapezoid 
form, with the yellow island in the centre. On February 23 
one part of Hydiuotes was double, while the other part 
remained single. 

These curious observations were again pursued in 1886. 
On March 29 Hydraotes and Nile were clearly seen to be 
double, each strip being very large, — about four degrees, or 
149 1-8 miles (240 kilometers), and were reddish in color, 
darker than the surrounding yellow background. The 
interval between them was from nine to ten degrees. The 
northern solstice occurred on March 81. These variations 
evinced a regularity in sequence. They were, moreover, certain 
and incontrovertible. 

Such are the facts recently observed in the planet Mars, — 
facts concerning which our readers are now precisely informed. 
These are not imaginary conceptions, but come from trust- 
worthy observations. Our explanations may seem rather 
technical, and devoid of ornamentation ; but they will be, for 
that very reason, more intrinsically valuable. 

Let us now admit that it is easier to describe the phenom- 


; I 

I r 

ena than to explain them ; for we have nothing similar upon 
our globe. 

Water, the movable element par excellence^ must play an 
important role in these changes. Water certainly exists in 
Mars, for this is proved by the analysis in the solar spectrum ; 
and we can see it in the form of clouds. 

Moreover, photography has this year detected in Mars a 
snowstorm, which in twenty-four hours covered a territory 
larger than the United States. Mr. Pickering has, among 
other things, taken fourteen Martian photographs, from 
Mount Wilson, California. Seven of them were taken on 
April 9, between 22 h. 66 m. and 28 h. 41 m., average 
Greenwich time, and the other seven were taken on the fol- 
lowing night, between 23 h. 20 m., and 23 h. 82 m. It* is, 
therefore, the same face of the planet which is pictured in 
these two cases. On each proof can be seen perfectly dis- 
tinct geographical configurations ; but the white polar spot, 
which marks the southern pole, is a great deal vaster in the 
second night's pictures than in the &st. night's. We have 
long been aware that these polar spots vary with the Mar- 
tian seasons, diminishing in summer and increasing in 
winter; but this is the first time that the precise date of 
any considerable extension of these snows has been registered. 
The southern border of the planet was at eighty-five degrees 
latitude. The snow extended, on one side, as far as the ter- 
minus, which was at seventy degrees longitude, and along 
the thirtieth parallel of latitude it extended as far as. the one 
hundred and tenth degree of longitude ; and then, from the 
one hundred and forty-fifth degree of longitude, and the 
forty-fifth degree of latitude, as far as the border of 
the planet. It must likewise have covered part of the' other 
hemisphere, invisible to us. "The visible extent of these 
snows," writes Mr. Pickering, "was really immense, since it 
covered an area almost as large as the United States." 

During the forenoon of April 9 these polar snows were 
feebly marked, as if they were veiled by mist, or by small and 
separate bodies, too feeble to be reproduced individually by 
the photograph ; but on April 10 the whole region was 
illuminated, the scene equalling in splendor the snows of our 
North Pole. The date of this event corresponds with the 
end of the winter season of the southern hemisphere of Mars, 
which corresponds to the middle of our February. 


The explanation of these changes is easily furnished by 
terrestrial analogies. We have witnessed an immense snow- 
fall in the southern hemisphere of Mars. These aspects are 
so evident upon each of the fourteen photographs, that the 
mere sight thereof enables us to indorse each with its proper 

We might perhaps imagine that water exists in Mars in a 
fifth state, intermediate between mist and fluid. On our world 
water presents itself to us in four greatly differing conditions, 
— the solid states of ice and snow, which also differ from 
each other ; the liquid state common in the average tempera- 
ture and atmospheric pressure ; the vesicular state of mist and 
clouds; and the invisible state of transparent vapor. We 
can imagine a fifth form, the viscous, which would account for 
these variable Martian formations, whose duration may last 
for several months. 

But why these straight lines, and why these duplications ? 
We have not yet ascertained, but we are not forbidden to 
continue the search. The science of physical astronomy has, 
for the last few years, made such rapid progress, that things now 
appear real which, less than a quarter of a century ago, were 
considered merely as so many dreams. On the one hand, 
optical instruments have been considerably improved. We 
do not mean merely that certain gigantic glasses have far sur- 
passed their predecessors, but that middlensized instruments 
have gained both in clearness and definitive power. 

On the other hand, observers have entered the field of 
minute investigation, with an energetic patience and untiring 
perseverance which have led them to the discovery of secrets 
of Nature heretofore unknown. Among these studies, that of 
the constitution of the worlds composing our planetaiy sys- 
tem has been the goal of the happiest researches ; and, among 
the different worlds of our solar archipelago, the planet Mars 
has allowed the terrestrial eye to intimately penetrate its 
organization, and to detect some of the movements taking 
place on its surface. 

We have wished, in this paper, to present to those of our 
readers who interest themselves in the wonders of the heavens, 
an expos^ of certain unforeseen facts which have lately come to 
our knowledge. In transporting ourselves for an instant to 
a neighboring world, we enter into a more direct relation 
with Nature, in whose bosom all worlds and beings move, and 


we gain a better knowledge of the universe of which we are 
an integral part. 


Let us recall, in closing, the special conditions of Mars, in 
regard to habilability. 

Our readers are aware that Mars circles next beyond the 
earth, in the order of planetary distance from the sun. Our 
earth id placed at a distance of 91,962,760 miles (148,000,- 
000 kilometers) from the sun, about which it effects a i-evo- 
lution once in 365 1-4 days, with the rapidity of 1,598,163 3-4 
miles (2,572,000 kilometers) per day. Mars i-evolves at a 
distance of 139,808,250 miles (225,000,000 kilometers) ; and 
his years are longer than ours, measuring 687 days each, 
while he swings along at a velocity of 1,287,478 3-1 miles, 
(2,072,000 kilometers) per day. The average distance, 
therefore, between these two orbits, of Mars and our world, 
is 47,845, 490 miles (77,000,000 kilometers). This is 
the distance at which the planet passes, when it reaches 
the vicinity of our own planet. Their orbits not being exactly 
circular, but elliptic, the minimum distance between them 
varies. It may go down to 34,175,350 miles (55,000,000 
kilometers), or it may rise to 62,137,000 miles (100,000,000 
kilometers).- Even in its closest proximity, the planet still 
appears to be sixty-three times smaller than the moon. 
Therefore, a telescope, with a magnifying power of sixty- 
three diameters, makes Mars appear to us as if he enjoyed 
the same dimensions the moon presents to the naked hu- 
man eye. A magnifying power of six hundred and thirty 
shows Mars to 113 as if he were ten times larger in di- 
ameter tlian our satellite appears, when seen with the naked 

Mars is smaller than the planet we inhabit. If we represent 
the diameter of the earth as one hundred, that of Mars 
must be represented by fifty-three, or a little more than half the 
diameter of the earth ; and this diameter is 4,256 1-2 miles 
(6,850 kilometers). The circumference of Mars is 13,3591-2 
miles (21,500 kilometers). This is about twice the circum- 
ference of the moon, whose diameter can be expressed, accord- 
ing to the preceding proportion, as twenty-seven, and is 
2,159 1-4 miles (3,475 kilometers). 

Mars turns on its axis once in twenty-tour hours, thirty- 


seven minutes, and twenty-tiliree seconds, and numbers, in 
consequence of this rotation, 668 days in one of its years. 

Its seasons are like ours in temperature, the inclination of 
the planet's axis being almost the same as ours (24° 62'), 
but each seiison is about twice as long as ours. Spring lasts 
about 191 days; summer, 181; autumn, 149; and winter, 
147. Its atmosphere appears to be similar to that we 
breathe. Clouds, rain, snow, ice, mist, fine days and foul, 
succeed one another very much as they do here. 

Mars, however, is a great deal lighter than the earth. If 
we represent the weight of the earth by one hundred, that 
of Mars would be eleven. That is to say, Mars is about one- 
tenth as heavy as our globe. The average density of the 
materials whereof Mars is composed is seventy-one, accord- 
ing to the proportion above adopted, the density of our 
woiid's materials being represented by one hundred. The 
weight of substances on the surface of Mars is correspond- 
ingly less than the weight of substances on the earth, and is 
expressed by 37.6. That is to say, one kilogram here 
would weigh only 376 grams there ; and a man weighing 
70 kilograms (140 pounds) on the earth would Aveigh only 
26 kilograms (52 pounds) in Mars. 

Let us add, in order to complete this general survey, that 
Mara wanders in space attended by two smaller satellites, 
w^hose diameters do not seem greater than the breadth of the 
city of Paris, from six to eight miles. These satellites 
revolve, very rapidly around their planet^ the one nearest in 
seven* hours, thirty-nine minutes, fifteen seconds; and the 
other in thirty hours, seventeen minutes, and fifty-four 
seconds. 'Jto the eyes of the inhabitants of Mara, their firat 
moon rises in the west and sets in the east. 

According to the totality of investigations into the physi- 
cal constitution of Mara, that planet actually appeara to be, 
like our own, the seat of great activity. Mara resembles 
our world in many respects, though differing from it in 
others. Mara is older than our world, yet is smaller and 
less important in bulk. It must have passed through its 
stages of development more rapidly than our globe, and is 
doubtless farther advanced in its progressive vitality. 
Its watera appear to be already partially absorbed. Its 
mountains hav^ perhaps been destroyed, razed by cyclic 




periods of disintegration, thfough the influence of rain, 
frost, wind, and tempest. Yet the unceasing activity which 
it betrays, seems to establish a sort of planetary kinship 
between that world and ours; and the studiously minute 
attention, bestowed upon everything discoverable on its 
surface, will be, for the astronomer and thinker, an inex- 
haustible source of satisfaction -and emotion, and probably of 
surprise. Optical instruments will rise from perfection unto 
perfection, and the perseverance of astronomical observers 
will be rewarded by unexpected discoveries. Who can fore- 
cast the progress which the future of science holds in i-eserve 
for the conquest of the sidereal universe ? 

[The author of this valuable paper adds the following personal 
paragraphs. — Ed.] 

Postscript : I have continued my observations on Mars up 
to the moment of mailing this article, October 22. This 
planet, which, on June 5, swept by us at a distance of only 
44,662,229 mUes (71,700,000 kilometers), is now 106,011,- 
630 miles (169,000,000 kilometers) away from the earth, — 
that is to say, more than twice as far off, and its disk appears 
less than half as great in diameter. Nevertheless, I have 
been able to observe, on almost every clear day, the snow at 
I • , the two Martian poles. The snow at the south pole is more 

extensive than at the north. The north pole has, however, 
ali*eady entered its winter season, having passed its autumnal 
equinox on July 3. The south pole has entered its summer 
season, but its snows are far from melting, 

In passing, let us say that we know much more about the 
poles of Mars than we do of the earth's. Our poles, no man 
has ever seen. 

The best time to observe Mars is in the lialf-hour preceding 
0^ sunset, — that is, while there is yet daylight. One can then 

distinguish very clearly the wondrous Martian waters, and 
that distant world turning slowly before his very eyes. At 
one longitudinal degree in Mars, it is high noon. Over 
another degree, on the left, the sun is already setting ; while 
over still another, at the right, the sun is just rising. One is 
irresistibly compelled to ask himself. What can be going on 
over there ? 




Ageiculturb having been the first industry of settled 
life, we may assume that the farmer has pursued his calling 
since the dawn of civilization ; yet, necessary as have been 
such labors, he has borne many burdens from which his 
brothers have been exempt, doubtless owing to the diflSculty 
experienced in forming combinations with his fellows for 
concerted action, while those representing aggregates of 
capital, being comparatively few in numbers, easily effect 
such combinations. This is especially true of the present 
era, and of those controlling the great mass of capital repre- 
sented by the railways of the country, nominally amounting 
to 1^9,369,000,000, and appearing to equal 60 per cent, while 
being not over 30 per cent, of the capital invested in farms , 
yet, the influence exerted upon economic and other questions 
by railway owners and farmers is in an inverse ratio to their 
respective numbers and the magnitude of their investments. 

One is a compact force, disciplined, alert, living in the 
midst of the greatest activities ; the other exceedingly more 
numerous, undisciplined, leading isolated lives and with few 
incentives to quickeniiig thought. 

Those familiar with the history of the last sixty years will 
not question the great benefits resulting from the construction 
of railways, or grudge the men who have carried foi;Avard 
these great undertakings a rich reward. 

By the aid of the railway the wilderness has been made 
productive, countless farms brought within reach of the 
great markets, mines opened, mills, factories, and forges 
built, villa.<^es, towns, and cities brought into existence, and 
populous States carried to a biglier development than would 
have been possible in centuries -without such aids. Such are 
but a part of the beneficent results flowing from the con- 
struction of the railway. 




While the builders of the railway have been exploiting a 
continent and piling up the greatest fortunes ever known, the 
farmer has taken an unproductive wilderness and literally 
hewn his way through the great forests which clothed sea- 
board and central region to the open prairie, there developing 
the most productive of States, continued his toilsome march 
up the arid slopes, scaled the mountains and planted orchard, 
vineyard, and farm by the shores of the Western Ocean. 

His labors have enabled the nation to flood the markets 
with a plethora of bread, meat, and fibre, to meet the enor- 
mous expenditure of a devastating war, to repair the losses 
and havoc of those bloody days, and then to turn the balance 
of trade in our favor. 

Willingly has the farmer performed this labor, expecting 
to share in the prosperity of the country, yet not always con- 
tent with his part of the rewards, and coming to believe that 
those controlling the carriage of his products were exacting 
as toll more than a just proportion thereof. He has seen the 
carrier yearly adding to his property, building new lines from 
the tolls collected on the old, increasing his wealth and power, 
and leaving a constantly lessening proportion of the proceeds 
arising from the sale of farm products, to the grower. As 
population has increased, railway property has grown in rela- 
tive value, as has the power of those controlling it, and this in- 
crease has been very largely made from revenues derived f rcwn 
tolls levied to pay interest and dividends on the water in the 
bonds and shares, hence made at the expense of railway users, 
a large part of whom are farmers. ' 

All are fairly prosperous except such as are engaged in 
the basic industry of civilization, and the one cloud in the 
industrial horizon is the unsatisfactory condition of a large 
part of an agricultural population numbering some 25,000,000, 
and the railway is chargeable with so much of this as results 
from the exaction of unjust tolls, and this inquiry is insti- 
tuted for the purpose of ascertaining if the complaints, as to 
the unreasonableness of such charges, are well grounded. 

The hiqliust tribunals hold that railway companies are 
public trusts, and can exercise the power to enter upon and 
tiike private property solely in their public character ; and 
that the exercise of such exceptional power can be de- 
fended only upon the ground that the good of the public 
can best be subserved by a corporation under obligation to 


treat all justly in rendering services which each citizen 
cannot perform for himself ; that the State could perform the 
functions delegated to railway corporations, wliich are trusts 
organized for the service of the i)ublic iand charged with 
remuneration for the private capital employed ; that the cor- 
porations thus endowed must provide all needed facilities for 
conducting speedily the business for which they were created ; 
and that the charge for the services rendered shall be no more 
than just and reiisonable ; and the Federal courts have not 
hesitated to determine what was a just and reasonable charge. 

The Courts hold that rates fixed by the State are prima 
fade reasonable, and while railway companies cannot be 
barred from showing the unremunerative character of such 
rates, they can only do so by disclosing — in addition to the cost 
of maintenance and operation — the exact cost of the plant em- 
ployed, and that in arriving at such cost account can be taken 
only of monies actually expended in construction and equip- 
ment. Railway companies have evinced no desire to make 
disclosures of this character, although it would be easy in this 
way to show that the schedule of rates established by the 
State was unremunerative, if such was the case. 

The cost of maintaining and operating any given railway 
is readily ascertainable, and it should be equally easy to deter- 
mine its cost, but such a procedure is surrounded with grave 
difficulties, — difficulties growing out of syndicates and con- 
struction companies, the manufacture of securities, of bond 
and stock waterings, the purchase and construction of branch 
lines at low cost, and unloading upon the stockholders at 
high cost. Stock and scrip dividends, bonus * of stock to 
purchaser of bonds, bonds sold to pay unearned dividends 
that much stock may be unloaded at high prices ^ la Wabash, 
the building of branch lines at low cost, capitalizing at high 
cost, and covering resulting profits into the treasury of the 
parent company to be distributed as dividends, and forever 
taxing the railway user to pay interest and dividends on the 
profits thus enjoyed, as well as by a thousand and one other 
shady devices by which water is added to the basic power of 
levying tolls and increasing the amount upon which the pub- 
lic is expected to furnish the means of paying interest and 

*The Santa Fe and other companies have given as a bonus as much as ten 
shares of stock with each $1,000 bond sold. 


• i 294 THE ARENA. 

, ' 

i I 


The cost of the railway is known only to its managers, 
and rarely to them, as the constructors but seldom retain the 
management, and railway accounts are manipulated in num- 
berless peculiar wajrs for the sophistication of investors. For 
instance, on page 184 of the 1889 report, of the Kansas R. R. 
Commissioners, there is appended to the statement of bonded 
indebtedness, made by the Atchison, Topeka & Santa ¥6^ this 
note : " The early records of the Company are very incom- 
plete, and it is impossible to tell, with any accuracy, the 
amount realized from, the issue of these bonds," i, e., 
f 14,061,600 of first mortgage, land grant, and consolidated 
bonds. Another typical case is that of a railway company 
in whose service was the writer, and which built a costly 
line of passenger steamers for lake service ; but, by reason of 
the building of railways north and south of the lake, the 
operation of the line became unprofitable, the steamers were 
dismantled, engines sold, and the great sum they represented, 
dropped from the annual report of the company, without a 
word of explanation. 

Managers dealing thus with stockholders, are not likely to 
be more frank with the public. Indeed the cost of the rail- 
way, and the manipulations of such cost, are of the profes- 
sional secrets which are employed to defraud railway users 
and investors, and a case or two in point may not be unin- 
teresting, as showing some of the processes adopted in the 
manufacture and marketing of stocks and bonds, which are 
so frequently but evidences of corporate fraud, rather than 

An illustration of the ease with which investor and user 
are alike plundered, is found in the case of a corporation con- 
trolling a valuable dividend-paying property, which a second 
company parallel with expectation of profits only from con- 
struction, and by forcing a sale, — eventually effected, — to 
the older company, the result being the trebling of railway 
capital, without an increase of traffic. 

Another form of corporate fraud is the payment of un- 
earned dividends from the proceeds of bonds sold, thus adding 
to the capitalization, and necessitating the collection of 
unjust tolls to pay interest. These fraudulent payments are 
often made to enable the management to foist upon the 
public immense issues of worthless shares, such dividends 
being continued as long as bondij can be sold, and a mai*ket 


found for the stock, and when one of these bubbles is about 
to burst, the manipulators make further vast profits, by selling 
*^ short,'' and then having disclosures made of the hopeless 
condition of the corporate finances. 

Yet another form of corporate fraud is the purchase or con- 
struction of cheap branch lines, and selling them at two, three, 
or four times their cost to the Company of whose interests the 
profiting parties are the trustees. Sometimes these lines are 
consolidated with that of the parent company and new issues 
of securities made to cover the added mileage, while in other 
cases the old Company enables the schemers to sell immense 
issues of the shares and bonds of the auxiliary line at high 
prices by guaranteeing the bonds of the latter and leasing its 
road at an exorbitant rental. Loaded down in this way the 
old Company frequently ceases to pay dividends. 

Again the parent Company resolves itself into a construc- 
tion Company and covers into its treasury the profits arising 
from the construction of cheap branches. For instance, it is 
shown on page 891 of the 1889 report of the Kansas R. R. 
Commissioners that the St. Louis and San Francisco Railway 
Company derived a profit of $67,871 from the construction of 
ten and one half miles of road that should not have cost over 
$10,000 per mile, but which, with this profit added and stock 
issued for a nominal consideration, is capitalized for $28,845 
per mile. This Company has built many hundred miles in 
recent years, and construction profits have aided in the pay- 
ment of dividends on preferred stock, while providing a basis 
for levying, for all time, tolls to pay interest and dividends 
on the bonds and stock representing the profits divided. 
Thus, the greater the profits from construction, the greater 
the sums which can hereafter be extorted from the user of 
the railway. 

* Poor's Manual shows that to make contemplated exten- 
sions the stock of the Missouri Pacific was, during 1886-87, 
increased $15,000,000, and the funded dfebt $14,376,000, and 
while the capitalization of the parent company was thus 
increased $29,379,000,1 the lines built or purchased were 
capitalized from $8,000 to $62,000 per mile, the result of 
such multiple capitalization being to add an immense amount 

*" Poor's Manual" is a compendium of such financial and traffic state- 
ments as the railway companies prepare for publication. 

t August, 1890 — It is now stated that the Missouri Pacific has added 
820,000,000 to its capitalization. 


of water to old as well as new issues. There are some very 
instructive phases of the construction of this new mileage. 
For instance the 310 miles of the auxiliary Fort Scott, 
Wichita & Western is shown by Mr. Poor to have cost 
$4,666,000 ; the funded debt is shown by Kansas R. R. Com- 
mission to be $5,666,000, and Mr. Poor shows that $4,666,000 
of such bonds are deposited with the Union Trust Company 
to secure $4,666,000 of Missouri Pacific ti'ust mortgage bonds 
issued to provide -the $4,666,000, which the road is said to have 
cost. Has the user of this railway a right to ask what 
became of the other $1,000,000 of mortgage bonds and the 
$7,000,000 of capital stock upon which rates are based, and 
which make up a capitalization of $8,000,000 in excess of 
cost, and what was the consideration therefore ? 

In the case of the 411 miles of the Missouri Pacific's Den 
ver, M. & A. line, Mr. Poor shows the cost to have beien 
$4,920,000, and Kansas report shows bonded debt to be $6,- 
561,000, the first mortgage bonds exceeding the cost by 
$1,641,000, and the entire capitalization being $8,202,000 in 
excess of cost, a large part of which cost was borne by the 
municipalities along the line. Like conditions obtain with 
all Missouri Pacific lines built of late years except two short 
ones not yet mortgaged. 

Another mode of collecting excessive tolls and defrauding 
the public, is that practised by the subsidized Pacific lines in 
paying $900,000 per annum to the Pacific Mail Steamship 
Company to forego competition, and then charging the public 
two or three times this sum to recoup themselves for such 
illegal diversion of corporate funds. 

A xmique case is that of an Ohio corporation, wliere the 
men who afterwards became the directors and managers gave 
their notes to certain bankers for money borrowed for the 
purpose of bupng the shares which were to give them con- 
trol of the corporation, and, having by tliis means secured 
control, applied — in whole or in part — to tlie payment of 
such notes, the first mortgage bonds of the company to the 
amount of $8,000,000, although such bonds had, in compli- 
ance with the requirements of the statutes of Ohio, been 
issued for the express purpose of equipments, double tracks, 
and other betterments.* 

*Sec the seventh annual report of the Columbus, Hocking Valley & 
Toledo Railway Cuuipauy. 


Many auxiliary lines have been built at costs ranging 
from $8,000 to $15,000 per mile, and capitalized at two, 
three, four, and even five times their cost, as in the case of 
the 107 miles of the Kansas Midland, costing, including a 
small equipment, but $10,200 per mile, of which 30 per cent, 
was furnished by the municipalities along its line, yet with 
construction profits and other devices this road shows a capi- 
talization of $53,000 per mile. 

Or take the 1055 miles in Kansas of the Chicago, Kansas 
& Nebraska built by the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific 
in much the same way and capitalized for $38,000 per mile. 
Kansas municipalities aided to the extent of $2,500 per mile 
in building this road, receiving the stock of the company in 
exchange for municipal bonds; now, however, foreclosure 
proceedings are pending in the interest of and at the procure- 
ment of the parent company (which owns, practically, all the 
bonds and stock of the auxiliary line except the stock issued 
to the municipalities), whereby the municipalities are to be 
despoiled of this $2,500,000. 

This is no uncommon device for plundering the farmer 
and other tax-payers ; and railway presidents, directors, and 
managers, who would scorn to put their hands in the pocket 
of the farmer and abstract a (single) silver dollar, rarely 
hesitate when, by the devices described, they can take from 
the same farmer and his congeners a lump sum of $2,500,000, 
and the successful workers of such schemes, by one and the 
same act, acquire vast sums and a reputation for great 
financial ability. 

Another type is found in the Marion and McPherson line 
of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa F^,* built largely from 
old and much worn material, and originally capitalized for 
$28,000 per mile, being more than three times its cost. 
Under the recent re-organization of the Santa Fd, each mile 
represents a much larger sum ; but how much larger I am 
unable to ascertain from the accounting ofiicers of that com- 
pany, to whom application was made for definite information. 

Other Santa F6 lines show peculiar phases of railway 
administration. For instance, the Santa F6, jointly with the 
St. Louis & San Francisco, built the Wichita & Western, 
extending 125 miles through a sparsely settled district and 

* Known as the " Atchison " in New England and as the " Santa Fe " in 
the West. 



not paying operating expenses, yet the Santa F^, although 
liaving another and parallel line — the Southern Kansas — 
less than twenty-four miles south of the Wichita & Western, 
doubly paralleled itself by building a third line between the 
two, this third line, for one hundred miles, being eight to four- 
teen miles from the Wichita & Western on the north, and, 
for seventy miles, but ten to sixteen from the Southern Kan- 
sas on the south. 

In this way has money been wasted in construction, the 
farmer unnecessarily burdened, the parent company loaded 
with an immense unproductive mileage, and rendered unable 
to pay fixed charges, and thousands of those investing in its 
securities reduced to sore straits, the reason for all of which 
is probably td be found in the profits — private or corporate 
— growing out of construction. 

Perhaps the Santa F^ affords as fair an illustration as can 
be found of the ease with which twelve men, sitting in 
directors' chairs, can issue an edict for the creation of an 
hundred million or more of fiat property, the only evidence 
of the existence of which is found in reams of paper, and 
affording additional evidence of the great and growing 
utility of printers' ink as an instrument of advanced civili- 
zation. By this simple process and without any addition to 
the property of the corporation, the liabilities of the Santa 
F^ have been increased more than $100,000,000, and while 
rates of interest may have been scaled down, the total of 
interest and principal have been scaled up. When an indi- 
vidual or firm fails, creditors usually accept large reductions 
of principal in adjustment ; but when a railway company like 
the Saiita F^ fails, they insist on doubling the principal and 
increasing the total of interest. 

Although the earnings of the Santa F^, in 1888, amounted 
to $2,944,529 less than operating expenses and fixed charges, 
the managers paid an unearned dividend of $2,626,000, 
which, with other enormous additions to the liabilities, are to 
be an endless burden upon railway users and the warrant 
for the exaction of unjust tolls. 

The Santa F^'s recently acquired control of the St. Louis 
& San Francisco lines, — which are to be operated as a dis- 
tinct property — is a remarkable instance of the fiat process of 
multipl}'ing securities without the addition of one dollar's 
worth to the world's stock of property. 


The St. Louis & San Francisco controlled 1329* miles 
of railway, capitalized for the enonnons sum of $70,402,800, 
being $52,200 per mile. The Santa F6 acquired control of 
this property by issuing $26,285,175 of new Santa F6 stock, 
not to retire the stock of the " Frisco " but to buy it and 
place it in the treasury of the Santa F6 and applyf such 
dividends as may accrue to the payment of current Santa F^ 

The result to the railway user will be that, whereas the 
" Frisco " property has been represented by ^^70,402,800 of 
'' Frisco " and auxiliary stocks and bonds, it is now repre- 
sented by that sum plus $26,285,175 of Santa F^ stock, which 
is an addition of fictitious capital upon widch the user is ex- 
pected to furnish revenue, and the owners of Santa F^ shares 
have that amount of water injected into their holdings. 

J The Santa F^ holds 741,129^- shares, of the par value of 
$74,112,950, of stock of auxiliary lines built wholly from 
land grants, municipal aid, and proceeds of bonds sold, and 
for this immense number of shares the only consideration — 
as shown by the Santa F^ ledger — was $4,029, or a fmction 
over half of one cent a share. For 663,306^ of these shares, 
of the par value of $66,330,650, the only consideration shown 
is $15.00, being at the rate of 44^^^^ shares of the par value 
of $4,422.00 for one cent. Sucn is the stuff which passes 
current as railway securities and on which the railway user is 
taxed to pay dividends ! 

The Santa F^ affords a most instructive example of what 
may be accomplished in the way of multiplying securities by 
the hoodooing§ of accounts, by reckless construction, the pay- 
ment of stock dividends ($18,000,000), the giving of vast 
quantities of stock to the purchasers of bonds, the payment 
of unearned dividends and the creation of $100,000,000 and 
more of fiat securities at one or two sittings. 

The seventy miles of the Columbus and Cincinnati Mid- 
land, built at a cost of about $17,000 per mile — of which 
some $1,500 per mile was donated by the people along its 
line — ^is capitalized at $57,000 per mile and earns nearly 
twelve per cent, on the money furnished by its builders, yet 

*rnr1nde snch lines as the Kansas Midland, etc., built at costs ranging from 
$10,000 to $16,000 per mile. 
tFinancial chronicld of May 31, 1890. 
I Poor's Manual; 1889, page 723. 
$Ante, page 6. 





ii ' 



* I 


I ; 

,( i 






f . 




' II 

\ \ 
t k' 


1 1 




appears to earn but three per cent., while in its immense ficti- 
tious capital the foundation is laid for further exactions. 

The enormous profits accruing from the operation of the 
construction company, and the unjust tax thereby forever im- 
posed upon the public, is exemplified in the case of the 
" Credit Mobilier " and other construction devices connected 
with the building of the various Pacific lines, out of which 
grew no little corruption of legislators, the ruin, politically, 
of promising statesmen, and the amassing of so many great 
fortunes, typified in the case of the four men who built the 
Central Pacific and whose united worldly possessions in 1860 
are said to have been but $120,000. Now, however, their 
estates are estimated at more than $120,000,000. 

Mr. Poor states that " the cost per mile of the roads mak- 
ing returns (1888) as measured by the amount of their stocks 
and indebtediiess equalled nearly $60,732 as against $58,603 
for 1887," being an increase of $2,129 per mile, and at tlie 
price recently prevailing, it would require 136,000,000 
bushels of the farmers' com annually to pay 6 per cent, on 
the water absorbed by railway securities in one year, and oy 
such waterings yearly it will take but fourteen years to 
absorb the entire com crop to provide revenue on the added 
fluid. How long shall this process be permitted to continue ? 

Mr. Poor also states that, in the eleven central farming 
States, railway earnings have in eighteen years increased 175 
per cent, and the bushels of wheat and com grow 160 per 
cent. ; yet he forgets to tell us that such has been the shrinkage 
in the prices of farm products that the value of the wheat and 
com crops in these States increased but 67 per cent., show- 
ing conclusively that the railways are taking a constantly in- 
creasing proportion of the proceeds arising from the sale of 
the products of the farm. 

