Book: The Works of Robert Ingersoll - Part III of V

THE STAGE AND THE PULPIT.

Question. What do you think of the Methodist minister at Nashville, Tenn., who, from his pulpit, denounced the theatrical profession, without exception, as vicious, and of the congregation which passed resolutions condemning Miss Emma Abbott for rising in church and contradicting him, and of the Methodist bishop who likened her to a "painted courtesan," and invoked the aid of the law "for the protection of public worship" against "strolling players"?

Answer. The Methodist minister of whom you speak, without doubt uttered his real sentiments. The church has always regarded the stage as a rival, and all its utterances have been as malicious as untrue. It has always felt that the money given to the stage was in some way taken from the pulpit. It is on this principle that the pulpit wishes everything, except the church, shut up on Sunday. It knows that it cannot stand free and open competition.

All well-educated ministers know that the Bible suffers by a comparison with Shakespeare. They know that there is nothing within the lids of what they call "the sacred book" that can for one moment stand side by side with "Lear" or "Hamlet" or "Julius Cæsar" or "Antony and Cleopatra" or with any other play written by the immortal man. They know what a poor figure the Davids and the Abrahams and the Jeremiahs and the Lots, the Jonahs, the Jobs and the Noahs cut when on the stage with the great characters of Shakespeare. For these reasons, among others, the pulpit is malicious and hateful when it thinks of the glories of the stage. What minister is there now living who could command the prices commanded by Edwin Booth or Joseph Jefferson; and what two clergymen, by making a combination, could contend successfully with Robson and Crane? How many clergymen would it take to command, at regular prices, the audiences that attend the presentation of Wagner's operas?

It is very easy to see why the pulpit attacks the stage. Nothing could have been in more wretched taste than for the minister to condemn Miss Emma Abbott for rising in church and defending not only herself, but other good women who are doing honest work for an honest living. Of course, no minister wishes to be answered; no minister wishes to have anyone in the congregation call for the proof. A few questions would break up all the theology in the world. Ministers can succeed only when congregations keep silent. When superstition succeeds, doubt must be dumb.

The Methodist bishop who attacked Miss Abbott simply repeated the language of several centuries ago. In the laws of England actors were described as "sturdy vagrants," and this bishop calls them "strolling players." If we only had some strolling preachers like Garrick, like Edwin Forrest, or Booth or Barrett, or some crusade sisters like Mrs. Siddons, Madam Ristori, Charlotte Cushman, or Madam Modjeska, how fortunate the church would be!

Question. What is your opinion of the relative merits of the pulpit and the stage, preachers and actors?

Answer. We must remember that the stage presents an ideal life. It is a world controlled by the imagination—a world in which the justice delayed in real life may be done, and in