Tliis is still more clearly shown on the same page in the 
statement that in these States railway revenue in i870 was 
$12 for each unit of the population as against $18 in 1888. 
Thus the per capita transportation tax is shown to have in- 
creaised 60 per cent. 

Mr. Poor says, " With these facts before us, it is difficult 
to understand the extraordinary antipathy to railroad coipora- 
tions in the West." 

If such antipathy exists, possibly Mr. Poor could under- 
stand it if he would but look at these facts, and others herein 


stated, in all their uakeduess, keeping in view their true 
bearing upon the greatest of the nation's industries. 

That no such antipathy exists is shown by the fact that, 
while the railways of Illinois are capitalized for $42,460 per 
mile, they are assessed for purposes of taxation at $7,863 per 
mile, those of Iowa are capitalized at $38,069, and assessed at 
$5,189, those of Nebraska are capitalized at $40,172, and 
assessed at $5,829, and those of Kansas are capitalized at 
$52,155, and assessed at $6,595 per mile. 

We have seen some of the processes by which the investor 
is shorn, and an enormous fictitious capitalization piled up to 
aid in taxing the farmer and others. Is it any wonder that 
when his wares are selling at starvation prices, the farmer be- 
comes restive under the burdens thus imposed and seeks to 
replace present ownership by that of the nation ? 

According to Mr. Poor, there existed 156,082 miles of 
railway at the close of 1888, showing a capitalization — in- 
cluding floating debts — of $9,369,398,954, to pay interest 
and dividends on which a toll is levied on all the industries 
of the country. 

How much of this vast capitalization is real, and how much 
the fictitious outgrowth of the practices described? 

Owing to the practices illustrated, it is impossible for rail- 
way companies to show the cost of their properties, and we 
are compelled to reach an approximation by estimating such 
cost, and thus determining the sum upon which revenue should 


Grubbing and clearing $100 

Right of way and land damage 2,500 

Earthwork and rock cuttings 4,500 

Bridges, culverts and masonry 3,000 

Ties — 3000 2,000 

Rails, splices, bolts and spikes 4,000 

Switches, side-tracks, cattle-guards, road croppings and 

fences 1,100 

Track laying, surfacing and ballasting 2,300 

Depots, water-tanks, stockyards, shops and terminals . . 3,500 

Equipment 4,500 

Engineering, rents, interest, taxes, and contingencies . . 2,500 

Total cost per mile .* . . . $30,000 



* That this estimate is more than ample is assured by the 
statement (in substance) of Mr. H. V. Poor that the capitaliz- 
ation of the roads built from 1880 to 1883 is double the act- 
ual investment and, could the fictitious capital be eliminated, 
railways, as investments, would have no parallel ; and in the 
statement that within five years ending in 1883, "about 
40,000 miles of line were constructed at a cash cost of at 
least $1,100,000," being $27,500 per mile ; and that "in 1884 
only about 4,000 miles of new line were constructed, the 
cost of which did not exceed $20,000 per mile and perhaps 
not over $15,000 per mile." 

For each mile of railway costing more than $30,000 per 

mile, ten can be found that have cost from $8,000 to $20,000. 

^ I The eastern two hundred miles of the Kansas Division of the 

Union Pacific, built in the era of high prices, cost less than 
$20,000, although now bearing a capitalization of $105,000 per 
mile, but a well known manipulator — who made restitution of 
millions to the Erie — supervised its reorganization, which 
may account for the generous volume of water incorporated 
in the securities. 

The Missouri Pacific line from Eldorado to McPher- 
son, Kansas, a comparatively expensive prairie road, being 
located across the line of drainage, cost much less than 
$10,000 per mile, as have thousands of miles of other prairie 
^j Possibly $30,000 per mile is less than it would cost to du- 

plicate the railways, east of Ohio, but the most of the mileage 
being west of that region where the cost, outside of a few 
1 mountain roads, is at a minimum; the estimate, if erroneous, 

i certainly errs in placing the cost too high. Moreover, we 

have a factor of safety in the fact that the nation, to aid in 
building railways, has granted 197,000,000 acres of land, a 
large part of which has passed into the possession of the rail- 
way companies, and from which they have realized vast sums, 
probably more than $300,000,000, to which should be added 
State and municipal aid and individual donations to the amount 
of $150,000,000 to $250,000,000. 

Taking no account of the sums loaned the Pacific railways, 
the people liave contributed at least $2,000 per mile towards 
the cost of existing railways, hence we are war^nted in as- 

• i 


* See Poor's Manual for 1884 and 1886. 


suming that $30,000 per mile is the maximum sum on which 
the user should furnish revenue, less such revenue as the cor- 
porations derive from rents, interests, and dividends, from 
lands, buildings, railways, mines, stocks, or bonds bought or 
brought into existence by an expenditure of any part of such 
$30,000 per mile or the earnings therefrom, such revenue, 
aside from traffic earnings, being now about $90,000,000 per 

It is claimed that in determining the amount of capital on 
wliich the rates of toll shall be based, the people are entitled 
to no voice, but, as the compensation is to be reasonable and 
the measure of such compensation being the cost of main- 
taining and operating {he railway plus a fair return for the 
capital actually employed, the people are unquestionably 
entitled to a voice in determining what such compensation 
shall be and how it shall be arrived at, and their representar 
tives will find the railways have cost not to exceed an average 
of $30,000 per mile, and could be duplicated for enough less 
to more than offset the enhancement in the value of right of 
way, depot grounds and terminals. 

Railways well located and mortgaged for 80 per cent, or 
less of actual cost can dispose of three and one half to four 
and one half per cent, bonds at par, but badly located or 
poorly managed roads often failing to pay interest, we may 
call five per cent, a fair rate, and on this basis the annual net 
revenue of roads existing at the close of 1888, from traffic, 
rents, interest, dividends, and all other sources, should not 
exceed $234,123,000, being $67,408,000 less than the net 
traffic earnings reported by Poor, and taking the net earnings 
($405,220,000) as shown by the Inter-State Commission, the 
excess is $171,097,000 wrongfully extorted from the agri- 
cultural and other industries in one year. 

This difference in the amount of net earnings arises from 
the fact that, in Poor's Manual, only traffic earnings are 
tabulated,* no account being taken of the immense sums 
railway companies derive from rents of lands, buildings, 
tmek, and terminals, as well as in the form of dividends on 
stocks and bonds owned, and the profits from the sale of such 
securities, all. amounting to vast sums and yearly increasing 
as the railways become consolidated and absorb more anil 

Page 4 of the Introduction of Manual of 1889, 


more of existing property ; hence Mr. Poor's figures are in- 
complete and misleading, inasmuch as they fail to convey a 
correct idea of the total of railway earnings or the amount 
annually extorted from the user. 

Of the 1234,123,000 resulting from a five per cent, 
revenue on $30,000 per mile, a very large part, as will here- 
after be shown, belongs to the user rather than the investor, 
while many parallel roads, built for constructioji profits, are 
needless, and others so badly located that the traffic will be 
wholly insufficient to provide revenue, and the owners must, 
like the owners of badly located buildings, suffer the loss 
entailed by lack of business sagacity. Favorably located 

1 roads can collect more than five per cent. ; should they be 

, permitted to* do so? Each railway company is a distinct 

1 organization, each road a separate instrument and specially 

conditioned, and it is questionable if the compensation for the 
capital employed should^ in any case, be permitted to exceed 
the rates fixed upon, from time to time, as a just return. 
As interest rates fall, so should returns from railway invest- 

Justice and reason appear to have little part in determining 
railway rates, the environment being all potent, as in the 
States where efficient granger laws * have been reinforced by 
a strong and active commission, rates are much the lowest 
and highest where either the laws or the commission are in-» 
efficient ; yet enough has been accomplished to show the be- 
neficent possibilities of governmental control in suppressing 
some of the multifarious evil practices of railway companies, 
and while these practices continue they are much less common 
and not so flagrant as in the past, when the manager of an 
Inter-State railway, in order to destroy the value of the prop- 
erty of a coal company having no other outlet for its product, 
could, without a minute's notice, advance the rates on coal 
shipped by such company 133 per cent, above the rates charged 
another coal company in which such railway company and its 
officers were stockholders ; nor with the Inter-State law in 
force are railway officials likely to repeat the indiscretion of 
.such manager in writing the president of a coal company (of 
whose property he desired to force a sale) the subjoined 

* " Granger laws" are the laws enacted in the Agricultural States of the 
HissiBsippiValley for the control of railway rates Mid methods. 


Office of the Second Vice-Pres't and Gen'l Managek, 

St. Louis, Mo., February 9th, 1882. 

President Pittsburg Coal Company, Pittsburg, Kansas. 
Dear Sir: — I will pass through Pittsburg about 12 o'clock on 
Monday next, and would be glad to have you join me at Pittsburg, and 
go to Girard, and back to Pittsburg. 

If we can buy your coal at a low price, I think we can possibly make 
a deal on that basis. 

As long as you continue shipping coal, it has a demoralizing effect on 
the trade, and renders the coal business unprofitable, to a certain extent, 
to the *' RrOQERs Coal* Company." 

Respectfully, C. W. ROGERS, 

Second Vice-PresH and GenH Manager, 

Discriminations and other fraudulent practices, whereby 
the few are enriched at the expense of the public, doubtless 
continue, and will until railway managers, thus betraying 
their trusts, are sent to keep company with the men who 
plundered the Ocean, Fidelity, and Sixth Avenue banks ; but 
there is, as compared with the time preceding the enactment 
of Inter-State and State laws, but little of the work of dis- 
crimination in progress; and great as is this evil, it is 
trivial as compared with those growing out of a capitaliza- 
tion excessive by more than one half, and which is the 
warrant for annually levying an immense sum in unjust tolls, 
by which producer and consumer are alike despoiled of a 
large part of their earnings. 

If the courts are right in holding that the carrier is len- 
. titled to but a reasonable compensation, and that the reason- 
ableness of the charge rests upon the cost of maintenance, 
operation, and the amount actually invested in the plant, 
then the exaction of existing nites of toll is wholly indefensi- 
ble. As a bar to the rendering of justice to the user, the 
plea is made that should rates be reduced to what would 
afford but a fair return for the actual cost of the plant, it 
. would work great hardship to the present holders of railway 
securities, who are assumed to have bought them in good 
faith, and many of whom are widows, orphans, trustees, and 
institutions in which the poor have deposited their scanty 
savings. Has this plea against justice any basis except one 
of sentiment? If sentiment and a charitable regard for 
tlie poor and helpless shall govern, are tliere not twelve 
times as many widows, oi'j)hans, and poor among the 60,- 
000,000 of railway usera ? 

From the fact that there are 10,000 holders of New York 



Central stock, Mr. Poor estimates that there are 1,000,000 
investors in railway securities, who, with their dependents, 
constitute a body of 5,000,000, and it is proposed that rather 
than this one thirteenth shall surrender, once for all, so much 
of their power to tax others as is the direct product of fraud, 
that they shall continue such unjust taxation. 

This is not simply a proposition that one thirteenth of the 
population shall unjustly tax all others this year, next year, 
or even the third or fourth year, but that such burden, yearly 
increasing by the addition of more water, shall be carried by 
the twelve thirteenths to their graves, that when death re- 
lieves them, their children and children's children, for count- 
less generations, shall each in its turn take up the grievous- 
burden and carry it until they also drop into the grave, and 
so long as these railways exist, this one thirteenth shall pos- 
sess the power to thus levy an iniquitous iijipost upon the en- 
tire industry of the country. Could anything be more unjust ? 
Shall 60,000,000 people and their descendants suffer a 
great and growing wrong rather than that 5,000,000 shall 
surrender a power to which they have no right? 

The railway is public rather than private property, and 
while the stockholder is entitled to the usufruct and its lim- 
ited control, yet such control is a trust for a specific purpose, 
such purpose being the service of the public for which the 
compensation shall be just and reasonable, but the law never 
contemplated that one party in interest should alone be in 
possession of the knowledge necessary to a determination of 
the amount of capital employed, and the reasonableness of the 
charges made, and so long as such knowledge is withheld, 
shareholders must expect discontent on the part of the pub- 
lic, and efforts to secure such control as will ensure justice; 
and it is this discontent which has been one of the most 
potent factors in bringing into existence the " Farmers' Alli- 
ance ^^ and kindred organizations, in whicli millions of farraera 
— for the first time in history — are united for a common 

The endowment of the railway company with the excep- 
tional power to enter upon and take private property, and 
the equally exceptional limitation of the stockholders' liabil- 
ity to the cost of the shares held, implies special duties and 
obligations to the public ; and the people, whose lands have 
been taken, who furnish the traffic, and provide the revenue, 


have a right to a voice in determining the justness of the 
rates charged. 

Another plea is that the cost of transportation is less in the 
United States than elsewhere, hence there can be no cause of 
complaint. If rates are higher in Republican France or Im- 
perial Germany, where railways exist, primarily, for military 
purposes, it is neither our duty to emulate them in such mat- 
ters, nor to copy their costly modes of railway administration ; 
yet we may well profit by their example in providing for 
stringent control of railways and the rates for carriage. 

The farmer, understanding that rates are unjust by reason 
of an enormous fictitious capitalization, and that such rates 
reduce the value of his land and its products, appeals to 
legislation for relief, which States have sought to furnish by 
laws, regulating rates and methods of administration, which 
are denounced as acts of robbery by the men who have per- 
petrated the frauds of which such laws are the resultant. 

The men loudest in denunciation of every attempt at con- 
trol by law are those most active in the manufacture of 
securities, in operating the construction company, in paying 
unearned dividends, in selling or capitalizing cheap lines at 
many times their cost. These are the special champions of 
the widow, the or|)han, and the savings bank, whom they 
have despoiled by the most unblushing frauds. These are 
the innocent, cliivalrous men, high in the esteem of the street 
and the exchange, who wish the way left open for more 
nickelplating, more Wabashing, more Credit Mobiliers, and 
more stock and bond watering. 

There is abundant evidence that where the laws have been 
such as to secure the greatest control, — Illinois and Iowa, — 
well located and judiciously managed railways are exceed- 
ingly prosperous. Many great lines derive the major part of 
their traffic from the granger States, yet the laws, which 
railway managers and investors denounce as acts of confisca- 
tion, have not prevented the payment of good dividends. 
Mr. Poor shows that, for twenty-five years the Chicago & 
Alton dividends have averaged 8.7 per cent., that the Chi- 
cago, Burlington & Quincy has paid regular cash dividends 
ranging from 8 to 10 per cent, per annum, and stock divi- 
dends aggregating $6,701,990. The Chicago, Rock Island 
<fe Pacific has done about as well in the way of dividends, 
although its traffic has been so largely drawn from Illinois 



and Iowa. Until certain bond and stock operations, the 
Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul paid 7 per cent, dividends, 
and the Chicago & Northwestern has swelled its capital 
account by the payment of stock dividends, while paying 
regular cash dividends of 6 to 8 per cent., and the Illinois 
Central has, for twenty-six years, paid dividends ranging from 
4 to 10 per cent, per annum, and aggregating $56,989,847. 

Notwithstanding these laws and that nearly or quite all 
these roads ca'Ty an undue amount of water, that crops have 
failed, and panics have prostrated the industries of the 
country, they have prospered, new lines been added from the 
'tolls collected on the old, the investor received ample 
returns, and some of the managers enabled, by some occult 
process, to amass enormous fortunes, all going to show that 
the granger laws have not been oppressive, and that when 
railways fail to make fair returns it is due to faulty location, 
unreasonable rate wars, speculative or incompetent manage- 
ment, or an extraordinary excess of water in capitalization. 

Possibly a flood of liglit may be thrown on this subject by 
the experience of the writer when general freight and pas- 
senger agent of a new railway. Imbued with the idea that 
the prosperity of the road would be subserved by encouraging 
immigration and fostering business, the writer formulated 
tariffs calculated to further such ends. Imagine his aston- 
ishment when told by the general manager they would not 
answer, and to be informed that the road was not being built 
to make money out of its oi)eration but out of its construc- 
tion, and what was required of the traffic department w^as the 
greatest present revenue possible and to make the passenger 
rates just low enough to ta,ke the traffic from the stages and 
the freight rates no lower than necessary to drive the ox 
teams out of the freight business. 

The policy then outlined was pursued until the railway 
passed through the reorganization thereby made inevitable, 
and this cheaply-built prairie line, with free right of way and 
land grant and subsidy equal to its entire cost, is now capi- 
talized for $105,000 per mile. 

On most railways the basic principle underlying tariff and 
schedule is " All the traffic will bear," and it is to hold in 
check these " Chevaliei's of the road " that granger laws are 

It may be safely assumed that $30,000 per mile is the out- 



side cost of existing railways, and that the aggregate, at the 
close of 1888, on which tolls should be based, was $4,682,- 
246,000 ; but here the question arises : How much of this 
sum has the railway builder furnished, and what part has 
been extorted from the railway user in the form of excessive 
tolls ? 

Available data does not admit of going back of 1874 when 
69,273 miles were in operation, the cost of which, at $30,000 
per mile, being credited to the builders ; and adopting the net 
(traffic) earnings as shown by Poor we find that, in 1874, 
crediting each $30,000 with its proportion of such earnings, 
pro rata^ — and adopting the capitalists' theory that the 
water in the capital is entitled tp the same revenue as the 
money part thereof — the earnings of the water in the capi- 
talization of that year amounted to $91,957,829, being equal 
io the cost of 3,065 miles of railway. Continuing such com- 
putations for fourteen years and crediting the railway users 
with the income of so much of the railway mileage as was, 
from year to year, built from the tolls collected on the capi- 
talization in excess of $30,000 per mile, it appears that the 
users have, within fifteen years, been mulcted, in the shape 
of tolls based wholly on water, in the sum of *$2,422,588,455, 
from which those in possession have constructed 80,752 miles 
of new railway, leaving but 2,901 miles, costing $87,030,000, 
to have been built, in the same period, from funds supplied 
by those claiming to own all the railways. For details of 
these computations, see Table I. 

Should it be claimed that instead of dividing the earnings 
pro rata between the real and fictitious capital, that the real 
is entitled to full compensation before anything is assigned 
to the fictitious, we will, without admitting that the pre- 
ceding computations are not correctly based, proceed to first 
give compensation, at the rate of six per cent, per annum, 
for all the capital actually employed (except that furnished 
by the users in the form of tolls in excess of such six per 
cent.), and again assuming that the capital to build all the 
roads existing in 1874 had been furnished by the putative 
owners, and we find the results as set forth in Table II. 

Table II. shows that from traffic earnings alone the holders 
of shares, and bonds have received six per cent, per annum 

* This ia from traffic earnings alone, to which should be added a vast sum 
from miscellaneous sources. 












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for every dollar invested and have, within fifteen years, been 
enabled, by the watery fiction, to extort from railway users 
the enormous sum of $1,592,280,471 (to which should be 
added about half as much more from miscellaneous earnings), 
with which has been built 53,076 miles of railway, for the 
use of which it is proposed to forever tax those who have 
furnished all the money employed in its construction. 

Is it possible that no remedy can be found for such evils ? 
In the National Bank the law has created another form of 
public trust, but one whose relations to the people are infin- 
itely less intimate and with the services of which the public 
could dispense without serious results. 

The railway and the bank each perform functions that the 
State might ; yet the bank alone is held to the most rigid dis- 
charge of its duties, a maximum fixed for its rates of toll, 
the amount it shall loan any one party, and the kind of 
security determined as well as the amount of its reserve fund, 
its books and assets at all times subject to inspection without 
notice, no share issued until paid for in full, the payment 
of unearned dividends made a penal offence, and breaches of 
trust punished in an exemplary manner. 

Can there be any sufficient reason why the railway cor- 
poration, with infinitely greater power and privileges, per- 
forming functions a thousand times more importtint, and 
directly affecting a hundred persons for one affected by bank 
administration, should not be subjected to control quite as 
stringent and quite as far-reaching? 

Shares and bonds being the basis of tolls, should a railway 
company be permitted to issue share or bond until its par 
value in actual money has been covered into the corporate 
treasury ? 

Should the basis of tolls be laid until it has been shown 
that a proposed line is necessary to public convenience and 
will make fair returns on its cost ? 

Should a railway company be permitted to collect tolls 
until it has shown the exact cost of the instrument of 
transportation ? 

Should it not be a penal offence for a railway official to 
pay an unearned dividend ? 

Should not railway accounts, stock and bond ledgers, and 
assets be subjected to like inspection as those of national 


Would not rate wars cease, were railways once having re- 
duced rates, debaiTed from ever again advancing them with- 
out governmental permission ? 

Should not railway companies be taxed on their capitalization 
as shown in issues of bonds and shares ? 

Should not railways be appraised at present cash value, 
and earnings, from all sources, be limited to what would 
afford a given or maximum return on such appraisal ? 

Or should tjie nation assume the ownership and operate 
the railways through a non-partisan commission, as the 
Province of Victoria, Australia, has shown to be both practical 
and economical ? 

There is no longer any question as to the power of the 
nation to control these great arteries of trade, nor is there out- 
side a limited circle, any question as to the necessity of such 
control, and it but remains for the lawgivers to formulate 
such statutes as will protect user and investor, both of whom 
are at the mercy of a small body of men who can and do 
make and mar the fortunes of individuals, cities, and States, 
without let or hindrance. 



The universal interest in reference to a disease which is 
foremost in its mortality has attracted great attention to the 
claims of Dr. Koch, who occupies so eminent a position in 
professional and imperial favor that anything he may say is 
sure of world-wide attention, independent of the fact that he 
is a man of real ability and learning. But a sudden clamor 
in the ranks of the profession and the pages of medical journals 
is not very strong evidence of the value of any supposed 
discovery. Real discoveries in the humbler ranks of profes- 
sional life have very hard work to win proper attention. 
The simple cure of scurvy had to wait one hundi^ed and 
seventy years before it was oiBcially adopted in the British 
Navy, although ships were often paralyzed by the condition 
of their scurvy-scourged crews. A Hartford dentist and a 
Georgia doctor had made known widely the power of ansesthe- 
sia, when it was scornfully denounced by a medical society at 
Pliiladelphia ; but the ridiculous proposition to cure consump- 
tion by injecting sulphurettetfhydrogen into the bowels, found 
immediate favor and rapid distribution of* the apparatus. 
Nothing has been brought out in the professional battle with 
consumption with anything like half the Sclat that belongs to 
Dr. Koch's germicidal method which, to a master of the sub- 
ject, offers no promise to justify its intemperate laudation, 
which raises hopes that are sure to be disappointed. 

The supposed discovery that consumption is a disease due 
entirely to a bacillus, would attract less attention but for 
the superficial mode of thought which, in its eagerness to 
find an embodied material cause, ignores the etiology of the 
disease and tlie history of its therapeutics. To faithful 
students and successful practitioners, the causes of consump- 
tion have long been well known — its preventives have been 
well understood, and its most efficient curatives have been 



extensively studied and used in practice. But it is a cheap 
and easy thing to those who know no better, to ignore all 
tliis and reduce all etiological and therapeutic research to the 
simple process of guarding against microbes and trying to 
kill them. 

Are not microbes the causes of all diseases, and has not 
one doctor found the microbe of old age ? And have not 
several found the microbe for pneumonia, and are we not on 
the road to finding the microbes of insanity, theft, and 
murder? Does not the courageous Texas gardener pro|)ose 
to abolish all diseases by killing all the microbes with a fluid, 
which a chemist pronounces to be sulphuric and muriatic 
acids, which really have some anti-microbean power ? And is 
not Radam following illustrious professional examples ? 

Seriously, we might as well seek for the microbe of con- 
cussion of the brain, as hunt for a microbe of pneumonia in 
the sense of causation. Microbes are continually generated 
in the destruction of tissues, and no doubt are noxious like 
other pathological products, which are effects of disease. 
Concussion of the brain is not more certainly the effect of 
mechanical violence than pneumonia is an effect of cold, 
which we can produce with mathematical certainty. 

But the microbe theory is the rage just now, and an ani- 
malcular cause must be found for everything. Heat and cold, 
bad food, malaria, and mental prostration need not l)e consid- 
ered, for the microbe is as omnipotent in pathology as ^* mor- 
tal mind " in Mrs. Eddy's theories. The ai)pearance of these 
microscopic animalculae as revealed by the microscope is 
shown in the annexed engraving with some diseases in which 
they are found. 


\if t \Ij ■i^ ^B ---Sv •• 'V-*:^ * . 

i. V 




Something of this sort has always been fashionable in medi- 
cine. The multitude rush in pursuit of the last bul)ble. 
Humoralism, solidism, Brunonianism, Brousaisism, Listerism, 
Microbism, are specimens of the fads that have flourished. 



each containing truth enough for shallow thinkers, but not 
enough for those well grounded in medical philosophy. 

It is half a century since those able investigators, Andral 
and Majendie, laid a foundation for the Institutes of Medi- 
cine by their investigation of the blood, showing that consump- 
tion was a disease incompatible with pormally developed 
blood. But there was too much of the solid methods of un- 
questionable science in their labors to stimulate the fancy — 
too much of substantial progress to enlist the sympathy of 
the impulsive class who overlook the elaborate investigations 
upon which medical philosophy is based, and seldom look into 
the " Clinique Medicale " of Andral, or the physiological 
lectures of Majendie, which are by no means superseded by 
the more recent labors of Claude Bernard. These two authors 
(especially Andral, the most philosophic of French physicians) 
established that when digestion and respiration under proper 
nervous or vital influences had developed the blood to its nor- 
n;al condition, with its red globulous elements, amounting to 
12 1-2 per cent, neither consumption or any other disease of 
debility could arise, but when the red element had dimin- 
ished twenty, thirty, or forty per cent., a state of declining vi- 
tality existed, in which diseases of debility necessarily arose, 
and under the proper circumstances tuberculous consump- 
tion was inevitable. In the experiments on rabbits, consump- 
tion was regularly produced by situations in which they 
were placed, depressing to vitality, and as regularly pre- 
vented by using the proper medicine under the same depress- 
ing circumstances, but medicine which had no germicidal 

Whether in such experiments the tuberculized structures 
generated bacilli or not was merely a question of microscopi- 
cal anatomy of no practical importance. The consumption 
was produced by the exposure, as evidently as rheumatism 
might be produced, and there was nothing in the exposure 
suggestive of bacilli in one case more than in the other. 

Myriads of animalcular life surrouijd us at all times in 
the atmosphere, and penetrate the human body, which is 
never free from millions of such tenants, which prove to be 
aa harmless in the normal body, as the water, or air. A 
famous English surgeon, Tait, expressed his contempt for 
the bacterial theories by saying that he used, in his surgical 
operations, the water in common use, although it was sup- 


posed to contain twenty or thirty different species of little 
beasts. The existence of minute, independent, living, 
moving bodies in the human constitution is not morbid, but 
natural, proper, and healthy. We drink them in daily by 
millions, draw them in with every breath, and some of them 
are an integral part of the blood. Xhe white globules of the 
blood correspond to the amoebse, and move about with their 
own independent volition. Animalculse are ineradicable, but 
those which are genemted in morbid conditions, are like other 
products of disease, calculated to diffuse the morbid con- 
dition, and their removal is useful, like other acts of purifi- 
cation and excretion ; but the efficient mode of removal is 
the removal of the disease which is the cause or the liability, 
and avoidance of external impurities. 

Notwithstanding the wild extravagance of theorists, bac- 
teriological researches and fluid injections are commendable 
researches of great promise, when rationally conducted ; and 
while Professor Koch has been raising false hopes, Drs. 
Behring, of Berlin, and Katosata, of Tokio, have quietly per- 
formed far better work, by careful experiments, in showing that 
the blood of animals can be so changed, by the injection of 
prepared serum (no bacteria), as to resist the poison of both 
tetanus and diphtheria^ even when the poison is injected. This 
is true science, not sensationalism. We may yet and probably 
will discover antidotes against all poisons and contagions by 
hypodermic injection. Dr. Mueller, of Australia, has found 
strychnine the true antidote for snakebites of the most venom- 
ous character, and Professor PoUi, of Italy, demonstrated, 
long ago, that bisulphites of soda and of lime were perfect 
antidotes to pyaemia, but President Garfield was not allowed 
the benefit of tliis discovery. 

Hypodermic injections will play an important part in fu- 
ture medical experiments. I think it highly probable that 
an injection of cimicifuga will prove a more efficient antidote 
to smaU-pox than the much debated lymph now used for vac- 
cination, and if Dr. Brown-S^quard's famous stimulating 
injection were placed on trial in comparison with Koch's fever- 
ish lymph in the same class of cases, I should have more 
faith in the success of the Frenchman than the German. An 
old and powerful remedy, gold, which is as potent in thera- 
peutics as in finance, has been successfully used in New 
York in hypodermic injections of its salts in cases of cou- 


sumption. It is one of the most perfect tonics that we have, 
in the veins as well as in the pocket. 

The contagious nature of consumption and philosophy of 
its treatment being well established, it was not very impor- 
tant to learn whether the expectorated substances accessory 
to contagion contained the tecillus or not, for all pathologi- 
cal exudations and excreta convey contagion, although med- 
ical scepticism has not yet ceased to deny it, and a brave 
French physician lost his life in trying to prove that yellow 
fever was not contagious. But there is a great medical truth 
of more practical importance than bacterial doctrines, — the 
truth that contagion does not depend on absorption^ — which I 
have been demonstrating to my pupils more than forty years 
by experiments on themselves, — that absorption is unneces- 
sary, and that contact alone is entirely sufficient for the 
transmission of any disease, and I am ready to repeat the 
practical demonstration whenever it is desired. This abol- 
ishes the mechanical theoiy that a microscopic bacillus must 
necessarily be absorbed in contagion, or in the original pro- 
duction of the disease, which can be produced by proper ex- 
posure and dielp irrespective of bacterial theoi^es. 

In the fashionable bacterial craze it is most illogicall}' 
assumed that because a certain bacterial substance generated 
in disease, will reproduce that disease like other morbid pro- 
ducts, ^erefore it must have been the original cause of the 
disease. The same reasoning might be applied to any other 
morbid product. It seems to be forgotten that causes and 
effects are very 'different things. If summer always brings 
swallows, it does not follow that swallows are needed to 
bring summer — it has other causes. The morbid products 
of a disease may reproduce it, but diseases are not the effects 
of the substances they develop, and Providence has not 
filled the world with malignant bacilli to produce consumj)- 
tion. Such a malignant Providence would be more offensive 
to the moral sense than Calvin's gloomiest ideas. 

When Professor Koch shall find his microbes of consumption 
floating by millions in the atmosphere where consurnption has 
not produced them^ ready to attack the feeble, and show that 
tliey do this, the bacilli theory of its origin will have a sound 
basis, but at present it seems to have none. According to 
this wild theory, whenever the medical Don Quixote has 
killed all the bacilli tuberculosis consumption will be anni- 



hilated forever ; but the mass of the medical profession are 
not sufficiently credulous for that. 

The microbe theory has but little to do with preventive 
measures and the curative measures now in use, and suggests 
no other precautions than what we should use if no such the- 
ory were in existence. Nor does it diminish the absolute 
necessity of each of the preventive and curative measures 
which have been successfully used, under which consumption 
has sometimes been cured, after ulceration has left cavities in 
the lungs, of which Andral gave examples long before our 
best measures had been discovered. 

Even when the destruction of microbes hinders the progress 
of the disease, it cannot amount to a restoration of health, 
for that depends upon the restoration of the blood to its nor- 
mal condition by nourishment, exercise, and respiration, with 
which the microbe-killing business is not connected. Physi- 
ology and pathology therefore affirm that the microbic treat- 
ment can play but a small part in the treatment of the 
disease, however successful the germicides may be, and the 
wild enthusiasm about the discovery of Doctor Koch simply 
demonstmtes the large amount of ignorance ^' indifference as 
to medical philosophy, prevalent in the proiession, and the 
low condition of certain fashionable therapeutics giusping at 
straws because it has so little confidence in its own resources. 
The mass of practical men, however, will not be caugh4 in this 
momentary impulse. They know that it is not the first crop 
of tubercles that kills, but their continual production as long 
, as the tuberculous diathesis exists — the change of which is 
indispensable to a real cure. 

Those who are so carried away by the microbe theory as to 
ignore the well-known etiology of diseases must have for- 
gotten, if they ever knew, the researches of Andral and the 
prominent fact in etiology that consumption depends largely 
or mainly upon altitude lor its presence or absence. 

The healthy development of the lungs and nervous system 
depends on the conditions that obtain in high altitudes — in 
other words, uJ)on the moderation of the atmospheric pres- 
sure. " Consumption (says Prof. F. Donaldson) is most 
prevalent at the level of the sea, and seems to decrease witljir 
increase of elevation, according to Fuch, Von Tschudi, and 
Mackey. At Marseilles on the seaboard, ^he mortality from 
that cause was twenty-five per cent. ; at Hamburg, forty-eight 




feet above the sea, it is twenty-three per cent. ; while at 
Eschwege, 496 feet above the sea, it is only twelve per cent. ; 
at Brotterdale, 1,800 feet above the sea, the mortality is 
reduced to nine tenths per cent. Doctor Glutsman has pub- 
lished a number of interesting facts in regard to the immu- 
nity from consumption in very high localities, such as in the 
Andes of Peru, tablelands of the Rocky Mountains, in the 
towns of Santa F6 de Bogota, at an elevation of 8,100 feet, 
Potosi about 12,000, and the Puna region of the Andes, at 
11,000, in Europe, many places on the Alps, as in Styria, 
Camiola, and the western section of the Pyrenees. In 
Africa, immunity is said to exist on the plateaus of Abyssinia. 
In Mexico, at 8,000 feet above the sea it is but rarely met 
with, and in Asia, on the high plateaus of Armenia and 
Persia." Colorado is a famous resort for consumptives, and 
Davos in the Swiss Alps, a mile above the ocean level, has 
been their refuge for twenty years. 

The atmospheric pressure at the sea level is more favorable 
to the lower elements of animal life — to digestion and mus- 
cularity than to the lungs and brain, and when this pressure 
is doubled, as in a diving bell, it becomes dangerous. The 
caissons used for work under the water in bridge building are 
frequently a cause of paralysis in the workmen. 

No possible amount of bacilli in the atmosphere can make 
consumption prevail in elevated localities, and no possible 
purification of the atmosphere can prevent consumption from 
prevailing near the ocean level. 

When the causes of consumption are thus well known, 
and the preventive and curative measures well understood, 
there is very little room left for germicidal theorists, even if 
they could establish the necessary and invariable presence of 
the bacillus in the consumptive, which is but a result of the 
disease, like the expectorated pus. Nor would the estab- 
lishment of its existence be a fact of the highest importance in 
its results. The discovery of a cholera bacillus has had no 
effect upon the cure of the disease, and the bacillus tubercu- 
losis is evidently of no greater practical importance. Health 
and disease depend upon obedience or disobedience to 
hygienic laws, not upon a mysterious Providence or wicked 
little devils as microbes. 

We know many curative measures which are not germi- 
cidal. Nearly all that is done at present by successful 


practitioners has no bearing whatever upon the invisible 
bacilli. If their destruction can add anything material to 
our success, or give the patients any additional relief, it must, 
from the nature of the case, be but a limited matter, hardly 
comparable in value to any one of the twenty or more meas- 
ures upon which we rely at present. It cannot, for practical 
value, be placed in comparison with Churchill's phosphates, 
or animal food as used by Salisbury, cod liver oil, hydroleine, 
milk punch, the preparations of Fellows and McArthur, 
a variety of inhalations, oxygenated, hot, and medicated, 
a number of ingeniously compounded syrups, electricity, 
animal magnetism, and the copious resources of homoeopathy, 

A great variety of inhalations of unquestionable value 
are within our reach, and a Detroit physician is already 
gaining success in that way, the value of which was shown 
by Sir Chas. Scudamore half a century ago, in inhalations of 
iodine and conium. 

Wo tlius perceive the comparatively limited role of Koch's 
supposed remedy, and the almost incredible report by tele- 
graph that two thousand foreign doctors had arrived at 
Berlin to become acquainted with Dr. Koch's treatment, 
seems like a satire upon the present condition of the profes- 
sion, but somewhat mitigated in the same telegram by the 
statement of the philosophical objections of Dr. Damius, who 
insists upon the supremacy of the nervous system and vital 
conditions over local derangements — a doctrine which the 
writer has been endeavoring to enforce for half a century. 

After reducing microbicide treatment to its proper subordi- 
nate and limited position in the treatment of this disease, we 
come to the practical question, has Dr. Koch invented or 
discovered anjrthing that will even prove satisfactory as a 
microbicide? to which I would answer emphatically, No. 
His process is not hygienic, it does not fulfil the purposes 
of a rational treatment, but claimed a microbicidal action, 
and how much this action will assist in conquering the 
disease, remains to be proved. 

The first requisite of a microbicide, of course, must be that 
it is not injurious to the patient — does not produce as much 
disease as it relieves. Dr. Koch's method does not stand 
this test. It follows tlie old and vicious heroic method 
and disturbs the patient, intensifies disease, producing effects 




that in a delicate case might be fatal. If such a remedy is to be 
used, it is evident that Dr. Koch's will not be the favorite, be- 
cause it is dangerous and thus far it has been carefully concealed, 
because as the telegraph informs us " Professor Koch sajB if it 
were placed without reserve in the hands of all practitioners 
more deaths would result from its use than ever were caused by 
consumption^ The despatches of the same date mentioned 
five deaths of patients under the Koch treatment, and dis- 
patches of Dec. 17 say that Professor Koch is weary and 
nervous, and " acknowledges it is a fact that the young man 
Simos, of Elberfeld, died through the effects of the inocula- 
tion to which he was subjected by Professor Libberitz and him- 
self. Another friend of Professor Koch, Herr Winter, the head 
Burgomaster of Danzig, has received ten injections without ex- 
periencing any signs of improvement, and beside this, the 
fever which follows the inoculation has affected his eyes to 
such an extent, that it is feared he will lose his sight. It is 
also stated on the best authority that Professor Koch is very 
greatly agitated because the wholesale manufacture of the 
lymph has proved a failure." 

The report of Dec. 18 from Berlin says : — 

"The reaction against the Koch treatment has increased in 
violence. Eight patients have died soon after the injection of the 
lymph, and this, combined with the fact that there has been no 
verified cure, has intensified the public feeling against the experi- 

A number of hospital patients here and in Lyons, who have 
been undergoing the "Koch treatment, have refused to submit to 
further trials. 

Owing to the public furor, the Commission headed by Professor 
Halloi)ean, which is testing the remedy, has decided to maintain 
absolute silence as to the results until the tests have been com- 

Very prudent, indeed, when twelve deaths had been 

Dr. S. G. Dicksion, who went to Berlin as the represen- 
tative of the Jefferson Medical College, is said to have stated 
on his return, that the lymph of Dr. Koch " was one of the 
most powerful poisons known, and its effect on many people 
would be fatal, owing to the violent reaction it sets up, 
which is illustrated by the death of two patients in a St. 
Petersburg hospital with "intense suffering" fi-om tluee 


injections amounting to five 'milligrams, or less than the 
thirteenth of a grain. 

Surely such facts are enough to condemn these pathogenic 
injections of poison, for we need no microbicides more dan- 
gerous than those we already possess. Dr. Damius says 
(Nov. 26) that Professor Koch has as yet attained no real re- 
sults, but he promises to do so in the future, and in this he 
deceives himself, neglecting, as he does, the real root and 
emanations of the source of sickness. He forgets the ner- 
vous system 

We have at present many microbicides that are powerful — 
phenols, chlorides, iodides, mercurial compounds, thymol, 
carbolic acid, creosote, and peroxide hydrogen, — all of which, 
except the last, have objectionable properties, but none of 
which have the dangerous septic tendencies of Dr. Koch's 
preparation of an animal poison which speedily develops a 
feverish condition in the subject, reaching the alarming tem- 
perature of from 103 to 106, and the dispatches say (No- 
vember 13) that ''Dr. Koch yesterday inoculated himself with 
some lymph, and afterward took a bath. While out he was 
seized with vomitings, accompanied by fever, which are the 
symptoms that always follow the inoculation of consumptive 
patients, and he had to return home in a cab." In all cases 
the seat of the disease is irritated, and the cough developed 
or increased. 

But the furor goes on without a single cure to justify it, 
and dangerous experiments cause more enthusiasm than 
would a thousand speedy cures by other means apart from 
the prevalent medical mania. Money is pouring in, doctors 
are flocking, an American newspaper speaks of it as a dis- 
covery ranking higher than any ever made in medicine, 
patients are wild with hope, and old professors lose their 
heads. Professor Nothnagel, of Vienna, says : " Professor 
Koch has brought us face to face with one of the greatest in- 
tellectual achievements in the province of medicine for 
centuries past," before he has made a single cure, and the 
famous Billroth says, "an immense perspective opens out 
before our eyes," but the next news was that (Dec. 10) " Pro- 
fessor Billroth has stopped using Koch's lymph, one of his 
patients suffering from lupus and two from tuberculosis 
having become fearful for tlieir lives on account of the recent 
deaths after inoculation," which by the way were not reported 




by our papers. But the craze goes on like the famous tulip 
mania in Holland. Dec. 18, the despatches say: — 

"Berlin has gone wild over Dr. Koch, and Dr. Libbertz, who 
superintends the distribution of the lymph, has 6,000 applications 
on hand from hospitals. English physicians are begging for the 
privilege of purchasing a drop of the lymph for $100 for private 
experiments, and they do not often get it, although to those on 
the inside the price of a vial of lymph is $6. . . . One man in 
Berlin offered in vain |5,000 for a small quantity." 

This is far from telling the whole story of the European 
craze, the echo of which in America produced in a leading 
daily the rhetorical expression, '^the announcement of his 
cure for consumption, the king of terrors, against whose on- 
slaught medical men have ever been powerless^ at once 
centred upon this German professor the eyes of millions." 

: '' Could it be possible ? Was there to be an end to the dread 

power of consumption ? " yet medical men are not powerless, 
and the cure has not been discovered. 

All this in spite of the cold water thrown on the blaze by 
many discreet physicians. Professor Semmola, of Naples, 
expresses the belief that Koch himself does not believe in the 
absolute efficacy of the l3^mph and that he ought to have 
"prevented thousands of phthisical patients from going to 
Berlin and making all sorts of sacrifices in order to meet with 
only complete disenchantment." Bearing in mind that the 
Koch method as firat proposed was simply a dangerous patho- 
logical injection, why does it create this furor, when better 
bactericides are familiar. Simply because of the bacterio- 
logical zeal of the profession, the audacity of the inventor, and 

I his professional and imperial patronage. As a germicide and 

therapeutic agent it is far inferior to the peroxide of hydrogen, 
which has never received professional justice, because it has 
not had the Bamumizing of Koch's lymph. 

But after all it seems there is no germicidal action. We 
were first led to suppose that Dr. Koch had found the fatal 
bacillus and was going to exterminate it, as the only possible 
way of conquering consumption ; but later news informs us 
that Koch was mistaken and the bacilli are not disturbed, 
but left to cany on their business of killing the patient if 
the bacterial theory is true, and that no impression is made on 
the tubercles,the essential feature of the disease, but some kind 




of deadening " necrotic " action is produced on the morbid 
tissues around the tubercle, which sets the patient to'cough- 
ing — this is the theory — but what a lame and impotent 
conclusion. Consumption is not due to bacillus tuberculosis 
and Dr. Koch cannot destroy the bacillus ! and does not 
attack the tubercles. But we know that consumption is due 
to the tubercle and tubercles have often been absorbed and 
remoVed by alkalies and iodine. 

Perhaps this necrotic action, which- is all that is now claimed, 
may be very serviceable in lupus, a disease of a rather can- 
cerous nature, in which success is claimed, but I think no 
pathologist would seriously affirm that this deadening the 
tissue, which simply adds a little more dead matter to the 
dead tubercle, would make a cure of consumption. But as 
Dr. Koch is a man of ability, he may keep on until he finds 
something really valuable. 

It is not yet apparent that he has found anything as good 
or as safe as carbolic acid, which has been used successfully 
by injection in lupus and epithelioma, and in the early stages 
of consumption, and as his lymph is mixed with a half per 
cent, solution of carbolic acid which is known to produce 
such results as he claims, we can credit the lymph only with 
the dangerous toxic properties and the half comatose condi- 
tion following the injections, the best effects of which are 
just such as carbolic acid has produced. 

This is a thoroughly safe remedy in the hands of a physi- 
cian, and we are profoundly indebted to Dr. DSclat of Paris 
for its introduction in the best form, to which he has given 
his attention for twenty-two years. His "syrup of phenic 
acid" (or Carbolic) which, I am sure, is fully equal to 
quinine and free from its objectionable qualities, and is of 
great value in pulmonary affections, has not been adequately 
recognized in America. Though I am not writing for a 
medical journal, I must refer to the meritorious things which 
are obscured by a temporary craze. 

In refreshing contrast to this Koch mania, sustained by 
imperial patronage, let us refer to something altogether dif- 
ferent and altogether better — a true and tested discovery, 
brought out by a German physician after testing it well, in 
an honorable, quiet, and modest manner, without the blare 
of trumpet*} over dangerous experiments and unproven 
pretensions, — not claiming that bacteria are the sole 

326 tHE AEENA. 

sources of disease, but showing that it is ea%y to destroy 

I refer to Dr. Stilling's discovery of Pyoktanin, the 
most perfect and harmless germicide ever revealed. If the 
destruction of bacteria is of such immense importance in 
consumption as newspaper scribblers would have us believe, 
Stilling's discovery is beyond all comparison with Koch's, 
as he has revealed an absolute germicide, a beautiful piii'ple 
liquid or powder, which is also a perfect antiseptic, and 
therefore an antagonist of disease in general (for life is anti- 
septic, and disease is septic), instead of being a poison 
generating fever immediately as fevers are generated by the 
injection of putrescent fluids. 

Stilling's Pyoktantn is singularly harmless and whole- 
some, having been used upon rabbits until their interior 
tissues were pervaded with its blue color without any 
injurious resulte. 

The experiments reported show that a solution of one part 
to two thousand prevented the putrefaction of meat, — even 
one thirty-thousandth resisted the development of putrefac- 
tive bacteria, and a sixty-four thousandth destroyed patho- 
genic bacteria, and varieties of pyococci. There is no other 
germicide possessing such therapeutic antiseptic power, com- 
bined with such wholesome innocence, and I may add such 
efficiency in disease, controlling the severest inflammation^ — 
of which an example was given in a patient, in whom one 
eye was extirpated for disease, and the other hopelessly blind. 
The blind eye was relieved from all inflammation, and vision 
restored by pyoktanin. But this was not a dangerous sen- 
sational experiment ; it was simply an honest and ^3eedy cure, 
and somehow cures do not excite the sameycnthusiasm as dan- 
gerous experiments, which produce a baseball and horse-race 
excitement in the spectators. From my own investigation of 
pyoktanin, I believe it has a very wide range of value, and 
may rank as the great germicidal antidote of the future, for 
many morbid conditions of fever and inflammation, in which 
it has not yet been tested, and for which the inventor makes 
no claims. He does not claim its full merit, for I believe it 
will come nearer to the impossible panacea, than any recent 
addition to the materia medica. The rapidity with which, a 
few days ago, in the hands of one of my late pupils, it 
relieved, in a few hours, a troublesome case of tonsilitis, sur- 


passed anytliing I have known. In myself, it promptly 
arrested a commencing influenza, with sneezing, running nose 
and eyes. In the hands of Dr. Stilling, an able ophthalmol- 
ogist, ij^ produced better and speedier results in all diseases 
of the eyes, than anything yet known. Other eminent 
pliysicians reix")rt great success in cases of crushed or biTiised 
limbs, fresh cuts and contusions, old wounds, severe ulcera- 
tions (even syphilitic), and dangerous dermatitis. In all 
cases 01 8Ui)pu ration, it controls and changes the condition. 
I take pleasure in urging its claims, as they have been so 
modestly presented by the inventor. I believe that its spray 
would be of extraordinaiy value in pneumcmia and other 
inflammatory conditions of the lungs, in diphtheria and other 
affections of the throat. One of my medical pupils had a 
commencing cold and cougli for wliicli I recommended the 
inhalation of Pyoktanin spray, and in ten minutes he reported 
relief; another with cold and catarrh beginning used it with 
glycerine in the nostrils, and was surprised at his speedy 

Professor Koch m<ay maintain his rank as an eminent 
scientist, with the discredit, however, of having been misled 
by bacterial enthusuism into the expectation of curing a fully 
developed disease by a pathogenixj injection. Pasteur would 
not pretend to cure fully developed hydrophobia, nor would 
any one pretend to cure smallpox by vaccination. Active 
poisons may be counteracted when iirst received, but fully 
developed constitutional conditions, matured through months 
or years, cannot be changed to health by any such sudden 
measures. Hence the Koch mania cannot hist very long. 
It reminds us of tlie still more bacterial theory of Professor 
Cantani, who, on the principle of setting a thief to catch a 
thief, attacked tlie bacillus tuberculosis with tlie bacteria of 
putrefaction — the bacterium tenno. The bacillus tubercu- 
losis, being of a more refined nature, soon disappeared when 
the vulgar bacterium termo was thrust into his company, and, 
if we can trust the Centralblatt per die Medicinischen Wissen- 
Hchaften^ of July 18, 1885, the effects upon the consumptive 
patients were better than anything yet reported from Koch. 
But Cantani is already forgotten, and the Koch cure for 
consumption, as first presented, must meet its fate also. Sic 
transit gloria mundi. 

And mirabile dictu ! there is even a more amusing aspect 



of this matter. Can there be any occult relation between 
Professor Koch, the adored hero of the hour, and Hahnemann, 
the founder of Homoeopathy, the abhorred of the Univerai- 
ties ? Can it be that, in accepting Koch and Pasteur, the 
faculty are swallowing the tail of the homcBopathic serpent 
with a possibility of ultimately swallowing the whole ? 

The grand climax of homoeopathy was quite beyond 
Hahnemann and his friends — though he was its efl&cient 
cause — it was Isopathy — triturated smallpox matter to 
cure smallpox — triturated matter from every disease to cure 
that disease. These triturations are still prepared and sold 
under scientific names in America and Europe. In using 
matter from rabies for hydrophobia, and matter from con- 
sumption (as supposed) to treat consumption, these famous 
gentlemen are walking in the penumbra of homoeopathy. 
But to use a hunter's gun you must handle it like a hunter 
— and to practice Isopathically you should follow the 
Isopaths, who invariably attenuate^ and do not, like Koch and 
Pasteur, use aggravating and dangerous doses. But to be 
brief, these learned gentlemen are experimental philosophers, 
and they will help the world onward toward that medical 
millennium in which all knowledge will be welcomed by all 
men, and truths stubbornly neglected to-day will have their 
honored place, while the delusions will be kindly forgotten, 
for lo! their number is illimitable. But it would require 
a powerful telescope to see the time when theologians and 
doctors bliall all cease to be sectarians^ and become amiable, 
harmonious, well-bred gentlemen. 





Rev. Minot J. Savage contends, and I think success- 
fully, that orthodox theology and ecclesiasticism rest entkely 
and exclusively upon a belief in the Bible account of the creation 
and fall of Adam. He also claims that no well informed 
and free minded person now believes the story. The latter 
claim, I think, is too broad. There are thousands of such 
persons who still believe it. They believe it, not from its 
intrinsic evidences of verity, so much as from the fact that it 
has been believed so long, and by so many wise and 
good people, and that it is claimed to have done so much 
good. What I propose to show is that no one ought to be- 
lieve it; that on its face it is absurd, contradictory, and 
impossible. Tlie Jews did not .believe it, and had no such 
theory of man's fall and redemption, or of rewards and pun- 
ishments after death. They were not orthodox Calvinists by 
any means. It is quite evident to me that the story 
is of Babylonian origin; that it was first learned by the 
Jewish captives during their captivity, and was then, or 
afterwards, added to the Bible history of the Jews, in order 
to piece it out and connect it with creation. The evidence 
of this supposition is unanswei-able. The story of the creation 
and of Adam's fall — and, indeed, the whole antediluvian 
story, and of the tower of Babel — is found only in the fii-st 
eleven chapters of Genesis. No mention or hint of any such 
thing is to be found in any subsequent parts of tlie Bible, 
at least down to the date of tlie last captivity. Other 
miracles and marvels of much less note are referred to 
again and again in almost every book of the Bible. The 
creation of the universe and of man, the deluge, and God's 
defeat of an attempt to scale heaven by a tower are of 
much more wonderful significance than the promise made to 
Abraham, the i)lagues of Egypt, the crossing of the Red Sea, 
the wondei-s of Mount Sinai, or the wars with heathen nations. 
Yet, while these inferior events are referred to again and 




again, and even have festivals and set observances in com- 
memoration and remembrance of them, not a syllable, not a 
i Iiint, is to be found of those primeval and greater wonders 

wliich preceded them. Not a word is to be found of Adam's 
creation, of his transgression, or of its effects upon his pos- 
terity. No mention is made of the Garden of Eden, of 
Adam or Eve, of the serpent, or of the forbidden fruit. If 
the Jewish people, from the time of Abraliam to the second 
Babylonian captivity believed, or had ever heard of, such a 
story, the fact that it, or some parts of it, do not appear in 
the subsequent parts of the Bible is a miracle equal to any 
of those recorded in that book. How could the author, or 
authoi-s, of one hundred and fifty psalms, how could the pro- 
pliets fail to draw upon or allude to this wonderful and finiitf ul 
subject ? How could the priests, how could Moses, Aaron, 
Samuel, David, and Solomon fail to allude to it, or some part 
of it ? Tlie answer is, that it was unknown and unheard of 
by the whole Jewish nation. If Moses had such a revelation, 
how could he fail to allude to it in other parts of the Pent«a- 
teuch, and particularly in Deuteronomy^ where he rehearses 
almost everything else ? 

It is proved by discovery of uniform inscriptions that the 
Babylonians had a somewhat similar myth of these alleged 
primeval wonders. The Jewish Bible proper begins with the 
call of Abraham, and ends with the return of Jews from Baby- 
lon. How easy for Ezra, or some other scribe, to attach this 
eastern myth, perhaps in an enlarged and modified form, to 
the Jewish Bible. In order to make it appear authentic the 
author should have inteispei'sed the subsequent parts of the 
Bible with a thousand references to the story. The Bible 
myth need not necessarily exactly tally with the Babylonian. 
It may have been held and told in different forms by the 
Babylonians, or imperfectly undei-stood by the Jewish cap- 
tives. Their languages were different, but enough was 
undoubtedly learned to make it the foundation of the Bible 
story. The object was to make the book more interesting and 
acceptable, by showing the wisdom and power of the God 
of the Jews, and that He was not only the God of Abraham, 
Isaac, and Jacob, but also the God of Adam and Eve. This 
view, of itself, ought to be held conclusive of the fact that 
the story is a myth. But it is by no means the only evidence. 
On its face the story is utterly incredible. What is the story ? 


There are evidently pai-ts of two stories^ blended as one. 
They differ but slightly — the one making the creation of 
the beasts before that of Adam, and the other placing their 
creation after Adam was put in the garden, and differing as 
to the time and manner of Eve's creation. But let us read the 
tdle as a single account of the transaction. In plain and 
literal language the story is the following: — 

About six thousand years ago, God, having finished the 
other works of creation, " created," or made Adam out of 
"dust," or clai/. He was made in the *' image " and "like- 
ness " of God. God planted a garden, and put Adam into 
it, to dre88 it and to keep it. In the Garden were many 
trees, and among them the tree of life and the tree of the 
knotvledge of good and evil, Adam was forbidden to eat of 
the latter named tree, under pain of immediate death, but 
was allowed to eat of every other tree^ including the tree of 
life. And God said it was not good for Adam to be alone, 
and that He would make a helpmate. So God caused all the 
beasts which He had made, or, rather, which He then made, 
to be brought before Adam, but coidd find no suitable " help- 
meet " for him among them. God then made a heli)meet for 
Adam out of one of liis ribs, while he wixs asleep. But no 
commands were given to the helpmeet, Evfe, and she was not 
forbidden to eat of any tree in the Garden. Among other 
beasts God made a snake^ endowed it with extra cimning^ and 
sent it, or allowed it to go, into the Garden, to deceive the 
poor ignorant woman, who, like the brutes, did not know 
good from evil, and who had received no commands from God. 
The snake went in, and told Eve, what ! He told her the 
truth, namely, that if they eat of the forbidden fruit they 
should not immediately die, but should acquire a moral 
nature, knowing good from evil. They eat of the fruit ; and 
instead of being immediately put to death, as had lieen 
promised, they were banished from the Garden, not for their 
disobedience, but for fear they would eat of a nonforbidden 
tree, the tree of life, and become gods, and live forever. 
Penalties were inflicted on the three offenders. The snake 
was condemned to crawl on his belly, which he coidd not be 
a snake without doing, and to have his head crushed by 
Adam's heel ; Mother Eve was to have the pain of child- 
bearing, without which she could not be mother Eve ; and 
Adam was to labor for his living (which he had already 


been doing in the Garden), and to be bitten on the heel by 

Thifi plain and literal rendition of the text is not given as 
a caricature upon the story, but as the meaning it must have 
conveyed to the minds of primitive and ignorant people. If 
it had a secondarj^ hidden or mystical meaning, then it was 
not a revelation^ but a riddle^ and a deception. 

Science and history long ago compelled orthodoxy to abandon 
the plain and literal reading of the story of the Garden of Eden, 
and to substitute in its place secondary and imaginary mean- 
ings to almost every word of the text. The alternative was, 
either to do so or to condemn the passage as a childish fable. 

Take, for example, the statement that Adam was made in 
the "image" of God. To avoid the primitive belief that 
God had a man-like physical form, orthodoxy holds that the 
imagery was not personal^ but moral and spiritual. Now the 
word '^ image" never had, and never can have any such 
meaning. It necessarily relates to something physical, visible, 
and tangible. Besides, to give the word the substituted 
meaning is to assign to the Almighty a very low place. If 
Adam was in (Jod's moral and spiritual image, then God did 
not "know good from evil," and was liable to be deceived by 
Satan. To hold that a man who is almost fitted to be a com- 
]>anion for a female beast is in the moral* intellectual, or 
spiritual image of God, is little short of blasphemy. Either 
God was in the personal form of a man, or else He did not 
know good from evil. There is no alternative. Some of 
the substituted meanings of the text are the following : — 

The snake, or " serpent," means the Devil, or Satan. The 
threatened death of Adam means his fall from a holy state of 
beastly ignorance to a criminal state of knowledge ; and the 
penalty falls not only on him and Eve, but also on the one 
hundred and twenty generations (120,000,000,000) of their 
posterity, and on all brutes. The biting of Adam's heel by 
the snake means the temptations of Adam and his posterity 
by Satan, and his dominion over them, and his subjecting 
them to everlasting punishment. Could anything be farther 
fetched, or more fanciful ? 

The bruising of the serpent's head by Adam's heel means 
God's sa(Triicing His own innocent son, to redeem and save 
on<^ out of a thousand of the human race, on condition that 
they repent of the sin of Adam^ and believe this strange 


story of Adam's fall and Christ's redemption. The beasts 
are not to be redeemed, but are to suffer on. 

All this was known and foreordained from the beginning 
by a merciful, all-wise, and almighty Being ; and lie thus, by 
this story of the Garden of Eden, reveals His plan, and by 
inspiration enables the select few to give the revelation thia 
strained construction. Could anything be more imworthy of 
rational belief ? Can any rational person believe that God 
punished His own innocent son for Adam's transgression, and 
call that " justice " ? 

This account of God's turning Adam and Eve out of Para- 
dise, for fear they would eat of the tree of life, and thus 
become gods, is of like character with the story of the 
destruction of the Tower of Babel, to prevent its builders 
from getting into heaven ; and they both prove what is so 
often asserted in the Bible, — that " God is a jealous God." 

Almost all nations have, or have had, some such primitive 
and puerile theory of the origin of the human race; and 
many of them, like the one in question, have been subse- 
quently, when the race became more intelligent, but still un- 
willing to part with a long established supei*stition, altered by 
a strained mytliical construction. Scores of instances of this 
nature might be cited. 

It ought to be said, however, in favor of the orthodox 
Christianity that, notwithstanding its theological errors, it 
has done much good in the world. It might have done much 
more. Orthodox Christians have Ixjen at all times my best 
neighbors and kindest friends. They practice most of the 
humanitarian virtues, although not to be found in their 
creeds ; but they predicate the obligation of these virtues, not 
upon their own inherent goodness and worth, but upon mirac- 
ulous divine commands. But for these commands, they say, 
there would be no such thing as virtue or goodness, right or 
wrong ; and one action would be as meritorious as another. 
Time and evolution are doing much to lessen and eliminate 
these relics of man's ignorance. But the virus of tliese 
myths is still in the church. Thousands on thousands of 
young men and women, as well as the old, are daily going 
back to these flesh pots of Egypt. A Methodist minister, in 
my neighborhood, in a sermon against the modern doctrine of 
evolution, said that he " thanked God for an old-fashioned 
Sell,'' and many of the congregation responded — " Amen ! " 



In the Hebraic tradition of the origin of mankind, we are 
told that the Edenic pair, from whose loins have proceeded 
the innumerable generations of beings we call the human 
race, were innocent of that emotion we name "shame " until 
the wily serpent inducted Mother Eve into the pleasures of 
apple-eating. Weak man, as ever since, succumbed to her 
blandishments and partook with her of the feast, with the 
result that for the first time they perceived their nakedness 
and made for themselves garments, ftr, as one famous render- 
ing has it, " breeches " of fig-leaves. 

To the student of the development of mofal ideas, this 
little incident in the traditional record presents a problem of 
great interest. The fig-leaf of Adamic days, in its variety 
of counterparts at the present day as well as in ages past, is 
the symbol of an idea that has no assured stability of form, 
nor ever has had; and to the student it is a perplexing, 
a baffliug pursuit — this of endeavoring to grasp the sub- 
stance of the idea which shadows itself as modeiJty or shame. 
From the Puritan maiden who swathes herself from chin to 
sole, to the Circassian slave-girl who will permit her body 
to be stripped before she will let her face be seen unveiled ; 
from the Indian maiden of the North Pacific who goes ungiit 
while mistress of hei-self, to the same maiden when she be- 
comes a man's property and girds her loins ; from the many 
times enwrapped Boston girl in her boudoir, to the same girl 
upon the bathing-beach, — the chase of the idea is an inter- 
esting and not wholly satisfying one. 

That there is something of actual import in the problem is 
evidenced by the frequent homilies upon different phases 
through the pulpit and public press. Dancing, theatre-going, 
dSoolletS dress, the nude in Art, each comes in for its share 
of a denunciation which is seldom discriminating, and always 
evades an assertion of fundamental principles and their 



Recent expressions of opinion upon these phases, through 
the press, pulpit, and action of governing bodies of art- 
galleries, etc., seem almost wholly in the line of upholding a 
conventionality which it cannot be wholly unjust to term un- 
reasoning, since it gives no reasons. The moral importance 
of the problem makes it permissible to ask whether these 
expressions of opinion have a warrant in good sense ; whether 
they are based on real " delicacy." Too often the epigrams 
wrought with this word are " full of soiind and fury, signify- 
ing nothing." But when the searcher for truth turns to the 
fields of Nature, where truth can still be run to its lair, there 
comes ever the irrefutable proof that Nature, in her natural 
places and processes, is the essence of delicacy, as she is of 
strength. To approach these problems with this thoroughly 
accepted, is to have a clearer light on the way. 

A study of the ideas and customs of the nations of the past as 
well as of the present, brings a heavy weight of evidence to show 
that notions of modesty, even more than of morality, are mainly 
acquired variations of, or inventions based upon, a very few 
fundamental principles, these in themselves having little or 
no relation to modesty or morality in the abstract. Why 
else their great diversity and discordance from age to age, 
from year to year, even in nations of the same day? Is it 
not that we invent our notions from time to time, teaching 
them as absolute truths to the younger generation, rather 
than anything which we learn from Nature ? If our modem 
morals are too dScolletS^ surely we alone are responsible for 
the paucity of fig-leaves. 

It can be justly asked " Is not the true state of affairs 
this — ti^Pt ^^^ ^"^ ^rfiH^^^^t bnf.Anj- pioralst arft nut too low 2 " 
In an affirmative answer there is more than a grain of truth. 
If we would cut our morals so that they would fit our bodies 
more nearly, there would be less necessity for clothes to 
cover the balance. Would it not, then, be the higher and 
wiser policy to adopt a less d^colletS style for our morals and 
avoid the occasion for indelicacy in dress ? But we preach 
and we practise a contemning of the body, we vilify and 
degrade the physical member of our human trinity, so that 
in sheer self-defence against ourselves we must wear some 
form of the primeval fig-leaf. Does this seem an exaggera- 
tion, a vagary ? Among the earliest ideas we inculcate in 
our child is an unreasoning, unreasoned contempt, a despis- 




ing of certain portions and functions of the body. Year by 
year, we educate him faithfully in these notions, without 
logical reason assigned. If the child be a girl, we gradually 
increase the extent of the despicable portion, making the 
foundation of a " double standard of morality," which 
leads to some of the most wretched features of modem social 

At puberty, when Nature rarely fails to impress new 
questionings over a wider range of thought, when the dif- 
ference of sex and the origin of life and its functions become 
matters of inquiry — at the very time when Nature prompts 
a search for knowledge, we increase our efforts at repression, 
we withdraw (as we think) all knowledge that is sought ; 
and, by a negative, if not an afiBrmative education, we 
inculcate a vicious, quasi knowledge of shame and evil which 
did not exist before. We do worse than that — we create 
the very shame and evil, till then non-existent. Our child is 
surrounded by other children and by servants more viciously 
wise than himself, from whom he adds to his degrading 
learning ; and thus, well-equipped to see harm, he fails not 
to find it. Unfortunately, not even here does our work end 
— we have repressed his natural tendencies, we have kept 
from him all wise counsel, we have turned his impulses into 
unnatural, secret, vicious channels, and we have set in train 
fresh proof of that maxim of human perversity, that "stolen 
waters taste sweet." 

Right here lies a most certain trut}i — that we ourselves 
educate our children in evil. It is plain that if we taught 
them that a woman's bosom was a part of her body entitled 
to the highest honor and respect, without evil in itself and 
without reason for evil, no one would find shame in the 
siglit of it. If we taught that a woman's leg was as hon- 
orable a portion of her as a man's ia of him, and with no 
more evil in it, none would be found. We teach that- they 
are full of evil and should be hidden from view — is it any 
wonder, then, that men want to see them? Is it strange 
that our young men — and old — crowd the spectacular 
drama, and find too often only a lustful pleasure in behold- 
ing tlie most l>eautiful outlines earth can show — the out- 
lines of woman's form? It is our fault that they see aught 
but the beauty — it is our fault that aught but the beauty is 
to be seen. 


Nature gives no reason why a woman's form is less worthy 
to be viewed than a man's. Nature makes man's body the 
model of human strength, — woman's, of human beauty. 
Why should not both alike be viewed ? In the days when 
woman's body was reverenced most in its beauty and in its 
use by the ancient Greeks, its form and flesh were least con- 
cealed from view ; and then, if we are to believe the national 
historians, was Greek modesty and purity the greatest. If 
the wondrously beautiful conceptions of their sculptors, the 
objects of their adoration and of hundreds of later gener- 
ations, must now be passed with averted eye, may not one 
ask, '* Whose the shame, — theirs or ours ? " If then a woman 
as she approached that most sacred of her states, maternity, 
was an object of increased reverence, to be passed on the 
street by men with uncovered head and respectful bow, 
friend and stranger alike, — and now the pregnant woman 
upon the street is the object of rude gaze, of jesting or dis- 
approving remark, of imputation of immodesty, from man 
and woman alike — is it captious to ask wherein our modesty 
excels the half-barbaric Greek ? Would that here we might 
have an atavism I 

Conceding that our daughters are contaminated by view- 
ing the ballet, whence but from us did they get the idea of 
contamination ? If the danseuse exerts indecent endeavors 
to allure our sons, who but ourselves make our sons re- 
spond to her allurements ? But one may question whether 
the ballet and spectacle need be so immodest to the 
looker-on. I remember one niglit at one of Kiralfy's most 
beautiful and imposing spectacles, I watehed with interest a 
young man who had never seen sucli a performance. Of a 
really religious training, remarkably pure in thought as in 
life, he had reluctantly joined a party of friends at the thea- 
tre. When the curtain went down at the close of the 
first act, shutting out the hundreds of lovely female forms 
in the scenery and garb of Fairyland, he turned to me and 
said : " Is it not beautiful ? Is it not exquisite ? And they 
told me this was indecent and immoral I How I wish tliat 
I could bring my sister to see it I " I was satisfied with tht 
eflfect on him. I was satisfied Tipon another point — that as 
there are ballets and ballet^, so there are spectators and 

The stage needs no defence here. Those who know it 


338 TUE AliENA. 

well, know that there is far less immorality in what it puts 
forth than is charged by those who never enter a theatre ; 
that the immorality of the danseuse is more a matter of 
assertion than a proof ; that the lewdness of her performances is 
very largely a question of the state of mind of the observer. 
Misused and condemned as it has been, thfere is no saying 
truer in essence than "To the pure all things are pure." 
Hani soit qui mal y pense applies with not less force to the 
theatre-goer than to the mediaeval courtier. The pure mind 
cannot receive impurity, if it is tvisely pure ; and our ability 
to withstand what is not pure depends mainly on whether 
we were taught to receive it. That there is much of vile- 
ness in thought and situation on the stage, no one ques- 
tions. But let us ask oui'selves two questions: How much 
vileness do we see that is such only because it is in our 
minds ? How much of it is due to the demand for it, fostered 
by us? 

To our customary notions of modesty and to our methods of 
imparting them, is due the great i)opularity of " erotic fiction." 
Is it not strange that by far the majority of readers of the 
impure books of the day are women — especially young 
women and girls? That it is so, book- venders and librarians 
everywhere know. Let it be known that a book in a library 
is slightly improper and it is at once sought after by our 
innocent maidens. They "want to know, you know" — 
what? A more or less vague, indefinite something, which 
they know exists ; unnamed, mysterious emotions which 
they feel imi)elled to tiiste, — a feast to which they go pre- 
pared by their mothera to receive only a ruinous excite- 

No one of discernment, who has had much to do with chil- 
dren in their bodily life, but knows that the majority are 
victims of most disastrous vices, over which their mothei-s 
throw fig-leaves, to hide them from their sight ! Physicians 
combat these and their resulting evils with little zeal or suc- 
cess, knowing as they so well do, that their efforts are 
mainly thrown away, while the present notions of modesty 
continue tg be accepted as the highest type of virtue. Rare 
is it now, and ever has l)een, that a woman " goes to her hus- 
l)and as unmarred as an ideal in a dream." When she does 
— in the sense in which the words quoted were used — the 
physician knows the chances are at least equal that there 


will be one more victim, willing or unwilling, to the vices 
which threaten to bankrupt the marriage and home relations 
— vices toward remedying which much could easily be done, 
were it not tliat the hands of physicians and sociologists are 
tied by those who believe we should follow " the strict rule 
of reserve in speech " — a tacit, however unintentional, 
upholding of the hidden practice, howsoever hideous it may 

No greater mistake has the ^ '^^rld ^'^^^ ^fldp ihaii-ila^fi9Il:-\ 
ventionSracceptmg of innnnftrifift for yir^iift. Igno£annft may^ 
bejuri ty. it can nftvftr ha virti^e . No soul in, as we say, 
** virgin purity" can ever have the worth of matronly virtue. 
Nothing is so easy to sully as innocence, nor so difficult as 
virtue. In this realm, ignorance is not bliss : it is the path 
to a very tormenting hell. 

We fail always when we try to raise our children in inno- 
cence. We would be fortunate if we did nothing worse than 
fail. But in omr serene ignorance of, or blind opposition to, 
the ways of Nature, we force them into a seeking and finding 
of a vicious knowledge, which arms them with the weapons 
that turn against virtue. What wonder then that they so 
often fall in the fight, are made prisoners by the powers of 
evil ? The fig-leaves we have put on them are not coats of 
mail — they simply serve to indicate to the enemy the vul- 
nesable points. We teach them not the things to be guarded 
against, either in themselves or in others ; and if our sweet 
daughter in tainted by the pressure of the rouS's arm in the 
waltz, I fear it is because we have not taught her to recog- 
nize and shun the rouS^ nor to repel contagion when it is 
present. And if it is our son who is the rouS^ as he may 
likely be with some other mother's daughter, I fear that 
there, too, we must bear the blame. For did not our con- 
ventional ideas of modesty prevent our rightly instructing 

We do need to educate in morals, but we need fewer 
fig-leaves. We do not need, as was recently thought neces- 
sary in one of our large cities, to put trousers on the Apollo 
Belvidere, nor a gown on the Venus of Milo. We can 
learn that lust is not for things permitted, but for things 
forbidden. We can teach our sons and daughters to see no 
harm where none exists. We can teach them the inherent 
nobility add decency of the human form. We can educate 



tbem in the essence of delicacy, which is to think no indel- 

To those who fear to have rotten timbers taken away, lest 
harm come to the edifice, it will be an easy task to find in the 
foregoing a j)lea for the abolition of all modesty. For such 
and for those who form judgments from '• a casual glance," 
this article was not written. 



On entering one of our largest bookstores, a short time 
since, my eye rested on two immense tiers of books, placed 
side by side on one of the most prominent counters. Both 
were meeting with immense sales. One of the volumes was 
bound in black, very plain. The delicate binding of the other 
was protected by white-glazed paper covers, printed in gold. 
The sight of these two books, placed in juxtaposition, pro- 
duced in me a distinct mental shock, — a stmnge thrill, such 
as I remember experiencing a few months since, when, glan- 
cing over one of the New York dailies, I noticed an extended 
description of a magnificent ball given by the Vanderbilts at 
Newport, while in another column, I saw a wonderfully 
pathetic pen-picture of the terrible want then being experi- 
enced in the little cottages and hovels of the poor strikers 
on the Vanderbilt road. It almost seemed, as I beheld in 
bold antithesis those graphic scenes of gilded splendor and 
grim squalor, that triumphant capital sought to exasperate 
vanquished labor beyond the bounds of human forbearance ; 
and I felt a shock akin to the experience one undergoes when 
first reading the pictures of the giddy, voluptuous, and selfish 
life at the Louvre, immediately preceding the French Revo- 
lution, while the multitudes of Paris saw the world thi'ough 
fierce eyes sunken far into their sockets by hunger long 
endured. Something of the same sensation, I experienced on 
seeing these two book?^ side by side : one, " Society as I Have 
Found It," by Ward McAllister ; the other might have been 
termed, " Society as I Have Found It," by General Booth. 
One being an elal>orate description of the froth on the surface 
of social life to-day, the other a picture of the dregs of civili- 
zation ; vivid glimpses of the upper and lower strata of our 
modern life. The world of indolent frivolity, and the world 
of crime, degradation, and poverty. The denizens of the one, 
— idlers who eat, drink, dance, and are consumed in a 
butterfly existence ; the other filled with gaunt, hungry, hol- 



low-eyed millions to whom life is an awful curse. The one 
basking in the sunshine of wealth, floating on the surface, 
held up by the great current beneath ; the other doomed to 
dwell in perpetual night, having settled or been forced to the 
bottom where -the pressure is greatest, and hope dies. 

These pen pictures of two phases of our civilization are 
written by persons who may be justly termed experts in the 
fields they discuss ; and though, from a purely literary point of 
view, their work is vulnerable, there is no reason to believe that 
either has given other than a truthful narration, for each is 
in perfect rapport with his theme : each knows the ground 
over which he journeys, as thoroughly as a trapper knows the 
mountain trail. 

♦ The first of these works, as I have indicated, treats of what 
maj" be termed the froth of society, that is, the wealth-laden 
idlers who live chiefly for themselves, for the petty triumphs in 
fashion's hollow life, those who enjoy the superficial and arti- 

* I am aware that several critics have assailed Mr. McAUister as rendering 
a false picture of the gay world of fashion in Now York. The fact reinainn, 
however, that this same giddy world of wealth and pleasure have not repudi- 
ated their leader. No renunciation of him has come from this charmed circle ; 
on the contrary, the following extract from the New York Herald of Dec. 9, 
gives an idea of the position held by Mr. McAllister at the present time. 
This, together with the fact that for years he has been the idol of the " four 
hundred," is sufficient to refute the claim that the picture he presents of the 
I * froth of society is misleading. 

Delmonico's white and gold ball room was ablaze with light last ni^ht. 
This is the eighteenth year of the Patriarchs' ball, and the occasion just 
, celebrated was the largest and most brilliant of any ever given. 

I As it was opera night, none of the guests came until eleven o'clock. 

I They entered the blue room, and then the second salon, where the Hunga- 

: rian band from Buda-Pesth played all the evening. 

There were fully three hundred and seventy-five people present, just 
; twentv-five less than the famous four hundred. 

William G. Whitney, W. Watts Sherman, and John Alsop Griswold are the 
newly elected Patriarchs. 
Supper was announced at half past twelve. 


Mr. McAllister led with Mrs. Astor, followed by the Duchess of Marlbor- 
ough with Mr. W. C. Whitnev, the Duke of Marlborough with Mrs. Whitney, 
Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt with Mrs. Van Bensselaer Cruger, and Mr. Ghaun- 
cey M. Depew with Mrs. Paran Stevens. 

Tlie cotillion began at half-past one, and was danced in English fashion 
continually until half-past two, Mr. Harry Le Grand Gannon leading with 
Miss Anne Gameron, who is the first debutante to have led. 

Mr. McAllister danced with Mrs. Michael Herbert, and on his right and 
left were ^rs. Burke-Roche, Miss Wetmore, Miss Amy Bend, Mrs. Yznaga, 
Miss Randolph, Miss Grace Wilson, Miss Sallie Hargous, Mrs. W. A. Duer, 
Mrs. Robert Goelet, Miss Angelica Gerry and Miss Ghapman. 

The Patriarchs danced until a late hour, and when they began their depar- 
ture, cla<l in greatcoats and wrapped in cables and seals, they presented a 
picture (with the snow and the street lamps and Madison Square Garden as 
a setting) that would have delighted the heart of G^rome. 


ficial life of what is known as society, when millions of their 
fellowmen are being forced to the depths of want and often 
into crime. Millions of their brothers and sisters are starv- 
ing, or stealing that they may not starve, who might be saved, 
who would be redeemed if a small part of this wealth-laden 
circle in every metropolis would work in concert, and intelli- 
gently expend a liberal portion of the immense riches that 
they annually waste, and which few if any of them have cre- 
ated with their own hands, or by personal exertion outside of 
speculation. It is this world of idlers which Mr. McAllister 
describes and extols. Some of them owe their prestige largely 
to the fact that their ancestors were early settlers of Manhattan 
Island; others have inherited vast fortunes, while a third 
class are the children or representatives of the commercial bri- 
gands of to-day, — men who spend months converting into 
cash a portion of their vast resources, who then withdraw 
their deposits from the metropolitan banks in such a manner 
as to send a thrill of uncertainty through the complex fabric 
of commercial life ; who follow this with gloomy rumors and 
predictions of impending business failures through the 
press ; who watch an opportune moment, when with tiger 
spring they convulse the speculative world, crushing banks, 
bankrupting hosts of individuals, causing many deaths and 
more misery, but at length they emerge from the chaos they 
have caused with millions of ill-gotten gains — ^millions of dol- 
lars, not a cent uf which has been earned, millions of dollars 
won by gamblers who have money enough to take away all 
risks on their part and who understand how to utilize for 
their purses a system of legal gambling which is daily sapping 
the moral force of the nation and paralyzing legitimate trade. 
It is from one of these three classes that we find the majority 
of fashion's votaries in our great metropolis. And how do 
they live in this charmed circle ? They winter in New York 
and summer at Newport, or some other resort of wealth and 
fashion. Winter and summer alike they feast, drink, and 
dance. In summer they drive in state. In winter they 
attend the opera. This, of course, does not command all 
their time, but it represents the great absorbing thoughts 
that fire and control life. This round of gayety is to this ele- 
ment what invention is to Edison, wliat evolution was to 
Darwin, what conquest was to Alexander, what the redemp- 
tion of humanity was to Jesus, — the motive power that most 


sways life ; the over-mastering impulse of existence ; the 
thought or desire, before which all else becomes subordinate. 
Let us examine a few etchings from Mr. McAllister's gallery 
that we may acquire a better idea of the essential spirit of this 
life. Here we have a picture of a typical picnic at Newport : 

"We woiiid meet at Narragansett Avenue at 1 p. m., and all drive out 
together. On reaching the picnic grounds, I had an army of skirmishers, 
in the way of servants, thrown out, to take from each carriage its con- 
tribution to the country dinner. The band would strike up, and off the 
whole party would fly in the waltz, while I was directing the icing of the 
champagne, and arranging the tables; all done with marvellous celerity. 
Then came my hour of triumph, when, without giving the slightest 
signal (fearing some one might forestall me, and take off the prize), I 
would dash in among the dancers, secure our society queen, and lead 
with her the way to the banquet. Now began the fun in good earnest. 
The clever men of the party would assert their claims to the best dishes, 
proud of the efforts of their cook, loud in their praise of their own 
game pie, which most probably was brought out by some third party, 
too modest to assert and push his claim. Beauty was there to look 
upon, and wit to enliven the feast. The wittiest of men was then in his 
element, and I only wish I dared quote here his brilliant sallies. The 
beauty of the land was also there, and all feeling that they were on a 
frolic, they threw hauteur, ceremonial, and grand company manners 
aside, and, in place, assumed a spirit of simple enjoyment. Toasts were 
given and drunk, then a stroll in pairs, for a little interchange of senti- 
ment, and then the whole party made for the dancing platform, and a 
cotillion of one hour and a half was danced till sunset. As at a "Meet,^* 
the arrivals and departures were a feature of the day. Four-in-hands, 
tandems, and the swellest of Newport turn-outs rolled by you. At 
these entertainments you formed life-time intimacies with the most 
cultivated and charming men and women of this country. 

These little parties were then, and are now, the stepping-stones to our 
best New York society. People who have been for years in mourning 
and thus lost sight of, or who, having passed their lives abroad and were 
forgotten, were again seen, admired, and liked, and at once brought into 
society's fold. Now, do not for a moment imagine that all were indis- 
criminately asked to these little fetes. On the contrary, if you were not 
of the inner circle, and were a newcomer, it took the combined efforts 
of all your friends* backing and pushing to procure an invitation for you. 
For years, whole families sat on the stool of probation, awaiting trial 
and acceptance, and many were then rejected, but once received, you 
were put on an intimate footing with all.'^ 

From Newport we turn to New York and view a banquet 
for seventy-two persons, given by a member of this exclusive 
I class. The cost of this banquet was to be ten thousand dol- 

{ lars. Again we quote Mr. McAllister : — 

j " Accordingly, he ( the gentleman giving the banquet ) went to Charles 

j Delmonico, who in turn went to his cuisine clasaique to see how they 

I could possibly spend this sum on this feast. Success crowned their ef- 

I forts. The sum in such skilful hands soon melted away, and a banquet 

was given of such beauty and magnificence, that even New Yorkers, ac- 
customed as they were to every species of novel expenditure, were aston- 


ished at its lavi shness, its luxury. The banquet was given at Delmonico^ s, 
in Fourteenth Street 

There were seventy-two guests in the large ball-room, looking on Fifth 
Avenue. Every inch of the long extended oval table was covered with 
liowers, excepting a space in the centre, left for a lake, and a border 
around the table for the plates. This lake was indeed a work of art; it 
was an oval pond, thirty feet in length, by nearly the width of the table, 
inclosed by a deUcate golden wire network, reaching from table to ceil- 
ing, making the whole one grand cage ; four superb swans, brought from 
Prospect Park, swam in it, surrounded by high banks of flowers of every 
species and variety, which prevented them from splashing the water on 
the table. There were hills and dales; the modest little violet carpeting 
the valleys, and other bolder sorts climbing up and covering the tops of 
those miniature mountains. Then, all around the inclosure, and in fact 
above the entire table, hung little golden cages, with line songsters, who 
filled the room with their melody, occasionally interrupted by the splash- 
ing of the waters of the lake by the swans, and the cooing of these noble 
birds, and at one time by a fierce combat between these stotely, graceful, 
gliding white creature& The surface of the whole table, by clever art, 
was one unbroken series of undulations, rising and falling like the bil- 
lows of the sea, but all clothed and carpeted with every form of blossom. 
It seemed like the abode of fairies; and when surrounding this fairyland 
with lovely young American womanliood, you had indeea an unequalled 
scene of enchantment. But this was not to be alone a feast for the eye ; all 
that art could do, all that the cleverest men could devise to spread be- 
fore the guests such a feast as the gods should enjoy, was done, and so 
well done that all present felt, in the way of feasting, that man could do 
no more I The wines were perfect. Blue seal Johannisberg fiowed like 
water. Incomparable *48 claret, superb Burgundies, and amber-colored 
Madeira, all were there to add to the intoxicating delight of the scene. 
Then, soft music stole over one^s senses; lovely women* s eyes sparkled 
with delight at the beauty of their surroundings, and I felt that the fair 
being who sat next to me would have graced Alexander's feast.'* 

After reading the above it is well to call to mind the 
awful facts, that out of 39,679 deaths in New York City 
in 1889, 7,059 died in the hospitals, insane asylums, and work- 
houses ; more than one person in every six who died in New 
York, died in public institutions, and 3,819 of those who 
died were thrown into the Potter's field, too poor for de- 
cent burial. In the presence of such frightful facts the 
heartless selfishness which characterizes the reckless extrava- 
gance of the society of which Mr. McAllister writes, assumes 
criminal proportions. But this is by no means the only evil 
which attends such life. The very atmosphere cannot fail to 
stifle the highest nature in man, to dwarf, shrivel, and kill 
the true ethical or spiritual essence of his being, which in- 
stinctively turns to humanitj^'s miserables with soul overflow- 
ing with love, which ever shrinks from a mere selfish, butter- 
fly existence as one shrinks from an adder, knowing it will 
poison unto death the highest attributes of the soul. The 


following extract well illustrates the blighting influence upon 
the individual, as well as the false idea of life that such an 
existence inculcates. A wealthy friend, on sailing for Europe, 
placed in the charge of Mr. McAllister his wife and daugliter, 
requesting him to give tliem a splendid ball at Delmonico's, 
and draw on him for all expenses. At this our author pro- 
ceeds : — 

" I replied : *My dear fellow, how many people do you know in this 
city whom you could invite to a ball ? The funds you send me will be 
used, but not in giving a ball.* The girl being a beauty, all the rest 
was easy enough. I gave her theatre party after theatre party, followed 
by charming Tittle suppers, asked to them the jeunesse doree of the 
day; took her repeatedly to the opera, and saw that she was always there 
surrounded by admirers ; incessantly talked of her fascinations; assured 
my young friends that she was endowed with a fortune equal to the 
mines of Ophir, that she danced like a dream, and possessed all the 
graces, a sunbeam across one's path ; then saw to it that she liad a 
prominent place in every cotillion and a fitting partner : showed her 
whom to smile upon, and on whom to frown; gave her the entree to all the 
nice houses; criticised severely her toilet until it became perfect; daily met 
her on the avenue with the most chai*ming man in town, who by one 
pretext or another I turned over to her ; made her the constant subject 
of conversation; insisted upon it that she was to be the belle of the 
coming winter; advised her parents that she should have her first sea- 
son at Bar Harbor, where she could learn to flirt to her heart's content, 
and vie with other girls. Her second summer, when she was older, I 
suggested her passing at Newport, where she should have a pair of 
ponies, a pretty trap, with a well-gotten-up groom, and Worth to dress 

Another significant illustration of the artificiality of this 
existence and its essentially demoralizing effect is seen in the 
naive observation of McAllister : — 

*^ The highest cultivation in social manners enables a person to conceal 
from the world his real feelings. He can go through any annoyance 
as if it were a pleasure; go to a rival's house as if to a dear friend's; 
smile and smile, yet murder while he smiles." 

In speaking of the Patriarchs' balls which are such a feature 
of society life among the " four hundred," Mr. McAllister 
describes how he fought for and secured entertainments of 
tlie most luxurious and expensive character possible. " We 
must spare no expense to make them a credit to us and to 
the great city in which they are given." A credit to 
squander money, while thousands in the compass of New 
York are slowly starving for the lack of money to buy the 
food the system cmves ! But our author continues : — 

* "The social life of a great part of our community, in my opinion, 

I hinges on this and similar organizations, for it and they are organized 

! social power, capable of giving a passport to society to all worthy of it." 


And now let us see a typical man of this mad, gay world : 

*'I must here give a slight sketch of one of the handsomest, most 
fascinating, most polished, and courteous gentleman of that or any 
other period. We will here call him the major; amiability itself, a man 
both sexes could fall in love with. I loved him dearly, and when I lost 
him I felt much of the charm of life had departed with him. At all 
these country parties, he was always first and foremost. My rapidity of 
thought and action always annoyed him. * My dear fellow,* he would 
say, * for heaven^ s sake, go slow; you tear through the streets as if at 
some one*8 bidding. A gentleman should stroll leisurely, casting his 
eyes in the shop windows, as if in search of amusement, while you 
go at a killing pace, as if on business bent. The man of fashion should 
have no business.^ Again, he had a holy horror of familiar garments. 
^ My dear boy,* he would smile and say, * when will you discard that 
old coat ? I am so familiar with it, I am fatigued at the sight of it.* 

* * On one subject we were always in accord — our admiration for women. 
My eye was quicker than his, and I often took advantage of it. I would 
say, * Major, did you see that beauty? By Jove, a most delicious 
creature!* *Who? Where?* he would exclaim. *Why, man,* I 
replied, *she has passed you; you have lost her.* 'Lost her! How 
could you let that happen ? Why, why did you not sooner call my 
attention to her? * ** 

From this pitiful picture of life, that is worse than a 
failure, of the froth on humanity's bosom, where riches are 
squandered while manhood is enervated ; where the noblest 
ideals are eclipsed by life devoted to gratification of the " lust 
of the eye, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life," we 
turn to view another phase of our civilization. In his 
" Darkest England," we have a vivid picture of society as 
General Booth has found it. Here a colossal figure looms up 
in a world of darkness ; a voice comes from the brink of the 
abyss, sj)eaks in tones that ring around the globe, a clarion 
voice pleading in humanity's name for the submerged 
millions. On the verge of the social pit the eye of the 
looker-on dilates with horror ; the voice is hushed, the heart 
sickens. As one descends it grows darker. Here society 
exists in strata. 

In London alone there are more than three hundred thou- 
sand souls who are hanging on the brink of the abyss, whose 
every heart-beat thrills with fear, whose lifelong nightmare is 
the dread that the little den they call home may be taken from 
them. Beneath them at the door of starvation are over two 
hundred thousand human lives ; still further down we find 
three hundred thousand in the stratum of the starving, in 
the realm where hunger gnaws night and day, where every 
second of every minute, of every hour, of every day, is 
crowded with agony. Below the starving are the homeless f 


they who have nothing with which to buy a lodging in the 
worst quarters ; they who sleep out the year round, hundreds 
of whom may be found any night on the cold stone slabs 
along the Thames embankment. Some have a newspaper 
between themselves and the damp stones, but the majority 
do not even enjoy this luxury! This army of absolutely 
homeless in London numbers thirty-three thousand. 

Below these hells we find others still more terrible — the 
hells of vice and crime. In Great Britain alone are one 
hundred thousand prostitutes, and General Booth estimates 
at least a hundred thousand more very poor women whom 
poverty has driven to secretly increase their earnings by their 

There are twenty-two thousand juvenile thieves. There 
are thirty-two thousand nine hundred and ten reputed 
known thieves out of prison, and thirty -two thousand in jail. 
There are half a million drunkards in Great Britain. The 
court record for a single year showed the conviction of one 
hundred and sixty thousand drunkards. It is estimated 
that sixty thousand drunkards annually die in the United 
Kingdom. Below these hells are others where all light has 
vanished, where we hear naught but the confused roar of 
angry brutes, madly, blindly grappling whom they may 
destroy. Then we have the public institutions, laden with 
the miserables. According to the official reports of the 
Register-General, one person in every five in London dies in 
the workhouse, the hospital, or the lunatic asylum. In 1887, 
there were eighty-two thousand five hundred and forty-five 
deatlis in I^ndon. Of these seventeen thousand perished in 
public institutions. 

Such are the rugged outlines which meet the eye as one 
glances at this world at the social nadir ; such the general facts 
as from the verge of the abyss one's eyes wander down the 
strata that commence with the honest, industrious poor, and 
^ end with the hopelessly depraved. This is the world of 
which General Booth writes and in which he has already 
accomplished wonders. 
1 In order to gain a better idea of this life it is necessary to 

notice a few typical cases. We have just examined the 
sketch drawn by Mr. McAllister of a typical life in his 
butterfly world ; let us now squarely face life in the abyss. 
That we may better know this world we must approach it. 


From a distance the scene startles and staggers the mind. 
A closer examination touches the heart. He who would 
fathom its misery must look upon individual scenes and 
cases which are strictly typical. In this manner the truth 
is brought home — what before was merely seen is now felt^ 
and the tragic aspects of the life of the submerged millions 
is sensibly appreciated. Let us, then, glance at some typical 
aspect of life in this grim world. The following picture 
would form a striking background for a setting showing the 
ten-thousand dollar banquet at Delmonico's, so felicitously 
described by Mr. McAllister. It is taken from the record 
of one of General Booth's most trusted officers, who was sent 
to investigate the actual condition of the homeless poor in 
one portion of London. 

** Just as big Ben strikes two, the moon, flashing across the Thames, 
and lighting up the stone-work of the embankment, brings into the relief 
a pitiable spectacle. Here on the stone abutments, which afford a slight 
protection from the biting wind, are scores of men, lying side by side, 
huddled together for warmth, and, of course, witliout any other covering 
than their ordinary clothing, which is scanty enough at the best. Some 
have laid down a few pieces of waste paper, by way of taking the chill 
off the stones, but the majority are too tired even for that.'' 

General Booth's officer interviewed these homeless ones, 
three hundred and sixty of whom he found, one night, sleeping 
out along the Thames, between Blackfriar's and Westminster. 
We will select a few cases. ^ 

No. 1. "I've slept here two nights. I'm a confectioner by trade. I 
come from Dartford. I got turned off because I'm getting elderly. 
They can get young men cheaper, and I have the rheumatism so bad. 
I've earned nothing these two days. I thought I could get a job at 
Woolwich, so I walked there, but could get nothing. I found a bit of 
bread in the road, wrapped up in a bit of newspaper: that did me for 
yesterday. I had a bit of bread and butter to-day. I'm fifty-four years 
old. When it's wet, we stand about all night, under the arches." 

No. 2. ** I'm a tailor. Have slept here four nights running. Can't get 
work. Been out of a job three weeks. It was very wet last night. I 
left these seats, and went to Covent Garden Market, and slept under 
cover. There were about thirty of us. The police moved us on, but we 
went back as soon as they had gone. I've had a pen'worth of bread, 
and pen'worth of soup during the last two days, — often goes without 
altogether. There are women sleep out here. They are decent people, 
mostly charwomen and such like, who can't get work." 

No. 3. Elderly man: trembles visibly with excitement at mention of 
work : produces a card, carefully wrapped in old newspaper, to the effect 
that Mr. J. R. Is a member of the Trade Protection League. He is a 
waterside laborer. Last job at that was a fortnight since. Has earned 
nothing for five days. Had a bit of bread this morning, but not a scrap 
since. Had a cup of tea, and two slices of bread yesterday, and the 
same the day before. The deputy at a lodging house gave it to him. 


' He is fifty years old, and is still damp from sleeping out in the wet, last 

, night. 

No. 4. Been out of work a month. Carman by trade. Arm withered, 

I and cannot do work properly. Has slept here all the week. Got an 

awful cold til rough the wet. Lives at odd jobs [they all do]. Got 
sixpence yesterday for minding a cab, and carrying a couple of parcels. 

I Earned nothing to-day. Has been walking about all day, looking for 

work, and is tired out. 

I No. 6. Youth, aged sixteen. Sad case. Londoner. Works at odd 

I jobs, and at matches selling. He has taken 3d. to-day; i. e., net profit, 

|l)^d. Has five boxes still. Has slept here every night for a month. 
Before that, slept in Co vent Garden Market, or on doorsteps. Been 
I sleeping out six months. Has had one bit of bread to-day: yesterday 

had only some gooseberries and cherries, L e., bad ones that had been 
thrown away. Mother is alive. She ** chucked him out,'' when he 
returned home on leaving Feltham, because he couldn't find her money 
for drink. 

These are fairly typical cases, writes General Booth, of the 
army of nomads, who are wandering homeless through the 
streets, and he continues : — 

** Work, work I it is always work that they ask. The Divine curse is to 
them the most blessed of benedictions. * In the sweat of thy brow thou 
shalt eat thy bread,' but alas for these forlorn sons of Adam I they fail 
to find the bread to eat, for society has no work for them to do. They 
have not even leave to sweat. Most of them now do more exhausting 
work in seeking for employment than the regular toilers do in their 
workshops, and do it, under the darkness of hope deferred which 
maketh the heart sick." 

Below this tier of the homeless who have hope looms up 

the despairing ^multitude, they who battle until body fails 

» and brain reels, they who, confronted by the spectre of crime 

and the spectre of death, hear the voice of fate cry Choose I 

Here is a typical case: 

** A shoii; time ago a respectable man, a chemist, in HoUoway, fifty years 
of age, driven hard to the wall, tried to end it all by cutting his throat. 
His wife also cut her throat, and at the same time they gave strychnine 
to their only child. The effort failed, and they were placed on trial for 
attempted murder. In the Court, a letter was read which the poor 
wretch had written before attempting his life ; — 

* My dearest George : — Twelve months have I now passed of a most 
miserable* and struggling existence, and I really cannot stand it any 
more. I am completely worn out, and relations who could assist me 
won't do any more, for such was uncle's last intimation. He never in- 
quires whether I am starving or not. Three pounds, — a mere flea-bit« 
to him — would have put us straight, and with his security and good 
interest might have obtained me a good situation lon^ ago. I can face 
poverty and degradation no longer, and would sooner die than go to the 
workhouse, whatever may be the awful consequences of the steps wo 
have taken. We have, God forgive us I taken our darling Arty with us, 
out of pure love and affection, so that the darling should never be 
culTed about, or reminded or taunted witli his heartrbroken parents' 
crime. My poor wife has done her best at needle-work, washing, house- 


minding, etc., in fact, anything and everything that would bring in a 
shilling ; but it would only keep us in semi-stai'vation. I have now 
done six weeks* travelling from morning till night, and not received one 
farthing for it. If that is not enough to drive you mad, — wickedly 
mad, — I donH know what is. 'No bright prospect anywhere ; no ray of 
hope. May God Almighty forgive us for this heinous sin, and have 
mercy on our sinful souls, is the prayer of your miserable, broken- 
hearted, but loving brother, Arthur. We have now done everything 
that we can possibly think of to avert this wicked proceeding, but can 
discover no ray of hope. Fervent prayer h«is availed us nothing ; our 
lot is cast, and we must abide by it It must be God's will, or He would 
have ordained it differently. Dearest Georgy, I am exceedingly sorry 
to leave you all, but I am mad — thoroughly. You, dear, must try and 
forget us, and, if possible, forgive us ; for I do not consider it our fault 
we have not succeeded. If you could get three pounds for our bed, it 
will pay our rent, and our scanty furniture may fetch enough to bury 
us in a cheap way. 

* Don't grieve over us or follow us, for we shall not be worthy of such 
respect. Our clergyman has never called on us or given us the least 
consolation, though I called on him a month ago. He is paid to preach, 
and there he consideis his responsibility ends, the rich excepted. We 
have only yourself and a very few others who care one pin what becomes 
of us; but you must try and forgive us, is the last fervent prayer of your 
devotedly fond and affectionate, but broken-hearted and persecuted 
brother. [Signed] R. A. O : 

This is an authentic human document, a transcript from the life of 
one among thousands who go down inarticulate into the depths. 
They die and make no sign, or, worse still, they continue to exist, 
carrying about with them, year after year, the bitter ashes of a life 
from which the furnace of misfoatune has burnt away all joy, hope, 
and strength.*' 

Then we have the vicious — a world so temble that one 
sickens as he explores it ; a world into which the vast major- 
ity have been forced by the selfishness and brutality of our 
present civilization — the inhumanity of man. 

My present purpose does not necessitate prosecuting our inves- 
tigations through the hell of vice and crime into which the vJist 
majority of those in the upper stratum, who do not perish in the 
battle for bread, ultimately sink. I simply desire to place in 
antithesis the idle rich and the starving poor, and by typical 
illustrations lead men and women to thhik. If a general agi- 
tation can be brought about, if the element in life to-day which 
appreciates the importance of an active ethicjil education can 
hd marshalled in line, it will not be long before methods 
for the amelioration and redemption of society's submerge 
millions will be at hand. The crying need of the hour is a 
great moral agitation, an aggressive movement on ethical 
lines; the conscience of civilization must be appealed to in 
the name of justice, civilization, and our common humanity. 




Leading thinkers among women of broad culture have 
long been pleading for the freedom of woman, urging her 
right to education, wages, and suffrage on an equality with 
man. The world is slow to yield their demand. Did it ever 
occur to you that this is partly owing to the appearance of 
woman which seems to vitiate her claim to equality ? 

She asks for education, but she usually arrays herself in a 
style that suggests either the infantile or the idiotic. She 
seeks for work and good wages, but stands before the world 
fettered by her clothing and weighted with unnecessary 
drapery and trimmings. She would engage in political 
affairs, but seems unable to apply common-sense principles to 

I the clothing of her own body. 

« Handicapped and weakened as woman has been by her 

II costumes; she has again and again, in individual cases, proved 

the justice of her claims to equality on intellectual, industrial, 
and social planes of activity. These facts make small im- 
pression on the judgment of mankind, compared with the 
proofs of her inferiority daily visible to the naked ej-^e. From 
the crown of her head, decked with the stuffed bodies or 

I wings of slaughtered song-birds, or cruelly weighted with jet 

J and glass ornaments, to the soles of her feet perched upon 

disease-producing heels or standing in shoes too thin-soled to 
protect irom dampness, — the average dress of the average 
woman pronounces against her the verdict ; fickle, frivolous, 

ji incompetent 1 

jil There are no better missionaries to the heathen in foreign 

lands than American women, but the Japanese in their 
loose drapery and Sandwich Islandere in their Mothei- 
Hubbards, look with amusement or contempt upon the cor- 
sets of Christians. The good works of the Women's 
Christian Temperance Union are well-known, but, amid the 
highest civilization of Christendom, women still wefir jewels 
hung in the flesh ; and in a single season I have seen presi- 


ag:^5e^gg=as^; =Tir-:^»j-,'t^ g^Bi^^^i^s5iBfc^«^>>^'^^g» 

woman's dress. 353 

dents of local unions wearing birds on their bonnets, appar- 
ently in ignorance of the efforts of societies for the preven- 
tion of cruelty to animals, the protests of nature-lovers, the 
entreaties of ornithologists and the ridicule of the press. It 
is probable that they gave no thought to the matter : they 
followed the fashion. 

Jet and glass trimmings have lately had a long reign, add- 
ing greatly to the weight of hats, wraps, and gowns. A lady 
reporter had the curiosity to ask the weight of a bead-trinmied 
suit. The scales reported a weight exceeding the maximum 
of that allowed our soldiers in the last war, their accoutre- 
ments, ammunition, and all. One handsome, bead-trimmed 
cloak was sent back to the dealer, because the lady for whom 
it was purchased could not stand up under its weight. 

We have only just escaped from the imposition of the 
bustle. For a few years it held sway so universally that 
intelligent women at last put it on, feeling that their own 
comparative flatness of back was positive deformity. We all 
remember the not long-past days when women in every station 
in life went trailing dress fabrics behind them, upstairs and 
downstairs, in kitchen, schoolroom, shc^, street, and field, un- 
less they carried their skirts in their hands. Women who did 
not wear trains were looked upon by others as lacking apprecia- 
tion of the line of beauty, the long sweeping curve. Sud- 
denly the Greek line of beauty disappeared from common 
view, and the trimmed skirt appeared. No more long lines, 
but no end of pleating. Rows on rows of heavy pleating, till 
it became the main task of dress-making, and the chief weight 
of the garment. Women actually died of pleating. 

Machines for its home manufacture were peddled from door 
to door, and ready-made pleating was sold with dress mate- 
rials. It had become one of the great staple productions, 
when suddenly — no more pleating ! A plain skirt was true 

What a relief we have lately had ! Superficial observers 
began to speak of progress, and to see in tliis change of 
fashion, the hand of evolution. But women had not fairly 
adjusted themselves to the new regime of simplicity, when their 
skirts were drawn back, with all the gathei*s behind, — a very 
literal drawback to a woman walking. " Her two shy knees 
clad in a si^igle tiouser,*' as Coventry Patmore said of the 
"girl of the porxodJ' in the former days of the "tie-back," 


— a more immodest exposure, than if she went her way clad 
in unmistakable, roomy, two-legged trousers. 

This is the situation at present. No pockets, no free use 
of the lower limbs, for her who is *' in style " ; and " they 
say " that skirts are lengthening, must now touch the floor ; 
that trains are coming back, and that a demand for hoops is 

I remember the evolution of the skeleton skirt, of about 
thirty years ago, just following the rise and fall of the 
Bloomer costume. For years, the skeleton skirt swung in 
the breeze, and served as a sign before the door of every diy- 
goods store. It was absurd and inartistic ; but, if active 
women must wear long skirts, the skeleton skill made them 
more endurable. There was comparative freedom for the 
organs of locomotion underneath the swinging cage, and one 
hand could lift the whole super-imposed drapery, instead of 
using the two hands commonly required to help long skirts 
upstairs. A yard-long whalebone sewed in the hem of the 
petticoat, giving a decidedly bell-shaped appearance to the 
wearer, was the first iprm of hoop-skirt, I remember, but at 
hist hooj>-skirt factories sprang up all over the the land, till 
it was argued that it would be a sin to oppose the fashion, 
lest the ruin of the factories should throw thousands out of 
employment. Women went about like moving pyramids. 
Inflated skirts, var}dng in outline from time to time, became 
so common that a woman without hoops seemed positively 
immodest. / 

What a travesty upon good taste, — each one of the ridic- 
ulous fashions detailed above "all of which I saw, and a 
part of which I was !" Is there a more conspicuous instance 
of "a thoughtless yes " than is found in woman's relation to 
her own costume? What is it but fetich worship? I refer 
to the attitude of most women, the unthinking majority. But 
the report of the minority is about to be heard — a minority 
so weighty in character and influence that when once heard 
upon tiiis subject, it cannot long remain the minority. 

Who or what is this Fashion, thjit makes such fools of 
womankind, — dragging th^m from one extreme to another, 
and offering for each change some absurd and contradictory 
pretence ? Though many of her freaks are known to be 
the result of accident, the eccentricities or misfortunes of 
great beauties or leadera of society serving as models for the 

woman's DKE88. 855 

imitative, — there appears to be some method in her madness. 
She seems bent upon making our wardrobe as expensive as 
possible. Some change in her tactics has been observed since 
the advent of copyrighted patterns. The co-operation be- 
tween manufacturers, dealers, and pattern makers is a mys- 
tery to the uninitiated, but it is evident that women have 
become, as Jennie June says,' " the victims of trade." 

The whole superstructure of woman's dress seems to be 
founded on a mistake — that beauty should be its chief 
object. Is not beauty, like happiness, something that comes 
unsought, as a result of following duty ? It seems to me a 
kind of atheism to call anything beautiful which is an injury 
to humanity. That Fashion knows nothing whatever about 
genuine beauty, is evident from her contradictions. 

Herbert Spencer says, in the opening chapter of his book 
on Education : — 

^^ It has been truly said that in the order of time decoration pre- 
cedes dress. Among people who submit to great physical suffer- 
ing that they may have themselves handsomely tattooed, extremes 
of temperature are borne with but little attempt at mitigation. 
Humboldt tells us that an Orinoco Indian, though quite regardless 
of bodily comfort, will yet labor for a fortnight to purchase 
pigment wherewith to make himself admired ; and that women 
of the same tribes who would not hesitate to leave their hut 
without a fragment of clothing on, would not dare to commit such 
a breach of decorum as to go out unpainted. ... In the treat- 
ment of both mind and body, the decorative element has con- 
tinued to predominate in a greater degree among women than 
among men. Originally, personal adornment occupied the at- 
tention of both sexes equally. In these latter days of civihzation, 
however, we see that in the dress of men the regard for appear- 
ance has, in a considerable degree, yielded to the regard for com- 
fort ; while in their education the useful has of late been trenching 
upon the ornamental. In neither direction has this change gone 
so far with women. The wearing of earrings, finger-rings, brace- 
lets ; the elaborate dressings of the hair ; the still occasional 
use of paint ; the immense labor bestowed in making habiliments 
sufficiently attractive; and the great discomfort that will be 
submitted to for the sake of conformity, show how greatly, in 
the attiring of women, the desire of approbation overrides the 
desire for warmth and convenience." 

But men are the world's recognized workers. They con- 
sider themselves free and independent; themselves "the 






people," women, their adjuncts. This is the unspoken 
opinion of the majority. It is still the theory of the un- 
thinking that women are "protected" and "supported" by 
men. Woman's dress typifies her subject condition. As she 
emerges from mingled doUhood and drudgery to reasonable 
womanhood, to "her grand new standing place of perfect 
equality by the side of man," she should have the outward 
appearance of a reasonable .being. This does not mean that 
women should adopt male attire. Equality does not ne- 
cessarily mean identity. The united wisdom of our women 
physicians, artists, teachers, preachers, dressmakers, house- 
keepers, actors, editors, authors, can surely invent a better 
costume for women who wish to be useful, than any Fashion 
has yet vouchsafed to either sex. 

But will women wear it? Individuals must not be blamed 
for dressing with "due regard" for the accepted «style. 
Every woman's dress expresses, not only something of her 
own individuality, but it expresses, even more, her unity 
with the race, the common history and status of her sex. 
Viewing the subject from this philosophical standpoint, it 
seems possible that men are equally responsible with women 
for the grotesque attire of the female half of liuinanity. 

Some men say strong tilings against absurd feminine 
fashions. So do many women. Many more, both men and 
women, would speak their minds even more strongly and 
frequently on the subject, but women feel their individual 
hell)lessness, and men are too chivalric to taunt them with it. 
Tliey see how difficult it is for one alone to oppose the 
strong tide of public sentiment or appear conspicuously 
" out of fashion." 

It is possible, indeed, that men individually are no more 
independent of fashion than women. There is certainly 
more variety of personal taste shown in the details of dress 
among women than among men. But the whole male sex is 
upon a footing of greater freedom than is the female sex, and 
this greater freedom is expressed by the main features of 
their costume — of general rather than pei*sonal adoption. 

In independent action, it seems impossible to go beyond a 
certain point without social martyrdom. Read the story of 
Jean Paul Richter and his effort to go without a cue wlien 
his countrymen all wore them, as told by Carlyle in his Mis- 
cellanies. Grace Greenwood made this idea very graphic 


in her lecture on " The Heroic in Common Life," as I heard 
it more than twenty years ago. She confessed that though 
she had, in moments of exaltation, felt that she might have 
done some of the famous heroic deeds of acknowledged 
heroines, like Joan of Arc, never, never had she felt that she 
had the courage to calmly face the small boy at the street 
corner with his derisive yell of " Bloomer ! " 

The failure of the dress reform movement of about forty 
yeara ago, known as the Bloomer episode and begun by some 
of the very best women of the time, was due largely to its 
making so great a departure from the common outward 
appearance. The time was hardly ripe, then, for full dress 
reform, because so many women, even among those conspicu- 
ous in the attempted reform, were so ignorant of physiologi- 
cal principles. 

A later dress reform. movement, begun by the New England 
Woman's Club, made improvements that came to stay. .A 
committee from their number thoroughly investigated woman's 
dress, and recommended important reforms in the under- 
clothing. These were immediately adopted by many of the 
best educated women, but it remained for Mi-s. Annie Jenness- 
Miller to make them so widely and favorably known that, at 
last, they are " the fashion." The 'fiction that women have 
no legs is now fully discredited, for in the show windows of 
the largest diy goods stores stand dummies of the female 
figure dressed only in the combination undersuit made of 
wool or silk " tights," covering the whole body, except the 
head, hands, and feet. By this time everyone must know 
that woman, like man, is a biped. Can anyone give a good 
reason why she must lift an unnecessary weight of clothing 
with every step she takes, — pushing forward folds of restrict- 
ing drapery and using almost constantly, not only her hands, 
but her mental power and nervous energy to keep her skirts 
neat and out of the way of harm to herself and others ? 

Much discussion has been wasted over the question whether 
a woman should carry the burden of her voluminous drapery 
from the shoulders or. the hips. Why must she carry this 
unnecessary weight at all ? 

If Fashion was indeed a fiend, bent upon the hopeless sub- 
jugation of one half the human race, and, through their deg- 
radation, upon the extinction of the sentiment of freedom in 
all humainly, she might go about the work just as she has 


lately begun, and train girl babies to their lot, from the 

What are mothers thinking about who put long skirts upon 
their little daughter, and so deprive them of the few years 
of physical freedom heretofore allowed our girls ? Surely 
tliey never rightly valued their own freedom and felt its loss, 
aa did Frances Willard, who says : — 

" But there came a day — alas I the day of my youth — on 
which I was as literally caught out of the lields and pastures aa 
was ever a young colt ; confronted by a long dress that had 
been made for me, corsets and high heeled shoes that had been 
bought, hair-pins and ribbons for my straying locks, and I was 
told that it simply ' wouldn't answer ' to ' run wild ' another 
day. Company from the city was expected ; I must be made 
presentable; I ' had ffoC to look like other folks.' 

"That was a long time ago, but I have never known a ungle 
physically reasonable day since that sweet May morning, when I 
cried in vain for longer lease of liberty." 

The transition from the short dresses of childhood to the 
long skirts of womanhood has been so gradual for most of 
our younger women, that the victims have paid little heed to 
the change ; especially as skirts have, for some years past, 
until quite recently, been worn at what is called " walking 
length," instead of touching the floor, as fashion now decrees. 

In some respects the time now seems very ripe for an 
onward movement in dress reform. The main stay of the 
corset was the basque — the great discomfort caused by 
having gowns in two pieces, with heavy skirts, being less 
noticeable when the corset made the pressure more even. 
Making a slight exception for the high sleeves, one may say 
that the female figure is now less dehumanized in its outline, 
by fashion, than at any time in many years. 

More than twenty years ago, Mrs. Abba Gould Woolson, 
one of the New England club committee, wrote of skirts : 

" Do what we will with them, they still add enormously to the 
weight of clothing, prevent cleanliness of attire about the ankles, 
overheat by their tops the lower portion of the body, impede loco- 
motion, and invite accidents. In short, they are uncomfortable, 
unhealthy, unsafe, and unmanageable. Convinced of this fact by 
patient and almost fruitless attempts to remove their objectionable 
qualities, the earnest dress- reformer is loath to believe that skirts 
hanging below the knee are not transitory features in woman's 

woman's dress. 


attire, as similar features have been in the dress of men, and surely 
destined to disappear with the tight hour-glass waists and other 
monstrosities of the present costume. . . . Any changes the 
wisest of us can to-day propose are only a mitigation of an evil 
which can never be done away till women emerge from this vast, 
swaying, •undefined, and indefinable mass of drapery into the 
shape God gave to His human beings." 

Mrs. Jenness-Miller, in her lectures on Dress, advises her 
hearers to read Mrs. Celia B. Whitehead's book entitled 
" What is the Matter ? " Few of her hearers know how 
very radical are the ideas of dress in that very entertaining 
little volume, which especially attacks long skirts, and con- 
siders none short enough that come within a foot of the floor. 
All the dress reformers who have helped us hitherto are will- 
ing to help us farther. 

Now let us join hands, all lovers of liberty, in earnest co- 
operation to free American women from the dominion of 
foreign fashion. Let us, as intelligent women, with the 
aid and encouragement of all good men, take this important 
matter into our own hands and provide aui-selves with 
convenient garments; a costume that shall say to all be- 
holders that we are equipped for reasonable service to 
humanity. Let us reserve the long flowing lines and "art 
dress" for hours of ease and dress occasions, but in our 
working hours let us be found no longer simply draped, but 
clothed and in our right minds, — with a dress that allows 
freedom of lungs and of limbs, one that has plenty of acces- 
sible pooket room, a dress that can be easily put on and 
comfortably worn, subservient to the human body and not 
its master ; not a dress for any distinct " working class " 
of women, but a costume that every woman may wear freely 
when she pleases, and by thus wearing may show to all be- 
holders that she wishes to be useful in the world q,nd not a 
dependent and burden to other workers. ^*< 1 

Let us choose a committee of our most cap^le and honored 
sisters, and instruct them to give us a costume suitable for 
walking and for working. If their recommendations shall be 
for great changes in the outward garments, they may appoint 
a day when all who are willing to help forward the good 
work for humanity will simultaneously make the change. 
Should much opposition to their plans appear, they might 
well recommend that all men, as well as all women, opposed 


to free lungs and free limbs for women, should, on that day, 
go about in corsets and in skirts reacliing to the floor, or with 
trains and bustles. 

For the leaders, and for the rank and file of a new dress 
reform army, we have now abundant and excellent* material. 
Consider the large number and respectability of our women 
physicians and artists. Colleges for women have arisen on 
every hand. They have their gymnasiums and their resident 
physicians, and every year they send out groups of young 
women exceptionally strong in mind and body. The society 
of Collegiate Alumni now numbers between eleven and twelve 
hundred. Our women's clubs in every city and village are a 
credit to our sex and an honor to our country. The Woman's 
Christian Temperance Union has its ramifications everywhere, 
and its honored leader is brave and outspoken in her advocacy 
of physical freedom for women, recommending often and 
heartily, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps' dress reform book on 
" What to Wear." The Association for the Advancement of 
Women, the Woman's Suffrage Association with its numerous 
bmnches, the Woman's Council, and many other organizations 
of women, — surely alL these will help to undo the heavy 
burdens and let the fashion-oppressed go free. If the pulpit 
and the press will stand by us in this most religious and patri- 
otic undertaking, we may now take a decided onward step in 
the civilization of the race. A great burden may be lifted, a 
great shame abolished, and a new lease of life and liberty 
assured to unborn generations. 

When old world visitors come to our great celebration, a 
few years hence, let us show them our better way of clothing 
women. Let this physical freedom, and with it an incal- 
culable advance in spiritual freedom, be the legacy which the 
women of this decade shall leave to the twentieth century. 



We were sitting in my library with the light turned very 
low. He was my guest under rather sad and trying circum- 
stances, for in the adjoining room lay a little body bandaged 
and unconscious ; and he, my guest, was the child's brother 
and guardian. Until to-day we were strangers, but he had 
arrived an hour before in response to my telegram. I liad 
sent the message the moment I discovered his address, by read- 
ing a kind and tender letter, which was taken by the police 
from the little lad's pocket when he was shot. 

On the strength of that letter, I had kept the boy at my 
own house, instead of sending him. to the hospital. Every- 
thing it was possible to do had been done for him ; but he 
had, as yet, never regained consciousness. Notwithstanding 
this fact, he had twice dragged his weak body from the bed, 
and attempted to leave the house. He seemed unhappy, 
only because he could not " go somewhere," as he expressed 
it, in his mumbled, broken utterance. I supposed that his 
mind had been so impressed by a journey he was to take, 
that even in his delirium, he could not forget it, and was try- 
ing to push ahead. 

I was telling his brother this, as we sat in the darkened 
library and talked over the case in subdued tones. What I 
told him was what I now tell you. I had been driving with 
my wife through the streets of Albany, when we came sud- 
denly upon an excited crowd of men, women, and children. 
There had been, a few minutes before, a collision between 
the Pinkerton men and a body of i*ailroad strikers. There 
Lay on the ground, two men, a woman, and this boy. The 
police were driving the maddened crowd back. One of the 
officers mistook me for my brother, who is a hospital surgeon, 
and asked me to look after the child. He was such a delicate 
looking little fellow, so well dressed and so evidently did 
not belong to anyone present, that my wife insisted tha the 
be laid in our carriage and driven to our home until his 


362 THE ARBK^A. 

parents could be notified. This was done. An ofBcer went 
with us, and when we had put the child to bed, while we 
awaited the coming of the doctor, we searched his pockets and 
found the letter referred to. It began : — 

" My dear little brother," and ended " your devoted 
brother Walter." At first I did not see the clue this gave, 
but the envelope was addressed to Master Ralph Travers, 
and had been written in Maiden, Mass., but there was no 
postmark. It was an old letter too, so that it was not certain 
that it would be of much use to us. 

However, we decided to send a telegram at once to Mr. 
Walter Travers at Maiden, and say that his little brother 
was seriously hurt and was apparently alone. I did this. 
The reply came promptly. "I shall come at once. Watch 
him closely, or he will escape." I looked at the little chap 
with renewed interest. " Escape I " I thought, and could 
hardly repress a smile. It seemed such an absurd word to 
apply to him. After his wounds — for he had received a 
scalp wound from a stone or club, as well as the bullet in 
his shoulder — had been dressed, and the doctor had done all 
he could for him, we had left him alone in the room, hoping 
he might sleep. We heard his voice, and listened, and looked. 
•He was talking about "going" and later on, he struggled to 
his feet, and I had to lay him down again. 

While we were out of the room another time, he had gone 
as far as the hall door, and had fallen from weakness.. 

Then I began to think perhaps he had been insane, and 
that the word "escape" was used by his brother for that 
reason. From that moment we did not leave him alone an 
instant until his brother came. 

I did what I could to relieve my guest's natural anxiety about 
-the little fellow. He sat for a long time by the bed, after 
winking with approval at the bandages and medicines. 

" I am a doctor, myself," he said simply, in explanation. 

" Oh, that is good," I replied. " I hope you find every- 
thing right." 

" I do indeed, and how can I thank you ? It was — You 
were very, very kind. I — " 

His feelings overcame him. He stooped and kissed the 
pale face, and then turned to me and took my hand in both of 
his own and drew me toward the door. 

Once outside he said, " You will undei*stand. I cannot 


talk of it now. He is very dear to me, and I am all he has 
in the world, poor little fellow." 

lie spoke as if the child were in some way afflicted, and I 
thought again of the word " escape." 

" Your emotion is perfectly natural, I am sure," I said. 
" We did nothing. He is a pretty boy, and we liked to feel 
that he would prefer to wake up — when that time comes — 
in a place that would seem more like home than a hospital 

The doctor pressed my hand again, and sat down by the 
library table. 

" Tell me all about it, please — all," he said presently. 

I did so. 

" You wonder how he happened to be here alone, and why 
I asked you to watch him," he said when I had finished. 
" You will have to let me tell you a long story ; for without 
a theory I have I could not explain to you either the why, or 
the how. Even with the theory, I am puzzled still. Perhaps 
you can help me unravel the mystery and advise me for the 
future. You are older than I. I am not quite thirty, and if 
the poor little fellow pulls through this, I have still a strange 
and unknown road to pilot him over." 

He sat silent for a moment and looked out into the street 
through the parted curtains, in front of him. My wife en- 
tered, and went softly into the sick-room. r 

" I should like to hear the story," I said, still vaguely un- 
comfortable, but with renewed confidence in the man who 
wrote his little brother the letter I had read, and who seemed 
now so tender and thoughtful. He began in a low voice, 
with his eyes fixed on the street beyond. 

" When my father brought my pretty young step-mother 
home, I was prepared to be, if not exactly unfriendly, at least 
ready to become so upon very slight grounds. I had heard,* 
here and tliere, as all children do, the hints and flings which 
prepare their minds for hostile feeling toward the new comer 
who may be, and often is, wiser, kinder, and more loving than 
the one whose place she has come to fill." 

I was glad my wife had gone into the sick-room. This was 
a sore point with her. I hoped that she had not heard him. 

*'But most of us, old and young, take our opinions — re- 
ceive our entire mental outlook — from others. That which 
we hear often becomes to our receptive minds a part of our 


meutal equipment, and we seriously believe that we are stat- 
ing our own thoughts and opinions when, in nine cases out of 
ten, we are doing nothing of the kind. Frequency of itera- 
tion passes as proof, and we are saddled, before we know it, 
with a thousand prejudices and assumptions that we have 
neither originated nor understood, an investigation into whose 
bearings would not only result, in many cases, in an entire 
revolution of opinion, but would disturb the basis of many a 
hoary belief, and right many a cruel injustice." 

He paused. I bowed assent, and he went on. 

" I supposed that step-mothers were necessarily a very un- 
desirable acquisition in any family, and this well established 
theory was so firmly rooted in what I believed to be my mind 
that nothing short of the love and devotion I had for my 
father enabled me to receive his pretty bride with even a show 
of cordiality. 

" I can see now what a strain it must all have been for her. 
To come among strangers — all of whom were curious and 
none of whom excelled in either wisdom or charity — having 
just entered that strange and winding path called matrimony, 
with the usual blindness to its meaning with which it is the 
fashion to invest the one to whom it must always mean much 
of sorrow and more of responsibility. 

" To tread such a path without striking one's feet against 
the tliorns of individuality and tearing one's hands with 
the thistles of rudely awakened ignorance, must be very 
diflScult ; but add to this the fact that my young step-mother 
would have no friendly faces about her, to which she was 
accustomed, that there were none of her own kindred and 
none of her culture and training to whom she might go to 
unburden her heart or ask advice ; and then add to this, also, 
the fact that her new position involved the wisdom to guide 
and the patience to win the love of others beside my father, 
and you will be able to understand something perhaps, of 
what I shall tell you of her conduct and its unhappy results 
— as I am convinced — upon my little brother. 

" Her constant self denial and heroic efforts to live for 
othei*s and to sacrifice herself, was, I am satisfied, the sole 
cause of the strange, sad developments that grew to be so 
puzzling in the character of her child. Nature is a terrible 
antagonist. You may refuse her demands and strangle her 
needs to-day ; but to-morrow she will be avenged. The sad- 

HIS mother's boy. 365 

dest part of this sad fact to me is this. She is too often 
avenged upon those who are helpless, — upon those who 
come after. 

"I was a lad of seventeen when my new mother came, 
and I was no better and no worse than the average unthink- 
ing youth. I had been trained to be a gentleman, always, 
toward women, and I hope that I sustained my reputation in 
my conduct towards my father's wife. She was pretty, too, 
unusually pretty, and that helped a good deal. It is always 
easier to be polite to a pretty woman than to one who is 
lacking in the one thing upon which — to the shame of the 
race be it said — womanhood has been valued." 

I looked up again and smiled. He turned his face to meet 
my eyes for the first time since he began, and a rather sar- 
castic smile lit his own somewhat sombre features as he 
went on. 

" It is quite as easy for me now, as a practising physician, 
to be attentive to and interested in a homely man or boy as 
in one who has regular features and fine teeth ; but it is 
equally tnie that this is not the case with women and girls. 
I trust that I have always done my professional duty in 
any case ; but I have done it with pleasure that was real and 
interest that was constant, I am sure, far more frequently 
when the patient has chanced to be a woman of beau^. 

" It is not an element which enters into the treatment of my 
male patients." 

" Naturally," I assented, still smiling, and he turned toward 
the window again, and his usual gravity returned. 

" But all this is a digression only in so far as it may serve 
to illustrate the indubitable fact that — to use a gaming 
expression — my step-mother played her highest trump card 
upon my susceptible boyish nature when she stepped from 
the carriage, and I saw that she was fair to look upon. I 
made up my mind at once that she should never know that I 
was sorry she had come, and I did what I could to carry out 
the resolve. 

" But for all that she did know it. Her whole attitude 
toward me was one of apology and conciliation, and my 
father saw, — and seeing, alas I approved. 

" I am sorry to be compelled to say this, for my father was, 
in the main, a thoughtful and humane man, and certainly he 
had no wish to humiliate or harass his young wife. He 


thought her conduct quite natural and quite commendable. 
It looked so to me, also, at that time. This being the case 
you will readily see how it came about that she, point by 
point, and step by step, yielded up her own individuality 
upon the altar of our egoism and made it her duty, — and I 
still hope that it was in a measure her pleasure, also, — to 
minister to us and to repress whatever stirrings of pereonal 
opinion, desire, or preference she may have had. 

" At first, I remember, she would gaze silently for long 
periods out of the window and sigh. One day she said to 
me, ' Walter, did you ever have an intense longing to get 
away — somewhere ? Anywhere ? ' 

" ' I can't say that I ever had, Saint Katherine,' I replied, 
using the name she had asked me to join my father in apply- 
ing to her. It was the second time I had ventured to so 
address her, notwithstanding her request, and the other time 
it had been used with my father's sportive inflection. That 
day, however, her sad face and strange question had made 
me fear that some one had wounded her, and I instinctively 
used the name with a kind and gentle tone in my voice. 

" She turned from the window and faced me. Her lips 
parted and closed again. Suddenly there were tears in her 
eyes, and she said with a trembling lip : — 

" ' Why, Walter, you are beginning to like me, after all ! 
I — ' 

" She stopped to steady herself and I, young brute that I 
was, laughed. I was sorry a moment later, but I had not 
understood her mood ,and so my own had cut across it harshly. 
She had turned her face to the window again, and I stepped 
to her side. I was too young and awkward to know just 
what to say to retrieve myself, so I took her hand in my 
own and lifted it to my lips, as I had so often seen my father 
do. She did not move; we were both silent for a long time. 
At last I said, having whipped myself up to it : — 

" ' You are a saint^ Katherine, and I was a brute to laugh. 
I — I — didn't mean to hurt you. I — ' 

** She threw her arms about my neck, and sobbed like a 
child. It was the first time I, had ever seen a woman weep. 
I was almost as tall then as I ara now, and she was shorter 
by half a head, than I. For the first time in my life, I began 
to feel that perhaps father and I were not the only persons in 
the household who should be considered. I am bound to say 

HIS mother's boy. 367 

that my thought was very vague and that it took scant root, 
for her emotion touched my sympathy and I had all I could 
do to keep back the tears myself. 

" At that age, I should have looked upon it as very unmanly 
•to weep, and so I exerted all the little brain I had command 
of to keep down my very natural emotion." 

He paused, but I ventured to make no remark, and he began 

" I think she mistook my silence — she was but a few years 
older than I — and so she straightened herself up, and with- 
out another word left the room. — But I bore you," he said, 
breaking off abruptly. 

" Not at all, not at all. I am intensely interested. Go 

He looked at me and was sure of my earnestness, then his 
voice resumed the same gently reflective tone again. 

" She did not come down to dinner that night, and father 
only remarked that she said her head ached. I felt guilty, 
I did not know why, or what about ; but somehow I felt that 
instead oi helping things on by an attempt to be more friendly, 
my step-mother and I had succeeded in rendering the home 
atmosphere even less clear and bright than it was before. 

''And so it was. She attempted no farther confidences with 
me, and gave herself up more and more to household affairs. 
She appeared to think that it was her duty to be always at 
the beck and call of my father, and if she planned a drive, 
— of which she was fond — and he chanced to come in, she 
would say quietly to the groom : — 

" ' Take the horses back, I shall not go now. Mr. Travers 
may need me. He came in a moment ago.' 

" She was all ready to go to Boston one day, and showed 
more eagerness than I had seen her display since she came 
to us, when father came up from the office, bringing with him 
a guest who had unexpectedly arrived from the West. 

" Saint Katherine, as I now always called her, took her gloves 
off as she saw them coming up the walk, and before they 
opened the door, her hat was laid aside. I felt sure I had 
seen her lift a handkerchief to her eyes. I said : — 

" ' Confound that old fellow, what did he have to come to- 
day for? He always sta3'8 a week too. But you must make 
your trip to Boston just the same. We can manage as we 
used to.' 




" She looked at me gratefully, I thought, but again re- 
strained herself and said nothing of her own disappointment. 

"As I look at it now, it seems to me she never had her own 
way about anything. She had no companionship but such as 
had always been congenial to my father, and the interests and 
aims of the people about us were new to her and unlike those 
of her old home. 

"At last one day I saw her working on a little garment. She 
hated to sew, and a new light dawned upon me. I think I 
may have been actuated by jealousy ; but I can hardly say 
what it was that caused me to demand more of her time and 
attention after that. I felt that the time would soon come 
when father and I would not be the only ones to claim her 
attention, and perhaps I proceeded upon that idea to get all I 
could while I could. 

" ' Won't you play chess with me. Saint Katherine ? ' I 
asked that afternoon. * Oh, I beg pardon, I did not notice 
the carriage. If you were going out, go.' I said this in a 
tone that showed very plainly that I would be deprived of 
my pleasure if she should go. She stayed. I beat her at 
chess, and was happy. 

"As time wore on, — she had been with us over a year now, — 
her suppressed restlessness grew more apparent. Even my 
father noticed it, and told her that for the child's sake she 
should keep herself well under control. I was outside the 
window when he said it, and it gave me a new idea. 

" * Yes,' she said, ' I suppose so ; but it seems to me I shall 
go mad if I can't go away somewhere. I know it must be 
foolish and wrong ; but I so long to see other places, and — ' 

" * People ? ' my father suggested, not unkindly. But I 
remember feeling sorry that he said it. 

" There was a long silence. Then she said in a low, self- 
accusing voice, ' I suppose it is all wrong ; but I should love 
to see some of the people I used to know — or even strangers 
who are, who are not — ' She did not finish. 

" Presently she said : ' I sometimes think I would crawl on 
my Lands and knees if only I might go — * if — don't think I 
am not satisfied. It is not that, but — ' 

" My father's voice was low and kind — although he pre- 
sented the old, and as I now believe, injurious idea of the 
repression and control of natural desire for the sake of the 
child — and I walked away. 

HIS mothek's boy. 369 

" The next day I said, ' Saint Katherine, snould you like to 
drive over to Wilton, to-day ? We could get back for dinner 
at seven.' 

" ' Oh, how nice ! ' she exclaimed with her eyes sparkling. 
I made up my mind that I would suggest some such thing 
every day ; but, boy like, I forgot or neglected it. 

" We went. Her pleasure in all the new faces and sights 
was almost childish. She was starving for a change of scene 
and companionship, and even such as she might easily have 
had, she often denied herself from an overwrought sense of 

My guest got upon his feet, and walked twice across the 
room, looking in at the sick child as he passed the door. 

" She lived only two years longer, and father and I had 
little Ralph to bring up the best we could. I was so fond 
of the little fellow that it was easy for me to look after him, 
and the nurse was not often out of sight or hearing of either 
father or I, but she had to carry him about constantly. He 
was an angel in motion, so my father said ; but the moment 
he was kept quiet or still, he was anything but an angel. He 
would have his own way by hook or by crook, and as soon as 
he could walk, we had to lock the door of his room, or he 
would slip out of his little low bed when nurse was asleep, 
and scramble down stairs and out into the grounds and be 

I began to see new meaning in the word " escape." 

'' Three or fom- times we had a great fright in that way. 
Then we locked the door. As he grew older that did uot 
work. He unlocked it, or climbed out of the window. 

" When he was seven years old, he ran off and got as far 
as Norton, on the highway to Boston, before he was found. 
He was tired, and hungry, and footsore ; but he was trudging 
steadily on. 

" A farmer picked him up, and brought him home. Hardly 
a month passed from that time on that he did not run away. 
I remember the first time I found him. He was sitting by 
the railway track, eight miles from home, waiting for the 
west bound train. He was nearly eight years old then, and 
as handsome a child, and as good a one in other ways, as you 
often meet. I struck him that time. I was so frightened. 
You know that is brute instinct, to strike the thing you 
love when you have just rescued it from danger. I rarely 


ever saw a mother snatch lier child out of danger, that she 
did not either strike or scold it, before the pallor of anguish 
at the thought of its peril, had left her face. It is a strange 
human characteiistic. I have often tried to solve its exact 
I meaning." He was silent so long that I turned. He was 

! just returning from another glance into the boy's room. 

I mumbled assent, and he resumed his seat by the table. 

"But to go back to the boy. He looked up at me in 
terrified surprise. I had never struck him before. Then 
he said : — 

" ' The cars would have come in ten minutes. That man 
said so. I was going to — to — ' 

" ' You were going to Chicago, I suppose,' I said indig- 
nantly, as the train thundered past a moment later. 

" * Chicago, yes,' he said, brightening up. I think that was 
the first tim0 he knew where he was bound for. 

"Soon after that my father died. Ralph promised him 
not to run away any more, and I think he tried to keep his 
promise ; • but in less than six months, what I believe to have 
been his inheritance from the starved and repressed natufe of 
his mother, got the best of him again, and he escaped. We 
could trace him a short distance, and then all clues faded 
out. The whole village turned out, and day and night we 
looked. We telegraphed the railway men, but to no purpose. 

" At last we gave him up. We concluded he had attempted 
to cross the river, and had been drowned. God 1 . how I 
lashed myself for having struck him ! " 

My guest wiped the dampness from his face now, and sat 
silent for a long time. My wife had returned from the sick 
room a moment before, and seated herself in the shadow. 
He did not appear to notice that we were not alone. 

"It was during this time that I began to think out — 
blindly and vaguely — the reason for my little brother's 
curious mania," he began again, and my wife motioned me 
not to call his attention to her. " His mother had refused 
to Nature all that it plead for of personal pleasure and self- 
gratification ; and starved and outraged Nature, I began to 
believe, had transmitted to the child, not only the craving 
that had gone unsatisfied, but the self will to execute it. 
Boys, you know, are not trained to think that the world was 
made for woman with man, an incident in her life. They 
ar^ not made to feel that they should have no personality. 

HIS mother's boy. 371 

But their desires, their ambitions, their personality as indi- 
viduals are to be honored and gratified if possible, and so the 
trend of thought and the strength of will fitted well jnto his 
heredity — the stamp he bore of longing for the change she 
never had — and so I grew to believe that he travelled the 
road Nature had laid out, and custom had paved for him." 

I could see my wife's eyes grow large and intense, as she 
bent forward to listen. 

" It was five weeks before we heard from him. We had 
given him up for dead, when he walked in one day, and 
frightened the servants almost to death. 

" I did not strike him that time. I had begun to think. 

" He told me that night, all about his travels and how home- 
sick he got. It was a strange tale and broken by his enthu- 
siasm about a certain circus man who had been kind to him, 
and cared for him for several days until the child had run 
away from his new friend, under the spell of his hereditary 

I knew now what the word " escape " had meant in that tel- 
egram, and my wife nodded to me with the same thought in 
her mind. * 

*' He promised to stay at home now, and said that he was 
very sorry that I had worried so much about him. He stayed 
nearly a year. Then he really did go to Chicago. He 
stole or begged rides on the cars and people gave him food. 
He fell into the hands of the police, and I was telegraphed for. 
They sent for me, and I brought him home. He was i-agged 
and rei^entant. That was last Christmas. I gave liim a new 
pony upon his solemn promise *not to ride more than five 
miles from -home without the groom or me. He said that was 
all he wanted. He was sure of it, and I hoped the sense of 
freedom, — of going on his own horse and where and when he 
wished, — ivouhl keep his mania in check. 

" I had hopes that after he should be thirteen or fourteen 
years old he would outgrow it, and I have been trying to tide 
him over to that time. I have tried too, all along, in my 
rather immature way to arouse his sense of honor and respon- 
sibility toward me. But the ideas conveyed by those words 
have seemed to strike sympathetic but disabled chords in his 
nature. His mother's over-taxed self-repression and sense of 
duty to others, her lack of comprehension of self-duty and 
pei-sonal value has reacted in her boy, to restore the balance 


to Nature, and he is swept into the patli of Iier repression 
with a force beyond his power to check. 

" I have grown to feel that father and I, in our egotistic 
blindness, helped to stamp the boy with liis uncomfortable in- 
heritance, and now I must bide my time, and act as wisely 
and as kindly as I can." 

" You seem to have been very thoughtf iil and studious," I 
j ventured. " It is a puzzling case and a new idea to me." 

" My study of anthropology helped me, I suj^pose," he re- 
plied, rising nervously to pace the floor again. 

'^ It was a fortunate thing for poor little Ralph that I took 

Sthat for my life work. It has helped me to read between the 
lines for him, and to be wise with him beyond my years per- 
haps. I have always been glad of that." 

He had paused near the bedroom door, but he had not 
seen my wife as she sat in the shadow. 

" His pony was all right for a time; but when he heard 
me read — I was a fool to do it — of the railroad strikes in Al- 
bany, it was too much for him. His five miles stretched into 
twenty, and then, I fancy, some unscrupulous fellow told him 
he would give him a ticket to Albany in exchange for his 
horse. 'It wiis too much for him. No doubt he parted with 
poor Gip with a sob, and climbed aboard the train. And to 
think that it should have been poor little Ralph whose curi- 
osity and ignorance took him where he received the murder- 
ous Pinkerton bullet and that cruel blow on the liead. 
Poor little chap ! I cannot Ixjlieve he will die, though his 
chances are very slim, very slim, indeed," he said sadly, as he 
turned to enter the sick-room! 

A cry escaped him. I sprang to my feet in time to see 
him catch to his breast the little white form that had stag- 
' gered silently into the room. 

*' Brother ! " the weak little voice cried in delight, and he 
then fainted again. The doctor laid him in his bed gently, 
and my wife bent over him. 

" Tliat means that he is better, Doctor," she ^aid in a voice 
that tried to be confident and cheery. " He has known no 
one before since we brought him home. Wliat a lovely face 
he hiis ! " 

*'Yes, he has his mother's own face," he replied with a 
sigh. " She was a lovely woman, and alas ! she was the vic- 
tim of her own virtues — as he is." 


HIS mother's boy. 373 

" I fancy my wife will question your standard of virtues," 
I said, as we returned to, the library some time after. He 
smiled more lightly than I had yet seen liim, and turned to 

" I question that myself, madam — as an anthropologist and 
a student of heredity." 

" You do not think, then, that tlie creative or character- 
moulding parent can afford to risk self effacement and sub- 
serviency of intellect and position?" she asked diyly. 

" Not unless we wish to continue a subservient and incom- 
petent race, which shall be dominated by power cruelly used," 
he rei)lied, looking steadily at her. Then he added, smiling : 

" This I speak, as Saint Paul might say, not as a man ; but 
as an anthropologist. I am still a little bit in the position of 
the brave apostle, too. The ' natural man ' and the scientific 
are at war within me. The one cries ' Travers, you would 
like for your wife and daughters to be sweetly, confidingly 
dependent upon you, and to live for and because of you, to 
be unselfish, and self sacrificing,' and I reply. * I love it 
dearly ; it is a sweet and holy idea to me.' Then the scien- 
tific man remarks, 'Doctor, are you not providing for a b«asis 
of chamcter and heredity which shall make your children 
the victims of your egotism?' And the doctor bows 

My wife laughed softly, and stepped to the inner door. 

'* He 18 better," she said, coming back. '' He is sleeping 
naturally for the fii*st time." Then she stepped quickly to 
the doctor's side, and held out her hand. 

" He will not need a mother much while the anthropolo- 
gist lives with you, but if he ever should — come to me." 

There were tears in her eyes, as there were in those of our 
guest. He held her hand a moment, and then turned abruptly 
and left the room. 

An hour later there stood on my wife's desk a handsome 
bunch of roses, and my wife only smiled. 

Shall you say anything more about it? " I asked. 
No," she replied. . " There is no need. He will send the 
lx)y here when he grows restless at home, I am sure of that 
now. These roses are my answer. Perhaps between the two 
we can satisfy his travelling instinct. What a mercy it was 
not something worse I " 

" What ? " I asked in astonishment. 



" I heard the whole story," she said, "and I could not help 
thinking that his theory would account for a good many things 
in the world. It is the exact opposite of the usual one. 
Woman has been taught that to repress and keep in check 
nature, will make her child strong and suppress in it the 
development of unreasonable appetite — as for drink or murder. 
Ilis idea seems to be that undue repression as surely as undue 
indulgence, will make its heavy mark on the plastic nature 
forming- Perhaps that is true. Nature struggles to restore 
the balance. How do we know that murder in the heart, 
though it be repressed, may not account for many a tragedy 
in the next generation ? Who knows but a run-down system 
depriving itself of stimulants it craves may not account for 
the yearning born in many a man for such stimulants ? 
Who knows but — " 

My wife stopped. Presently she said : — 

" He scared me almost to death as he developed that idea 
in my mind. What a lot we have got to learn of it all, even 
if he is wrong ! " 

" Don't learn it," I said laughing. " It will tire you out." 

^i It tires me out not to," she said. " I am going to study 

Two weeks later she said : — 

" The books are so stupid. They assume everytliing and 
they prove nothing, because their assumptions are all wrong. 
I'm going to ask Dr. Travers to write from his premises, and see 
if he can't stir up a little less obscure and complacent thought. 
Even if he is not on the right track, it will do these stupid 
moles good. They get nowhere because tliey start wrong." 

" Better write one yourself," I suggested, smiling. 

" I shall do nothing of the kind. I don't know enough 
about it." 

" Oh," I called after her, as she left the room, " I didn't 
supi)ose a knowledge of the subject to be written upon wius 
at all necessary. What a ridiculous conscience you have, 

She has not mentioned it since, but I do not believe she 
takes my flippancy as in good taste. Anyhow, I have dropped 
the subject of heredity with the feeling that I had got peril- 
ously near a buzz saw in motion. 


DEPLORABLE Social problems are assuming giant proportions. 

The relations existing between capital and labor are 
SOCIAL daily growing more strained. The stream of misery 

grows broader as colossal fortunes rise skyward. The 
CONDITIONS, poverty in all our great centres of civilization, as well 

as throughout the landlord and mortgage-cursed 
frontiers, is, year by year, growing more terrible and more general. 
There have been two thousand six hundred and fifty foreclosures of farm 
mortgages in Kansas during the past six months. In the city of New 
York there are over one hundred and fifty thousand people who earn less 
than sixty cents a day. Thousands of this number are poorl girls who 
work from eleven to sixteen hours a day. Last year there were over 
twenty-three thousand families forcibly evicted in that city, owing to 
their inability to pay their rent. One person in every ten who died 
in New York in 1889 was buried in the Potter's Field. These are 
facts which may well give rise to anxious thoughts. 

The prime factors in producing the crime, misery, 
UNINVITED and degradation which mark the lives of untold 

millions are summed up in that trinity of evil: pov 
POVERTY, erty, rum, and masculine immorality. By poverty as 

here used I mean uninvited want If we except the 
lot of the poor factory and sewing girls, whose fate is often so grimly 
tragic that it is only their splendid moral strength which keeps them 
from the abyss of vice, there are few sadder spectacles in life to-day 
than the poor who cry for work, who pace the pavements from dawn to 
dark, hunting employment and finding none. In his valuable work, 
**How the Other Half Lives,'' Mr. Riis cites the following case, 
typical of thousands of lives in New York City: **A young woman 
employed in a manufacturing house in New York ; she averages three 
dollars a week, pays one dollar and a half for her room. For breakfast 
she has a cup of coffee ; lunch she cannot aff oi-d. One meal a day is her 
allowance." According to Mr. Riis, the sweater of the East Side pays 
his white slaves from twenty to thirty-five cents a dozen for making 
fiannel shirts. During the great shirt-makers' strike in New York, 
many tales of infinite misery were recited. The pathos of some of these 
simple narrations eclipses the finest touches of the masters in fiction. 
One poor woman testified that she worked eleven hours in the shop 
and four hours at home, in all fifteen houi*s every day, and never 
made more than six dollars a week. ** I commence work," said another, 



s I 





** at four in the morning, and do not leave off until eleven at night." 
They had to find their own thread and pay the rent of their machines 
out of the beggarly pittance they received. Nor is New York an 
exception, although poverty is doubtless more terrible there than in 
our other populous centres. All the great cities, however, have a large 
army of honest toilers who are heroically battling for tlie bare necessi- 
ties of life; many struggle to hide their true condition, and it is only to 
those they know and in whom they can confide that the depth of life's 
bitterness is revealed. Many instances of this character are constantly 
coming to my ear, A few weeks since a friend met a poor woman in 
the Institute Fair of this city. She was making four dollars a week; of 
this two dollai*s were spent for rent; one dollar and a half for food for 
herself and child, leaving fifty cents for light, heat, clothing, and extras. 
She lived a great distance from the Fair building, but could not afford 
to ride either way. She did not complain, however, of her condition so 
long as the Fair continued, but expressed dismay at tlic outlook after it 
closed, as winter was before her and she knew not what she could do. 
This case typifies hundreds in Boston. The Rev. Walter J. Swaffield of 
the Baptist Bethel in this city has recorded the following suggestive 
facts which he pompiled for The Arena, — facts which have been forced 
upon his attention in visiting the very poor in his parish in Boston. 

On the fifth floor of an over-crowded tenement house in the north 
end of Boston, a sick man, wife, and six children were found, huddled f LV 
together in two dingy, smoky rooms, neitlJeFUr them larger than 8x8,* 
for which they had to pay one dollar and a half per week. The only 
means of support they had was the uncertain revenue derived by the 
woman for making pants. She could seldom earn more than two dollars 
and a quarter per week, leaving but seventy-five cents with which to 
clothe and support the family. For six years that woman had worn the 
same dre^&r^hUe the children had but one or a part^ of o;tie gai^nent f ^ 
apiece, y/ \^: • - .-• . ' ' ^ J . '' v ; ^ '"^ 

Another family of seven persons, invalid husband, wife, and five .* i^ 
c hildre n, were crowded in a room hardly large enough for two persons, v 
All the furniture in the room was an old borrowed stove, one broken 
chair, and a broken bedstead, no cooking utensils. The children had 
scarcely a rag on them, and for their dinner were eating sliced raw pota- 
toes. They had not tasted bread for three days, nor meat for weeks. 
One week after our visit, another child was born into the family, only to 
die of starvation and cold, lor tlie poor mother had no nourishment to 
give it, no fuel nor fire for two days, and was dependent upon the kind- 
ness of a widow in the next room for a warm place beside her fire. 

In another house was an American family of six persons living in 
two rooms rented at one dollar and a half a week. The man out of 
work, not a morsel of food in the place, no fuel or fire, the only articles 
of furniture being a stove, a small trunk, a dry goods box, and on the 
floor in the comer of the room a heap of seaweed which was their only 
bed. It had been gathered from the beach the day before. 

Not far from this family was found another room full of poor and 
suffering ones without food or fire, in the depth of winter. The four 
eldest children huddled together in bed at noontime to keep each other 
warm, while the hungry and crying baby was blue with cold in the 
bosom of its starving mother. 





A widow, left with five littl e children, has to support herself and 
family, and pay one dollar an3~3 han per week rent for two small rooms. J 
Her only hope is in securing pants enough to make at fourteen cents a 
pair. In order to keep body and soul together, she must teach the two 
little girls *^ Constance** and ** Maggie,*' aged five and three, how to 
sew, and thus do their part in keeping the wolf from the door. These 
two babies work early and late, the five-year-old seamstress overcasting 
tlie long seams of four pairs of pants a day, and the three-year-old dot 
managing to overcast two pairs. They handle the needle like profes- 
sionals. Mother and two daughters together thus earn from two 
dollars and a quarter to two dollars and a half a week, after paying rent 
having but a single dollar left to feed and clothe the whole family. 

The time of my visit was near the dinner hour, but all the prepara- 
tion for the principal meal of the day was the stirring of corn meal into 
boiling water. 

Mr. Swaffield declares that these are not exceptional cases, that there 
are scores if not hundreds of little ones who are from three years old 
upwards, who are thus compelled to work or starve. These very poor per- 
sons, he observes, live on the very refuse of the market; they harden them- 
selves against the bitter cry of hungry children. The army of the honest 
unemployed! Pathetic beyond words is their fate: hunger, cold, and hu- 
miliation their con^mon lot. If they sink into vice or crime, no mercy 
is accorded them, and yet everything conspires to drag theiA down. 

THE ^^ ^°^ ^^^ gives personal attention to the problems 

of poverty and crime can fail to be impressed with the 
RUM CTTRSE * ^ tr 

* power of the saloon as a factor in the degradation and 

misery of humanity. Rum is criminalizing the poverty-stricken world. 
Tills great deadly shadow which rests so heavily over the teeming, 
seething, struggling millions is the despair of the philanthropist. Take, 
for example. New York. In this city alone we find nearly eight thou- 
sand saloons. Below Fourteenth Street we find one hundred and eleven 
Protestant churches, and over four thousand saloons 1 And these four 
thousand rum shops are turning the political wheel of the Empire City, 
while they are glutting the crimiYial courts, and overshadowing with 
misery, degradation, and nameless dread the lives of tens of thousands 
of the half million dwellers in tenement houses who are huddled in this 
section of the city. ** In Ireland,** says Mr. Justice Fitzgerald, *' intem- 
perance leads to nineteen-twentieths of the crime; but," he adds, "no 
one proposes a coercion act.** English and American judges, who are 
not the proteg^^s of the rum power, all agree that this is the giant feeder 
of crime. But aside from the crime that blazes forth in our criminal 
courts, the saloon is one of the greatest feeders of the immorality that 
flourishes under cover and which is probably more than any other one 
thing undermining society and enervating manhood and womanhood to- 
day. In his valuable work recently published in Paris, entitled *' Anthrop- 
ometric Study of Prostitutes and Thieves,** Dr. Tamowski informs us 
that both parents, in fifty cases out of one hundred and twenty-four 
prostitutes, whose cases he exhaustively examined, were drunkards, and 


■ l 



ninety-five out of one hundred and fifty cases freely admitted that tliey 
used liquor to excess: in other words, tliey could ply their terrible trade 
only by drowning all their nobler impulses and unnaturally firing their 
bestial instincts. These are only hints of facts which are known to every 
one who stops to think. In vain do men lecture, in vain cite statistics, 
in vain prove that rum is building our jails, peopling our prisons, and 
the prime consumer of millions upon millions of dollars for maintenance 
of criminal courts to inflict punishment on those who, through its deadly 
influence, have committed crime. We all know the facts. The very 
hopelessness of the case seems to lie in the indifference of society, — 
the conscience of civilization is so paralyzed that the appalling truth 
makes but little impression. Until this condition can bo changed, 
until the moral detith-spell can be broken and the higher impulses 
quickened, we may continue to pass laws, continue to experiment 
with a traffic which has proved itself to be the most unmitigated curse 
that has ever visited the earth; but little good will result. In olden 
times, when Christianity meant something^ the great apostle of the 
Grentiles thundered forth these words, **If the eating of meat make 
my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth." At 
the present time, in the presence of a Christian civilization that is dis- 
graced and dishonored by a curse which all admit is the most frightful 
source of crime and misery, the clergy of the Christian church is 
not imitating the apostle; on the contrary, many ministers are indulging 
moderately in wine, in brutal disregard of the weak brothers who are 
stumbling: while, with a few honorable exceptions, the clergy is not 
thundering against this curse. If with the vast influence which it 
wields it was fllled with the conviction of common justice, lit by divine 
love for humanity, and fired by the spirit of truth, it could, in a few 
weeks, enthuse the civilized world ; it could create public sentiment that 
would sweep this curse from the face of civilization. So deeply, 
however, has the rum power embedded itself in many of the churches, so 
powerfully do its feelers grasp the woof and web of faslilonable Chris- 
tianity, and so loudly does the cry, ** Prophesy to us smooth things," come 
from the richly-cushioned pews on the one hand, while so meaningless 
have grown the grand ethical impulses of Christendom on the other, that 
we cannot expect such action from the church as a unit. Yet this direct 
appeal to the conscience of the people must be made. This positive and 
energetic agitation must be inaugurated. It is idle to make laws and 
leave the public impulse dormant. Arouse the people, and the evil will 
disappear. Make men see and feel that the rumseller is a greater curse 
to the community than a professional thief; that a saloon is a more 
positive evil to a neighborhood than a shanty filled with smallpox 
patients, and a fire will be kindled which will purge the country of 
its greatest crime and misery breeder whose colossal shadow ^velops 
Chnstendom, and carries a thrill of misery, a pulsation of vice, a throb 
of degradation wherever it falls. 


There is another fruitful source of anguish and de- 
MASCULINE gradation, an evil whose cancer-like roots are stretch- 
ing in every direction on the breast of civilization; an 
IMMORALITY, evil that has assumed enormous proportions, owing to 

the fatal mistake which conservative thought has 
made in uniting with the votaries of vice in attempting to crush all 
those who call public attention to the extent of the ravages of 
immorality, and create a general sentiment for reform in the only 
manner which has ever proved successful in accomplishing great 
revolutions — agitation — public, persistent, and determined agitation. If 
the true facts of masculine immorality in life to-day were forced home 
upon the people, a social revolution would follow as positive and benefi- 
cent as any which has marked the progress of humanity. We are 
constantly receiving hints in the papers, and in our contact with others 
in everyday life, which reveals the frightful degradation of manhood, 
owing to the double standard of morality. Mr. Stead^s Pall Mall 
Gazette exposures, and the Cleveland Street scandal of London, the 
loathsome truths which come out constantly in divorce trials, such as 
were exhibited in the recent O^Shea suit, merely give us hints of the 
social ulcer that is eating into the heart of civilization. /Those most 
conversant with college life know how frightful is the condition of 
Ytg[ morals in our colleges|)but, save a hint now and then which creeps into 
the newspapers, the world is ignorant of the facts. The following news 
item, published recently in the court notes in our Boston papers, is 
typical of conditions as they exist in society to-day. It was apparently 
considered of too little importance, or of too common occurrence, to call 
forth editorial comment from the daily press. The facts published were 
substantially as follows: A poor girl was arrested for stealing; in court 
she was accused, and admitted the theft. ** I had to eat or starve,^^ she 
said. ** But you stole clothing." ** I have to wear something." ** How 
do you pay your room rent?" " Oh, one of the Technology boys pays 
that." "Do you know of other girls who have their rent paid by 
Technology boys ?" ** Oh, yes, several; but they wonH give us anything 
more than our room rent, ai^d we have to eat and dress." Another 
hint of a condition far too common in collegiate life, especially in our 
great cities, was brought out in the recent suicide of Arthur Caldwell 
in Baltimore. Briefly stated, the facts that bear on the question under 
consideration, as reported in the daily press, are as follows: Eighteen 
months ago this young man, then only eighteen years of age, went from 
Canada to Baltimore, to attend the Baltimore College of Dental Surgery. 
Before long he became one of the "fast set" of the college, spending large 
sums sent him by his mother and uncle chiefly on wine and women. 
Once or twice, stricken by remorse, he made feeble attempts to reform, 
but in the midst of his gay associates he soon relapsed into his fast life. 
During a portion of his career, Arthur Caldwell roomed with a fellow 
student, on the comer of Green and Mulberry Streets. One day, during 




this period, his roommate hrought home a companion, whom he intro- 
duced as Harry Eel. This young person wore knee breeches and a light 
coat, and was said to be very prepossessing. The three roomed together 
for some time. At last a quarrel arose between them, and Harry Eel 
and the roommate left Caldwell. During this time the police were 
searching far and wide for the eighteen-year-old daughter of a well-known 
citizen, who had suddenly disappeared. No traces of the girl could be 
discovered until Caldwell, out of pique, informed the police that Harry 
Eel was the young lady they were searching for. She was accordingly 
arrested, and proved to be in truth the missing girl. Nor was this by any 
means the only romance in which young Caldwell figured. On finding that 
his mother had been made acquainted with his habit of life, and that she 
wa« on her way to take him home, young Caldwell committed suicide. 
Such facts are typical of an appalling social condition, due largely to 
the fact that too long the agitation of the condition of man's degradation 
and its direful results has been "forbidden.*' " Oh, we all know these 
things exist, but we must not publish them ! " exclaimed a timid fiiend, 
voicing the shallow cry of two classes, — the unwisely conservative, and 
the positively vicious. ** Why ? " ** It would not do for our girls to know 
of such things," came the prompt reply. In the name of sacred woman- 
hood, why not? Why should they not know, that they may be 
forewarned ? Why should they be kept in ignorance of the presence of 
vipers when they tread the thicket, until the fatal fangs enter their 
innocent fiesh, and their cry proclaims their ruin ? No duty confronts 
civilization that is more pressing than the enlightenment of our daughters 
on this most vital point — the dangers that beset them. We have long paid 
the tribute of silence which lust has demanded, and the result has been 
an ever increasing army of ruined girls — ruined because they were not 
properly warned; ruined because they were not armed with the priceless 
knowledge that would have made them invulnerable ; ruined because Mrs. 
Grundy has united with superficial prudes and lecherous hypocrites in 
crying down every effort to create a healthy agitation of this vital problem. 
The result of this fatal silence is as terrible to man as woman; it is ever 
lowering his standard of morality, sinking him in the deptlis of degrada- 
tion, turning out armies of libertines who prey on innocence and beauty. 
General Booth, in his "Darkest England," well observes: " The lot of 
a negress in equatorial Africa is not perhaps a very happy one, but 
Is it worse than that of a pretty orphan girl in our Christian capital ? 
A young, f>cnniless girl, if she be pretty, is often hunted from pillar to 
post by her employers, confronted always by the alternative, starve or 
sin, and when once the poor girl has consented to buy the right to earn 
her living by the sacrifice of her virtue, then she is treated as a slave 
and an outcast by the very man who had ruined her; her word becomes 
unbelievable; her life ignominy, and she is swept downward into the 
bottomless perdition of prostitution." A report of one hundred cases 
taken as they were entered on the registry of one of the Salvation Army 


rescue stations, showed that the cause that led to the ruin of thirty- 
tliree out of the one hundred young women was seduction. One third 
of the girls who fall in that life, which is far worse than death, meet 
their ruin hy listening to the seductive voice of men, and when they 
have no adequate picture before their mental vision of the terrible 
results of yielding to their tempters; while it is certainly safe to add at 
least one-third of the poor girls in the great cities who become outcasts 
would have at least lived lives of self-respect, were it not for the immo- 
rality of men, who, taking advantage of their great need, have hounded 
them until they have accomplished their diabolical purpose, and then 
spumed them in their misery. The ethical standard for man must be 
raised<f or the degradation of woman will follow. An equal standard 
should be the slogan cry of the rising generation, and that standard 
absolute purity. The triumph of love over lust, the moral over the 
animal, the soul over the body. 

The degradation of manhood at the present time 
THE AGE is evinced on every hand, but nowhere is it more 

vividly illusti*ated than in what are known as the 
OF ** age of consent*' laws, by which legal statutes define 

the age at which a girl may consent to h^r own ruin. 
CONSENT. Up to the time when Mr. Stead tore away the mask 

of hypocrisy that enveloped the lordly legislative 
despoilers of womanhood in England, and revealed the awful picture of 
an army of little girls being literally sacrificed eveiy day of every week 
of every month to the lusts of rich men, the legal age of consent in 
between twenty and thirty States and Territories of the United States 
ranged between seven and ten years, and to-day in thirty-six of our 
States and Territories the legal age of consent is under fifteen years. 
Let us sound the Import of this terrible truth. If a government has any 
legitimate function it is that of defending the weak from the outrages 
of the strong and securing as far as possible equal justice for her 
citizens. When a government legislates in the interest of one class 
i:nd to the injury of another, it has clearly exceeded its function, but 
when it goes beyond this and deliberately legislates in the interest of the 
lust of men, and against the most defenceless of its citizens, legislates 
to place little cliildren whose lives have not yet opened into the 
flower of maturity, in the hands of moral lepers to be despoiled and 
forever ruined, it inaugurates a policy as suicidal as it is unjust, as 
destructive as it is infamous, a policy that vividly reminds us of the 
age of Agrippina and Nero, yet that is precisely the present status of 
our laws in every State excepting Kansas, where the age of consent is 
eighteen, or the same age as entitles a woman to marry and transact 
business in her own right. In thirty-six States and Territories the age 
of consent to her ruin is less than fifteen, notwithstanding she cannot 
marry without her parents' consent, nor can she transfer property until 





1:1 382 THE ARENA, 


she reaches eighteen. Here for example is a poor girl : she has a little 
property left her, but she is only fourteen. The State, to protect her 
from being unduly influenced, because she is a frail child, — a minor, — 
. steps in and forbids her handling her property. She wishes to make a 
1 , contract ; the Stat« declares that owing to her minority the contract 

«J shall not be binding. She falls in love with a man, and wishes to enter 

M ^ the bonds of honorable matrimony. Again the State interposes : her 

I ] ^ consent is of no value. Again we find another girl struggling to sustain 

her failing strength on meagre wages. It is winter ; she may have a 
helpless mother dependent on her ; her employer takes advantage of 
her extremity, and makes the price of her virtue the condition of her 
continued wages. Does the law step in here where the poor child most 
needs protection, declaring in the name of justice that he who pollutes 
and degrades this defenceless minor shall suffer a punishment com- 
1 mensurate witli the terrible crime ? Oh, no! the fathers, husbands, ahd 

* brothers who make laws for women and children, have stamped their 

own degradation on our statutes, for here the law comes forward and 
jl says, though the child shall be protected in her property, though her 

contracts in business affairs shall not be binding, though she shall not 
be allowed honorable marriage where parents or guardian object, she 
may consent to her spiritual, moral, and physical ruin, and the aix;h 
J fiend who has thus robbed her of tlie crown of womanhood — her virtue 

1 — is protected behind these infamous lav^s, enacted by fathers, hus- 

bands, and brothers for the furtherance of animal lust and moral dcgia- 
dation in men, and the destruction of maidenhood. Such are the 

(statutes which to-day blister the brow of justice in thiity-six States and 
Territories. Nor does this begin to express the horror of the situation. 
In the States of Minnesota, Colorado, Alabama, Georgia, North and South 
Carolina, Texas, Idaho, and South Dakota, the age of consent is only tkn 
YEABs; while Delaware has long retained a statute making the age seven 
years, and this statute of seven years in case of rape is unrepealed! 
although, through the persistent agitation of noble-hearted men and 
women last year, an act was passed fixing the age in cases of seduction at 
fifteen years. Think of the infamous laws passed to protect libertines, 
who pollute innocent little girls ten years old I Was ever travesty on 
justice greater, or has law ever touched a lower depth of degradation ? \- 

MORE FACTS I do not believe that such laws would be tolerated 

if the facts were generally known; but the fact is, 

AND the hypocrites have so stified free discussion, and 

have so- persistently cried down every effort to 

WHAT THEY awaken and inform the public that comparatively 

few of the great mass of honest, earnest, home-loving 
REVEAL. people of the land know the awful truth. And we 

must not allow ourselves to be deceived by the de- 
lusive hope that man is growing more moral, high-minded, and 


humane, from the fact that during the last few years the age of consent 
has heen raised in a s co rft "^ "*nrn nf nfintrnj fro m rnvf in i ij ul tcii, to from 
twelve to sixteen. There is a reason for these changes; a reason as sig- 
nificant as it is well known to students of this problem. The Pall 
Mall Gazette revelation wrought this tremendous reaction. As Mr. 
A. M. Powell well observes: "It is encouraging to note the fact that 
nearly, if not quite, all the States which have raised the age of legal 
protection at all above twelve years, have done so since the agitation of 
the question by Mr. Stead, when he made his startling revelation in 
London.*^ And this is true. That episode which cost Mr. Stead two 
years* imprisonment (be it said to the everlasting shame of England), 
saved millions of girls from ruin, and, in my judgment, was the 
grandest single act that has marked our epoch in recent years. What 
were the facts ? A bill had been introduced to raise the age of consent 
in England from thirteen to sixteen years, but it had been pigeon-holed. 
There was no prospect of its passage, unless the people could be aroused. 
Thous^ds of persons knew the frightful condition of a£fairs, but were 
afraid to speak lest they be called ** indelicate. ** Rather than risk public 
opprobrium they were willing that year by year thousands and tens of 
thousands of girls should be sacrificed on the altar of masculine lust. 
Mr. Stead, with the heroism of a high-minded soul, tore aside the mask 
of hypocrisy. The world was amazed, horrified, sickened. In bold 
dramatic pictures the truth was brought home to the firesides of 
civilization as never before. Then, for the first time, men saw the 
enormity of the crimes, the existence of which they had before known 
but never given due thought. What was the result ? Mr. Stead was sent 
to prison, but he had so aroused England that the people demanded the 
passage of the pigeon-holed bill, and the age of consent was raised 
from thirteen to sixteen years. Nor was this all. America felt the 
t thrill of horror that the Pall Mall Gazette had awakened. Enormous 

editions of that journal containing the revelations were sold in the 
eastern cities. The press was full of it In vain did conservatism 
endeavor to suppress the discussion and the details of the revelation on 
the threadbare plea that it was dangerous for the people, and especially 
young people, to know the truth. The revelations were dangerous for the 
moral lepers. They awakened parents to the perils before their daugh- 
ters, and revealed to girls the snares that confronted them. They did more. 
They created that healthy public sentiment for right and justice that is 
always evinced when agitation unmasks a great wrong. New York was 
the first State to raise the age of consent from ten to sixteen years. 
Other States followed her example, but only after hard-fought battles, 
and in many instances the age has been only increased to twelve or 
thirteen years. Now, however, since the excitement of those revelations 
has died away, and under the fostering influence of that false sentiment 
which condemns all brave efforts to arouse the public by pidturing the 
awful truth as it is, year by year, in secret sessions, strenuous efforts 


384 THE ARENA. ' 


are being put forth to again redace the ago of consent. As for example, 
in New York last year, where Senator McNaughton introduced into tlie 
State Senate a bill to reduce the age of consent from sixteen to fourteen 
years. The judiciary committee reported favorably, and had it not 
been discovered just as its f ramers were preparing to crowd it through 
in the closing hours it would doubtless have been passed. A few papers 
were courageous enough to denounce the bill in unmeasured terms, and 
it was killed. On the very day that Senator McNaughton introduced 
his bill to reduce the age of consent to fourteen years, an elderly man 
was convicted in the court of General Sessions in New York City for 
abducting a fourteen-year-old school girl. This man was a trustee of 
one of the Hoboken churches; had for years been employed in a Sixth 
Avenue hardware store. He took the girl first to a house of ill-repute, 
but was refused entrance because the child was not the legal age, — 
sixteen. He then went to a hotel, went upstairs alone, registered, and 
returned to take the girl with him, but the porter refused to let them go 
upstairs, as the child was so small. On leaving the house, he was 
arrested. In the interest of this army of moral lepers and the propri- 
etors of houses of ill-repute, these efforts are being annually made 
to reduce the legal age of consent. It is worthy of noto that these 
sessions are always secret, as it is said the matter is not fit for women 
to hear, and it would be highly demoralizing for young girls to know 
what is said. Was sophistry ever more blatant or hypocrisy more 
audacious ? Mothers and maidens must not hear arguments advanced in 
favor of laws that protect blacklegs and libertines in their pastime 
of despoiling maidenhood. It is the laws, not the arguments advanced, 
that tend to pollute womanhood. It is the laws, not the exposure that 
loads to a cure, that are dangerous, and this is the one fact that must 
ever be kept in view. Dark as the outlook is I have strong hopes for 
the future. We have all seen what a policy of silence has produced. 
On the other hand the results that followed Mr. Stead^s exposure 
have demonstrated what a fearless unmasking of the truth will 
accomplisli. The most urgent need of the present is the united 
influence of the press, the pulpit, the novel, and the drama in acquainting 
people with the terrible facts as they exist. Then justice will follow. 


No. XVI. 

MARCH, 1891. 



SoMB years ago, when the music of Wagner was still a nov- 
elty and a mystery, I remember reading with some little 
amusement, the efforts of a well-meaning newspaper critic to 
elucidate for the popular mind the inner nature of the " music 
of the future*" It had, he said, one distinguishing character- 
istic — it couldn't be whistled I The critic's remark has sug- 
gested itself to me as I read some of the current prophecies 
in magazines and newspapers, concerning the drama of the 
future. If that drama is to be built upon the lines which are, 
in some quarters, laid down for it, I fear that it also will have 
one distinguishing feature — it can't be played. 

I have in mind particularly the very positive assertion of a 
Western critic, who, in commenting upon some utterc^nces of 
mine concerning the rules of dramatic construction, says, 
" People in the plays of the future are going to come on and 
get off the stage as often and as sensibly as they naturally 
would and should. The day of the * heavy,' the ' ingenue ' 
is over. There will be no * prepared climax ' arranged to 
top off the auditor's expectations with a delightful quiver of 
emotion. There will be no artificial scissoring off of dramas 
into acts, so many minutes to the act and so much spasmodic, 
rhapsodical sensation to each quarter of an hour. Things 
will go on very much as they do in real life." 

We have all heard something like this from other sources. 
Mr. Howells, in his daintily cynical way, and Mr. Archer, in 
his brusquely snappish way, have said much the same thing. 

CopjTighted 1891, by The Arena Pablishing Co. 885 



The old machinery of dramatic technique is to be pitched into 
f J the street. Mr, Archer will show Shakespeare the door to 

make way for Ibsen. Mr. Howells will politely give the 
conffS to the spirit of Romantic Drama to make way for — 
Mr. Howells I 

That the drama of the future, if it is to be worth seeing, 
will be in some respects different from the drama of the 
present, there can be not the slightest question. It is in the 
nature of literature, of whatever kind, to change its outward 
vesture with the progress of human development. When 
change ceases, the literary forms degenerate into mere husks, 
and the " breath and finer spirit of knowledge " seeks expres- 
sion elsewhere. Yes, the drama of the future will show a 
different face from the drama of to-day, but what I maintain 
/ and propose to show in this paper is that the prophet^jritics, 

whom I have mentioned, have not succeeded in forecasting 
the nature of the change. In other words, the elements of 
the di*ama with which it has been proposed to dispense, are 
those without which we cannot have any drama at all. 

What is it that constitutes a drama ? There are two essen- 
tials: first, portrayal of life; secondly, action. Take out 
either element, and you have left a nondescript which may 
or may not be worth serious attention, but which cer- 
tainly is not, in any rational sense, a drama. Let us consider 
the two, throwing emphasis upon each in turn. 

The drama is a portrayal of life, but it is a portrayal by 
means of action. It will need, therefore, characters in whom 
this active life shall be made manifest, and a stage upon 
which these characters shall be marshalled before the eyes 
of the spectators. Whatever changes may take place in the 
nature of the drama, these two features, we may be sure, will 
always be retained. 

Now, if we inquire into the character of the drama as it 
actually exists at the present time ; that is, as it is known by 
actors and stage managers, not as it is theorized by those 
who have gained their experience from the orchestra chair, 
we shall find that all characters as they are assigned to actors, 
are classified under a few general heads. That is, they are 
no longer known as Romeos, or Joseph Surface, or Bassanios, 
or Ophelias, but as ingenues, leading heavies, first old man, 
and so on. The cast of a stock company, for example, may 
comprise a leading man, a first old man, a comedian, a second 


old man, a light comedian, a juvenile, a leading lady, a first 
old woman, a soubrette, and an ingdnue. This is one of the 
things which the modern playwright must take into consid- 
eration. As things are now constituted, it is well for him, if 
he hopes ever to see his play produced, not to put in characters 
haphazard, but to see that he has these various classes in 
their proper proportion. And this is where our friends, the 
prophets, utter their first note of warning. All these con- 
ventional characters, they tell us, are becoming, or have 
already become, painfully antiquated. There shall be no 
more ingenues, neither any engaging of leading heavies. The 
dramatist of the future will no longer be trammelled by these 
fetters of an ancient tradition, but will be free to choose and 
arrange his dramatis personce to suit his own sweet will. 

I wish the dramatist of the next generation all possible 
freedom, but that he will escape this particular constraint, if 
it be one, I cannot for an instant concede. Were these 
names mere theoretical terms arbitrarily devised by the inge- 
nuity of some bookish critic, then we might expect to see 
them superseded by the next new fashion of the hour. They 
are not, however, of this character. They are names for 
classifications that have their correspondences in the actual 
world, of which the mimic world of the stage is the countei^ 
part. Go out into the world and seek your characters, say 
the leaders of the new school. Very well, let us take our 
stand on this street corner, where the stream of humanity 
whirls past in bewildering multifariousness of race, age, and 
temperament. At first all is confusion. No two persons 
seem alike. In those whose characteristics seem most nearly 
identical, there is yet some fine shade of differences, challen- 
ging and baffling the dramatist's utmost skill to seize it. We 
exclaim "What infinite variety 1" And yet, as we gaze, 
in spite of the differences, we begin to have a feeling that 
the pictures of the panorama are being repeated. The same 
general characteristics occur again and again. We begin 
involuntarily to try to assign each individual to some gen- 
eral type, and if we study the throng long enough and care- 
fully enough, we shall soon be able to do so with all. Now 
if the observer have the dramatic faculty, and in addition be 
familiar with the conventional names of the stock characters of 
the drama, he will be surprised to find how readily they may 
be applied to the persons whom he sees passing before him. 

■ I 


Let him but think of the passers-by as characters in a play, 
and each will at once fall into his proper category. Here 
comes the guileless ingenue chatting gaily with the juve- 
nile. There the pert soubrette peeps from the carriage win- 
dow of the leading lady. Yonder the villain passes before 
the plate glass window and sullenly eyes the first old man 
sitting at the desk of his counting-room, writing fictitious 
letters, and fingering property bank-notes. 

What does this mean ? Simply that the dramatist as he 
observes life, consciously or unconsciously selects those 
characters which fit the conditions of dramatic representation. 
If he be a poor dramatist, he selects the wrong characters, 
and his play is a failure. The successful dramatist of to-day 
selects his characters skilfully, not because he is endowed 
with some mysterious and superhuman instinct, but because 
he has mastered the resources of theatrical representation -r- 
knows what will " go,'' and what not. Nor is this incom- 
patible with the exercise of the very highest genius; for 
what is genius ever but a native ability to see what will 
" go " with a certain element of the public now here, or to 
come. Even the genius, if he expects to make his genius 
effective, to thrill crowded houses, and make his name a 
household word, must know the stops of the instrument 
through which he is to discourse excellent music. It is young 
Scraper who has had six violin lessons that wants a fifth 
string on his instrument. Wilhelmj manages to get along 
very comfortably with four. 

The drama as a portrayal of life calls not only for charac- 
ters, but for a stage. We have it on excellent authority, 
that all the world is a stage ; and not a few heralds of the new 
order of dramatic things imagine, I should say, that it is upon 
this stage that the drama of the future is to be presented. If 
I understand them rightly, they propose that what are known 
as " theatrical conventions " shall give way to the realities of 
actual life. By theatrical conventions in the best sense is 
meant those peculiarities of dramatic representations which 
grow out of the conditions of the environment, the architectu- 
ral arrangement of the theatre and the like, and which seem 
violations of the logic of ordinary life. For example, in real 
life people live in rooms with four sides, they move around 
as they please, group themselves in one place or another, 
stand with their faces towards this wall or that, and no one 


complains. But on the stage this is not so. In that world, 
people live in threensided rooms. They see to it that they 
are not in one another's way, that their backs are not turned 
in the wrong direction^ that they are grouped in striking and 
graceful ways. Everyone remembers the story of Edmund 
Kean, who, upon being congratulated for the unusual ear- 
nestness with which he gripped lago's neck, replied, *' Earnest- 
ness ! I should say so ! Confound the fellow, he was trying 
to keep me out of his focus." The *' focus " is broader than 
it used to be in the old days when Lamb watched, open- 
mouthed, the " fair auroras " rise before the green curtain ; 
but it exists none the less, and is ignored by no actor who 
knows his business. The question of stage realism is an old 
one, as old at any rate as Aristotle ; but it seems to me that 
no one has come nearer the truth than that prince of critics 
whose name I have just mentioned — Charles Lamb. In his 
essay on " Stage Illusions " he says : *' The actor who plays 
the annoyed man must a little desert nature ; he must, in 
short, be thinking of the audience, and express only so much 
dissatisfaction and peevishness as is consistent with the pleas- 
ure of comedy. In other words, his perplexity must seem 
half put on. If he repel the intruder with the sober, set face 
of a man in earnest, and more especially if he deliver his ex- 
postulations in a tone which in the world must necessarily 
provoke a duel, his real-life manner will destroy the whimsi- 
cal and purely dramatic existence of the other character 
' (which to render it comic^ demands an antagonistic comicality 
on the part of the character opposed to it), and convert what 
was meant for mirth, rather than belief, into a downright 
piece of impertinence, indeed, which would raise no diversion 
in us, but rather stir pain, to see inflicted upon any unworthy 
person. ... In some cases a sort of compromise may take 
place, and all the purposes of dramatic delight be attained by 
a judicious understanding, not too openly announced, between 
the ladies and gentlemen — on both sides of the curtain." 

Lamb, in this place, to be sure, is speaking solely of 
comedy and even contrasting it with tragedy, but the prin- 
ciple once admitted for one kind of dramatic composition, 
will be seen to be operative in all ; especially in our modern 
plays, with their promiscuous intermingling of smiles and 
tears. "A judicious understanding, not too openly 
announced, between the ladies and gentlemen on both sides 



tracted eyebrows. " Very pretty story, but not adapted for 
the stage," is the verdict in nine cases out of ten ; and if 
this verdict is appealed from, the higher court of the public 
rarely fails to confirm it with costs to the unlucky dramatist. 
Such plays, I have said, usually strike the novel-reader as 
excellent, but I doubt if this will long continue to be the 
case. There is something nerveless and unorganized about 
the unactable drama, even to the average man. Productions 
of this sort have not lived long nor have they contributed to 
the national life. This will be still less the case as time goes 
on and the knowledge of dramatic technique, now confined 
to a comparatively few scholars, permeates the general mass 
of readers. I believe this because I am hopeful. If I were 
pessimistic, I would say that the novel was likely to go on 
extending its influence until it sapped the dramatic conscious- 
ness and left us only the novelized and unactable drama. 
But I do not believe the case so bad as that. 

The stage remaining what it is (and practically it has 
suffered no change worth speaking of since the dajrs of the 
mystery and miracle plays), the dramas of the future, so far 
as their forms are determined, will be governed by the same 
laws of dramatic construction which prevail at the present 
day. Whether the play is realistic or idealistic, psycho- 
logical or meteorological, it will as of old have its lines, its 
monologues, its exposition, its stage business, its climax and 
its catastrophe. It will have its conventionalities just as a 
picture will always have perspective. It will have characters 
that are artless and simple, and characters that are malignant, 
call them ingenue and villain, or whatever you like. It will 
have a stage with its " exteriors " and " interiors," " en- 
trances," "wings," "traps," and "flats." It will have 
special features and devices of dialogue for the purpose of 
conveying certain kinds of information to the audience. It 
will have its own conventional time, which will go fast or 
slow as the dramatist shall choose. It will be rendered by 
actors who will employ over-loud tones of voice and make 
exaggerated gestures and pretend to do all sorts of things, 
'which they do not do in fact. They will have set times 
for coming and going off, and if one character plays two parts 
he will have time allowed him to make a change of dress and 
"make-up." So it has always been; so, we may be very 
sure, it always will be. 


The most radical of the new school, when they have suc- 
ceeded in securing a hearing, have not been able to sail in 
the teeth of these dramatic trade winds. Even Mr. Archer 
admits with a sigh, that Ibsen has not been able to rid him- 
self of the pestilent heresy of Aristotle's poetics. No, nor 
has the organist succeeded in doing away with organ pipes. 
Wherever Ibsen has abandoned the sound laws of dramatic 
technique, he has failed as a dramatist ; wherever he has fol- 
lowed them, he has been brilliantly successful. In the best 
part of his plays, taking into account the differences growing 
out of the different social environment, his technique is pre- 
cisely that of all other successful dramatists new or old. In 
the following scene, for example, from " Samfundets Stotter," 
see how the punishment of Consul Bermick who has sent the 
ship "Indian Girl" to sea with a rotten hull, is made to 
grow out of his own evil deeds : — 

Hilmar (rapidly re-entering). Everyone gone I Even 
Betty 1 

Bermick. What's the matter? 

Hilmar. I — I dare not say. 

Bermick. What's that ? I say you must tell me. 

Hilmar. Well then — Olof — he — has run away to sea 
— in the « Indian Girl." 

Bermick (jitariing back.) Olof ! — in the " Indian Girl " ? 
No, no 1 

Lona. Yes, it is true. I see it all now. He jumped out 
of the window. I saw him. 

Bermick (who has gone to the door of his room^ calls in a 
despairing tone). Krap 1 The " Indian girl 1 " Hold the 
ship, for heaven's sake I 

(Enter Krap.) 

Krap. Out of the question. Consul. How do you 
suppose — 

Bermick. I say the ship must be held. Olof is aboard of 
her ! 

Krap. What ! 

(Enter Rummelfrom the office.) 
Hummel. Olof run away ? Absurd ! 

(Enter Sanstad.) 
Sanstad. They will send him back with the pilot. Consul. 


Eilmar. No (shows letter); here is what he has written 
me : he will hide in the cargo until the ship is well on her 

Bermick. I shall never see him again I 

Eummel. StufE ! A ship, just refitted — 

Vigeland (who has come in before). And in your own 
shipyard, Consul. 

Bermick. I tell you, I shall never see him again. I 
have lost him forever. Lona — now I understand — he was 
never really mine — (listening) what's that ? 

JRummeL Music. * Here comes the procession. 

And along comes a delegation of citizens to congratulate 
the wretched man on his " immaculate moral career," and to 
present him a service of plate for his maintenance of the 
** Ethical idea." 

I suppose that Mr. Archer and others who see a new order 
of things in Ibsen's dramas, shake their heads over this 
scene and call it poor stufE ; they " hear the machine creak- 
ing," and wish that the dramatist had not gathered up the 
threads of his plot so carefully. The worst of all is that 
the " Indian Girl " did not go to sea, and so Olof is restored to 
his father. This is a lamentable state of afPairs because it 
actually gives the play the semblance of a plot ! A plot in 
Ibsen 1 Shades of romantic drama can this be ? 

When the violinist is able to dispense with a sounding 
board, then and then only, will the dramatist be able to 
dispense with the old fundamental laws of dramatic construc- 
tion, with the old theatrical conventionalities. The drama- 
tist will find fresh material for characterization in sources 
which are not now suspected. The manager will utilize all 
the discoveries of science in the mechanical construction of 
the theatre. New plots will be discovered and old ones will 
be revamped. But only when some genius shall devise a 
method by which plays may be presented without a stage and 
without actors, shall characters be allowed " to come and go 
as they please ;" only then shall we " hear no more of ' vil- 
lains ' and * leading heavies.' " And that will be — never I 



In 1887 there was published in London an essay which 
bore the title, " Herbert Spencer's Theory of Religion and 
Morality." It has been republished in this country under 
the title of "The Moral and Religious Aspects of Herbei-t 
Spencer's Philosophy." From the essay we make the follow- 
ing extract as setting forth a friendly and an accurate state- 
ment of Mr. Spencer's theory of morality. It is to be 
remarked that Mr. Spencer has completed only one of his 
projected works on ethics, namely, the " Data of Ethics." 

*' Conduct is good when it conforms to the requirements of life ; 
to the extent that it fails of accomplishing this end it is bad. 
But here it must be carefully borne in mind that, by reason of 
the entanglement of human actions, every act must be considered 
with reference to its effect upon the actor himself, upon his off- 
spring, and upon society at large. Acts which are good so far as 
the individual is concerned, may be bad when regarded from the 
standpoint of his offspring, or of society at large. Hence, in a 
social state, an act is moral only when it tends simultaneously to 
satisfy the needs of the actor himself, or of his offspring, and of 
society at large. In their summed- up effects, good acts are pro- 
ductive of more pleasure than pain ; and ^ conversOy bad acts 
produce more pain than pleasure. Perfect goodness cannot give 
rise to any pain at all ; where pain figures as a direct result of an 
act, that act is pro tanto wrong. No course of action is absolutely 
right which causes even a modicum of pain. Perfect goodness 
(that is, conduct which b absolutely right) and the greatest 
happiness are terms expressive of the same idea from different 
points of view. Perfect goodness means conduct that completely 
satisfies the separate and combined requirements of individual and 
social well-being : the greatest happiness describes the effect pro- 
duced by this ideal fitness of things. To secure the greatest 
possible quantum of happiness is the great desideratum of life ; 
but, since perfect goodness is the sine qua non of the greatest 
happiness, a perfectly moral life is the only means by which this 
desirable end can be attained. And this is true, despite the vari- 
able character of different standards of happiness, because the 


general conditions to the achievement of happiness are always the 
same, no matter how much the special conditions may vary. 
Hence, while the greatest happiness is the ultimate end of life, it 
must not be made the direct object of pursuit. Our immediate 
aim must be to live at peace with our fellow-beings ; to deal 
justly with them all in our transactions; and, finally, to render 
them active assistance in their efforts to gratify the lawful desires 
of life." 

If this Spencerian theory were true, let us see what would 
follow. If to make my conduct good, I must conform to the 
requirements of life, then I must have a suiBciently wide 
outlook of life and a sufficient sagacity to perceive its 
requirements, in order to make my life virtuous. But where 
is the man amongst the most cultivated of men who is able 
to do this thing ? Especially as by reason of the entangle- 
ment of human actions those who hold this theory perceive 
that every act must be considered with reference to its effect 
upon the actor himself, upon his offspring, and upon society 
at large. If this be the case, then it is impossible for all the 
intellect in all the world to formulate even a very simple 
system of ethics, and if the e.volution theory be right, the 
demand which the Spencerian theory of morals makes is 
correct. Each man must know whether any act tends to 
satisfy .all the needs of all the world, or else he cannot tell 
whether it be good or bad. It may be true that under some 
happy effects good acts are productive of more pleasure than 
pain, but where is the intellect amongst men who can sura up 
the effects of any single action of any single man? It may 
be true that bad acts produce more pain than pleasure in the 
long run. Tliey cei-tainly do not always in this present life. 
(The pleasures of sin make the power of sin over human lite.) 
It would be difficult to decide the question whether in this 
mortal life those who commit sin have more pain than pleas- 
ure. How, then, are we to know of any act that it is a good 
or a bad act on this theor}'^ ? 

It might or might i^ot be true that perfect goodness cannot 
give rise to any pain at all, but it certainly does not derive 
any probability from known facts in human life. Perhaps 
we have no case of perfect goodness amongst men. If we 
have, no one yet has discovered it, or if anyone has discov- 
ered it, he has not yet exhibited it. We do know that the 
" goodness " with which we are acquainted may give much 


pain. We know that much of the pain that exists in the 
world is the product of goodness, that in many a life if there 
were none of the sacrifices of goodness, if the subject were 
brutally bad or obstinately hard, there would be no pain. 
The suffering of the innocent for the guilty is world-wide 
and a world-known thing. The goodness of heroism and 
the goodness of self-abnegation have brought pain from the 
days of the firstborn man down to this day, wherein a 
brilliant woman has . given up mating with a noble man to 
pursue a magnificent career in human life that she may 
remain to discharge the offices of love which she believes 
have been bound upon her by duty and exclude her from the 
offered career. 

It was said above that we have had no example of perfect 
goodness in the world. The Christian reader may object to 
that, and say we have one man who has existed and in whom 
no fault could be found, — Jesus of Nazareth. Well, if that 
be granted, his case overthrows the fundamental doctrine of 
the Spencerian theory, for he was "a man of sorrows and 
acquainted with grief," and he died under the torture of 
exquisite pain. Every sorrow of that man's life, every grief 
of that man's heart, every agony of that man's body, was 
brought on him by his goodness. If he had been merely as 
non-principled, we will not say unprincipled, as an ordinary 
man of the world, he might easily have avoided both his 
Gethsemane and his Golgotha. 

Another question arises. Is it true that to secure the 
greatest possible quantum of happiness, is the greatest 
desideratum of life ? We should need to agree upon the 
woixi happiness. If happiness means freedom from pain, 
physical comfort, and the sense of the enjoyment of our 
environment, then the proposition could be readily denied. 
It is far from being the great desideratum of life. There 
may be something very much more desirable than all these, 
and in point of fact, for that something else all these things 
have been resigned by all the greatest, and all the best men 
produced by the human race. 

It is a little curious to be told that while the greatest 
happiness is the ultimate end of life, it must " not be made 
the direct object of pursuit." Why not ? Then we are told 
what must be our immediate aim, namely, to live at peace 
with our fellow beings, to deal justly with them in all our 


traDsactions, and, finally, to render them assistance in their 
efforts to gratify the lawful desires of life. 

It would be interesting to be informed how I am to live at 
peace with my fellow beings ; how I am to deal justly with 
them and what are the lawful desires of their life. These 
are the very points in question ; a large portion of the science 
of ethics lies here. 

If I am to know all the possible effects of any act of mine 
to determine whether it be lawful, I* must have the same 
knowledge to determine whether the act or desire of my fel- 
low man be lawful. WTiere am I to find all this ? How am 
I to find all this ? How is the man who rises up early and 
lies down late and sweats all day to make his bread, 
to know all these things ? It is supposed that the ^volution 
theory would teach us that as society progresses by a 
very large number of examinations of a very large number of 
cases conducted by many generations we should, by and by, 
in the lapse of cycles, come to learn the general tendency of 
particular acts, and so by the imprimatur of human society to 
declare some acts right and others wrong. But man has been 
too short a time on earth to have had opportunity for a safe 

And that pushes the difficulty only a little further back. 
How did this sense of " right " and " wrong " first come into 
the world ? How did it begin with those quadrupedal ances- 
tors of ours, who swung themselves by their long tails in the 
original arboreal academies, get the idea that there could be 
such a thing as " rightness " and its opposite " wrongness " 
among men ? It must have had a beginning. Is it possible 
to imagine any beginning of that distinction which has in it- 
self formed the superbest thought that is entertained by the 
most cultivated intellects in this advanced period of human- 
ity ? How did it first come ? 

If Mr. Spencer carries forward his work, we shall be 
interested to see what he does in the department of the 
Sanctions of Ethics. There may be some Data of ethics among 
the phenomena of human existence ; there may be enough of 
them to make something of a system ; but suppose the most 
perfect system could be formulated, the question readily 
arises why should I do such and such a thing. Suppose the 
answer be because it is right, I might then reply. Why should 
I do right ? The response is. Because it conforms to the 



requirements of life. But, who knows what are the require- 
ments of life ? And, what right has life to make any 
requirements of me ? Suppose I should not choose to con- 
form to the requirements of life, even when known, what 
then? Why should I be called bad, as the .Spencerian 
theory does call me ? Suppose I am told that in the long 
run it would give me more pleasure than pain to conform to 
what other people, or even I, myself, regard as the require- 
ments of life ? Suppose, then, I take the ground that I do 
not want the pleasure of the long run, that, for the pleasure 
which I can have in a certain course for five years, I prefer 
to be a consumptive or rheumatic for fifteen years, who has 
a right to say I am " bad " or " good " for that? Srfppose I 
am taught that a virtuous act is one that promotes the 
greatest good of the greatest number, who shall denounce me 
if I say I do not care for the greatest good of the greatest 
number ? In the first place, I do not know that it is good ; 
in the next place I would rather they would not have so 
much pleasure ; and, what claim have the greatest number 
upon me ? 

The greatest number I believe whom I can effect will live 
on this planet after I am dead. It is not a mere joke, but it, 
is a serious philosophical question, — What has posterity ever 
done for me that I should warp my life away, from my 
preference for posterity? 

Why should a man do right? That is a serious question. 
It is that question which makes it imperative that I find out 
the sanction which is behind the data. In the most serious 
and candid thought has not this question arisen in every fair 
mind ? Could men possibly find out what is right udless it 
be revealed to them by an infinite mind? Would ^an infinite 
ijiind reveal to mankind what is right and what is wrong 
unless that infinite mind had an interest in men avoiding 
wrong and doing right? If he have such interest, is it not 
natural to suppose that he will protect his interests, provided 
he can do so ? Does not the admission of the existence of 
the ethical quality in human actions necessitate the existence 
of a Being capable of knowing all the possibilities of the 
infinite and capable of protecting His own moral interests ? 
And does not this involve the antecedent probably of a 
revelation from Himself to humanity ? Several things seem 
to follow : — 


Evolution being atheistic (mark, not antetheistic) having 
no use for a God, believing that matter as matter has in 
itself the promise and potency of all existence, and that 
nothing is which matter itself has not put forth, that the 
universe is a system of matter hy matter /or matter, may per- 
ceive some things that look like data of ethics but must not 
ask itself to be received, until it establish some sanction of 
ethics. The development theory does not carry that load. 
It accepts everything that science has established in regard to 
the development of the universe. It accepts everything of 
science which evolution accepts, but it teaches that all this 
progress has been made on what was originally created for 
development by an infinite Being and has been brought along 
the line of development by the constant supervision and 
exertion of the original Creator. 

The development theory, therefore, is more scientific than 
the evolution, because it accounts more scientifically to the 
human mind for the greater number of phenomena. It does 
not leave the mind to grasp its way through millions of 
years striving to find out whether any action be right or 
wrong, and whether right be better than wrong or wrong 
better than right, but it permits the possibility of supposing" 
that the infinite mind might communicate its will in regard 
to the nature of human 'action in the very earliest stages of 
human existence. 

The fact seems to be that the fundamental ethical idea 
that the diflference between right and wrong, " ought " and 
" ought not," is no natural or scientific portion of evolution 
whatever, but is taken bodily from the other theory and 
foisted on to evolution, which does not afford a hasp suffi- 
ciently strong to hold so long and heavy a chain. 

If there be a God, probably He knows what is right and 
what is wrong, and possibly He knows the "why" of the 
difference. No one else can. If He fail to make the com- 
munication to the human mind, then that far humanity is free 
from responsibility. Our knowledge of this whole subject 
must depencl upon some such revelation. What God teaches 
man to be wrong is wrong and what God teaches man to be 
right must be right. If there be any other kind of act, it is 
indifferent. Every act that has an ethical quality involves 
responsibility. Responsibility means the being obliged to 
answer to one who has a right to demand. If there be no 


one in the universe who has a right to demand of me why I 
do so and so, then, in the sense of any responsibility, it does 
not matter whether I do so and so. Of irresponsible beings 
it cannot be affirmed that any of their actions are either right 
or wrong. 

Evolution being simply on trial, it cannot be accepted in 
the department in which Mr. Spencer is writing until it 
establish the Sanction of Ethics. 




The Land and The People. Part I.* 

The paramount questions of the present day concern the 
relation of man to man. That relation has heretofore been 
one of a constant collision with a crushing of happiness and 
life. It has been affirmed, that such collision or antagonism 
is not a necessary or essential part of the plan of Nature, 
and that a proper arrangement of the relations of man to 
man, will put an end to this collision of interest and of 
feeling which gives rise to all the miseries of human life. 
The possibility of doing this, is the great question of the age. 
It is the question, whether life shall always be a great battle- 
field, where the conquerors shall wield an almost unlimited 
power, and the victims shall experience, through life, every 
possible accumulation of sufferings and wrongs, up to death 
itself ; whether, in the struggle for existence and enjoyment, 
the feebler class shall be gradually deprived of all the 

*Thi8 essay, published in the summer of 1847 in the Herald of Truth, 
Cincinnati, was probably a premature announcement of doctrine for which 
the pubLic mind had not been prepared, and produced no effective response. 
Countless thousands of millions would nave been saved to the republic, had 
the American people then been prepared to know and assert their rii;hts 
before their heritage was squandered in the mad riot of land grabbing. 
But it is " never too late to mend." After all the horses are stolen, better 
stables may be built. After health is lost physiology and hygiene may be 
studied. There is a method of restoration after any calamity, and that 
safe method I have indicated. The world is deeply indebted to Hbkrt 
GsoRaE for arousing its torpid conscience on this subject. I would gladly 
have engaged in the propagandist labor in 1847,but for the fact that I haa then 
been for twelve vears engaged in the attempt to erect a true philosophy on the 
basjls of a new science, and was also intensely occupied in the attempt to super- 
sede the Papal despotism of collegiate authority in the medical profession by 
the Protestant freedom of private judgment, expressed by the word Eclectic 
— a movement successful from the start, and now capable of sustaining 
itself with its seven colleges. Parallel to the work in philosophy is the work 
in reform. The right of woman to absolute freedom, and the right of the 
nation to its land are initial reforms — following which is another equally 
radical and indutpensabie reform, which I propose to present as a new and 
BEVOLUTioNART MEASURE, at the close of the essay on the land question, 
hoping that it may receive the eloquent advocacy of Mr. George and of many 
others who are ready to level with the ground the ancient tbkflb of wob, in 
which mankind have so long suffered. 



pleasures of life, and means of self-improvement, and shall 
be continually held in imminent danger of losing even the 
necessaries of life itself, while a more favored class, by means 
of fortune, accident, or energy, not only escapes these evils, 
but wastes, in a profligate manner, the very means which are 
sufiScient for the supply of all. It is a question, whether 
the fates of men shall be so unjust and unequal as to present 
us one class with a hereditary right to the enjoyment of ease 
and power, and another class with no hereditary right but 
that of toil and want, degeneracy and death. 

This question turns upon the law of the distribution of 
wealth. The distribution of the goods of life by the selfish 
system — the system of competition and antagonism — ever 
has been, and ever must be, unequal and unjust. 

It necessarily divides mankind into the two great classes 
of the powerful and oppressed — the rich, who are growing 
richer ; and the poor, who are growing poorer — the higher 
classes, who enjoy in perfection, the rights of "life, liberty, 
and the pursuit of happiness " ; and the lower classes, with 
whom these rights are little more than nominal, whose 
** pursuit of Jiappiness " is nothing more than a toilsome 
pursuit of bread, whose liberty is little more than the privi- 
lege of employing eight or ten hours of the twenty-four in 
sleep, eating, and relaxation from labor, or, in other words, 
the privilege of employing one or two hours in the twenty- 
four at their discretion; and whose right to life does not 
include any right to the means of life, and therefore is, in 
reality, nugatory. What right to life has the poor operative, 
whose daily bread has no security? who may, at any moment, 
be deprived of it by the caprice of an employer, or by the 
fluctuations of commerce ? 

The selfish system of society tends, therefore, continually 
to the destruction of human rights and human happiness ; it 
is a world-wide maelstrom in which justice and democracy 
are continually wrecked, and disappear, however their pale 
phantoms may hover over the spot of their destruction. The 
construction of some other system of society than this, is the 
problem of the age. We need some system compatible with 
justice — some system which will not sacrifice the substance 
of republicanism, while preserving its forms ; which will not 
involve, as a necessary consequence, the sacrifice of those 
who labor, and the isolation of all classes from each other. 


But the re-organization of society requires not only a new 
method of distributing the proceeds of labor in a manner 
compatible with justice and with the good of all; it must 
comprehend another fundamental measure. There are im- 
mense interests involved in things which are not the product 
of human labor. The air, the sunshine, the water, and the 
earth, which man receives direct from God, and which are 
not the products of his own exertions, must be considered in 
any scheme of society ; for they are the first necessaries of 
life, and their distribution is one of the most important 

The lighter of these elements cannot be bound up and 
controlled by man. Sunshine distributes itself, by its own 
law of radiation, without respect to human enactments ; air, 
too, goes alike freely to all ; and water flows too abundantly 
to be the subject of any grievous monopoly ; but land, which 
is not furnished in the boundless profusion of light, air, and 
water, and which is easily circumscribed and held in posses- 
sion — land is distributed, not as God distributes the sunlight 
and the breeze, but by the avaricious passions of man, by the 
arbitrary decrees of government, and by the resistless power 
of brute force. 

That it should have been so distributed, is prima fade 
evidence that our land system is unjust. This great gift of 
the Creator, — the earth, and all its treasures, present and 
prospective, — should be received and managed by man, in a 
spirit far different from aught that we have seen. It should 
be received, not as a herd of hungry swine receive their daily 
supply of food, rushing pell-mell against each other, to get 
the largest possible share; but as an organized assembly of 
wise men would receive a great and inestimable fund of 
wealth confided to their charge for the benefit of posterity. 
It should be received, not with brutishness, but with manli- 
ness ; not with a fierce and hungry avarice, but with a calm, 
profound thought, disinterested impartiality, and a deep sense 
of responsibility. The nation should deliberate earnestly and 
long upon the question, to ascertain what justice demands, 
and how the universal prosperity may be the best promoted 
in the distribution of its land. 

At this point we are met by the conservative, who replies 
that the land is already justly distributed ; tliat it is rightly 
owned in fee simple, by those who have paid for it, and who 


have, therefore, an unquestionable title ; that land must be 
Dwned, in this manner, by individuals, to secure the proper 
reward of industry, and encourage its cultivation or improve- 
ment ; that any other system than this is utterly impracti- 
cable, and unsuited to the well-known laws of human nature ; 
that the system of individual proprietorship has been carried 
out with strict justice in our country ; and that great ine- 
qualities of possession are nothing more than the natural and 
proper consequences of the freedom of purchase and sale, 
and the various degrees of energy, judgment, and economy 
among men ; in short, that our whole land system is based 
upon the laws of Nature, upon necessity, and upon the prin- 
ciples of strict justice between man and man. Moreover, he 
affirms that any discussion of this question, or assault upon 
the existing system, is agrarian and dangerous in ite t«n- 
dency ; that it teaches man to disregard the sacred rights of 
property, and encourages the spirit of turbulence and robbery. 

There is no little plausibility in these suggestions of the 
conservative, and there are many conscientious men who will 
feel their force, and, regarding them as conclusive, will turn 
aside with scorn from the great land question, as a hobby of 
corrupt politicians and brawling demagogues. 

But far different will it appear to those who examine this 
matter thoroughly and fearlessly ; to those who examine the 
land system to ascertain its justice — not merely legal justice, 
but true, absolute justice, in the fullest sense. Far differ- 
ently will it appear to those who examine our land system 
as philanthropists, and inquire whether it is the one best 
calculated to promote the happiness of all, and insure the 
greatest amount of wealth and prosperity to the nation. 

It matters but little whether we take up this matter as a 
question of justice, or as a question of social happiness. 
There is but little difference in the two methods of consid- 
eration; for universal justice involves necessarily a due 
regard to universal happiness ; and, on the other hand, the 
highest schemes of philanthropy necessarily embrace the prin- 
ciples of universal justice, as the warm, living body embraces 
and contains its solid skeleton as the basis of its structure. 
We propose to discuss this subject by laying down certain 
fundamental propositions, which are either self-evident or 
easily demonstrable, and tracing the legitimate deductions 
from these premises. 


1. The earth is an original gift of God to man, and, as 
8uch« belongs, of right, to the human race in general, and 
not to the individuals of the race, separately. 

2. The exclusive proprietorship, in fee simple, of any 
given amount of land, by an individual, is an infraction of 
the common rights of the race, unless a general consent has 
been given by the community to this monopoly. 

3. The rights of individual proprietorship are ponse- 
quently factitious or conventional, and based, in reality, not 
upon government edict or immemorial usage, but upon the 
will of the people. 

Practically, we might recognize a modification of this 
principle, in consequence of the division of the race by 
geographical barriers, difference of language, etc., which 
render it expedient to consider each nation as the lord of its 
own soil. Yet the proposition we have laid down must be 
considered the paramount principle, to which the other must 
give waywhenever practicable. 

4. Antecedent generations have not an unlimited power 
to prescribe the legislation of posterity. Each generation, 
therefore, has the right, in itself, to establish its own conven- 
tionalities, and re-create those institutions which depend upon 
its own consent for their legitimate existence. 

The first proposition is one of those self-evident truths 
which scarcely need to be enforced by illustration, and yet 
how entirely does it appear to have been overlooked in human 
legislation. The object of government seems to have been, 
in almost all cases, to abrogate or supersede this original 
right by a multitude of private monopolies, and so effectually 
to obliterate all traces of its existence, that mankind should 
forget their great primitive right to the soil, and become so 
habituated to monopoly, as to consider any reference to their 
fundamental original right, an idle and profligate speculation. 

Yet this is a great truth, and one of the most important 
practical bearing ; for it is at the foundation of socie^, law, 
and government. It is a truth upon which we must act. 
Its tendency is eminently benevolent and just, and whenever 
men shall be ready to base their social institutions upon this 
great fundamental truth, there will be the grandest and most 
beneficent revolution in government and society which has 
ever yet taken place. We propose to elucidate this assertion 
by taking our fundamental proposition, tracing its necessary 


consequences, showing how we are bound, in justice, to 
embody this principle, and what would be the glorious prac- 
tical effects of thus going back to first principles, and render- 
ing our governmental action just and true. 

If the principle be true, we are bound to act upon it. If 
it be true, obedience to this truth must be beneficial to man. 
With a clear and undimmed perception of its truth, we can- 
not hesitate about adopting it as the 'basis of action. But, 
crushed and buried as this principle is, beneath the false and 
artificial institutions of society, millions of the most enlight- 
ened portion of the human race pass through life, suffering 
intensely from the effects of the present organization of 
society, without ever once suspecting the existence of their 
great fundamental and violated right. 

Well do we remember when and where this great truth 
first became manifest to our own mind. Some twelve or 
thirteen summers had brought our youthful mind to that 
stage of progress in which decisive opinions were to be 
formed on the great questions of philosophy and morals. 
The justice and policy of our land system We had not scruti- 
nized, or doubted; we had heard no syllable whispered 
against the justice or policy of the arrangements in which all 
men seemed to acquiesce ; but, in the couree of our desultory 
reading, poring over the daily packages of newspapers to 
which we had access, we met with a paragraph in Poulson's 
Daily Advertiser (an old Philadelphia newspaper), which at 
once made an indelible impression upon the mind. A corre- 
spondent of that paper — apparently an Englishman — under- 
took to justify the English system of tithes, and, in a 
paragraph of thirty or forty lines, presented an apparently 
unanswerable statement. Regarding established churches, 
with their tithes, as among the most hideous features of 
European tyranny, we were overwhelmed by the force of the 
argument, which seemed to justify this clerical tax. It was 
argued, that the clerical right to tithes was just as valid as 
the rights of any fee simple proprietor in the kingdom ; that 
they were nothing more than a peculiar form of rent, not 
distinguishable, in principle, from the ordinary rents of 
landlords. If, for example, ten persons had been originally 
joint proprietors of an estate of a thousand acres, entitled, in 
common, to its entire rental, they might either receive their 
rent in partnership, or divide the tract, and each receive the 


rents of 100 acres ; or, if any one of the parly wished to 
enjoy his separate interest, without the trouble of exclusive 
possession or ownership of one tract, he might retain a claim 
to one tenth of the rent of each of the tracts ; which claim 
would be as valid and just as would be his fee simple claim to 
the full enjojrment and possession of 100 acres. In like 
manner, a great lord, in disposing of his estates, might think 
proper to give land in fee simple to those who would wish to 
own and possess it ; but to bestow merely a portion of its 
usufruct or rental on others, who desired merely a certain 
income. He might thus leave his estates in possession of 
some one who could maintain their dignity undivided, and 
give to his clerical relatives or friends a greater interest, as 
above illustrated. If, for example, he wished to give a 
clergyman or church one-twentieth of his landed estate, in 
the form of a salary, he might, instead of conveying any 
specific tract of land, charge the whole of his land with the 
payment of one-twentieth of its rental to the object of his 
bequest. Thus by private agreement, by bequests, and by 
governmental appropriations, the church might become, 
although not an extensive landholder, a participant in all 
the land revenues of the kingdom. For there can be no 
doubt that he who is competent to convey the land, with its 
whole rental, is also competent to convey any portion of that 
rental, without conveying the title- Thus might the church 
become a quasi proprietor or partial landlord, and collect its 
tithes, or any other species of charges, with as unquestion- 
able a right as any landlord of the kingdom can possibly have 
to his land and its rents. 

Convinced by this argument that the ecclesiastical taxes, 
which were so abominable in the eyes of Americans, were, in 
all probability, as well founded in justice as any of the rights 
of landed proprietors, and that they must stand or fall 
together, we at once inquired whether the whole system of 
tithes, rents, and land titles was or was not founded in 
justice; whether it could be time that any body of men, 
whether clergy or landholders, were entitled to live in 
splendor, — they and their successors forever, — upon the toil 
of the less favored classes. 

We could not realize, in our crude conceptions of justice, 
any authority for the establishment of such an order of 
hereditary nobility, — a class of men privileged to live by a 


heavy tax upon the remainder of society. We could not 
recognize, in any lord, king, or government, the right of thus 
establishing hereditary distinctions among men, to last for- 
ever, and thus control the organization of society, in a more 
enlightened age, by the edicts of the dominant powers of an 
early and less enlightened period. 

Yet such are the legitimate consequences of the present 
system of land-ownership. Establish the unlimited control 
of individuals over land, and you necessarily have large 
bodies of land consecrated to private ownership, and yielding 
in perpetuity vast incomes to the proprietors. In other 
words, you have an aristocratic class supported by the most 
burdensome tax upon the industry of the remainder of the 
community. The owner of the land, and his successors, 
contributes nothing to the welfare of society, as a return for 
his wealth ; he simply monopolizes a certain portion of the 
heritage of man, and for this the human race becomes tribu- 
tary to him. Whatever the formalities by which this arrange- 
ment has been legalized, we cannot feel that this is just.* 

To render the case more apparent, suppose that some few 
hundred proprietors had been sufficiently wealthy and ener- 
getic to monopolize the soil of North America. Suppose 
that, under grants from the English crown, or from the French 
and Spanish, they had become legal proprietors, and sagaciously 
held fast to the soil, for the sake of the vast income it was 
destined to yield. Suppose that these few hundred proprie- 
tors had remained in London, exercised their ownership, and 
refused to sell their title to any portion. Could this arrange- 
ment have been maintained ? Would it have been submitted 

Would the inhabitants of the North American continent 
have submitted to the vassalage of this condition? These 
landlords would have been to America a more important and 
more absolute power, in reality, than any of mere g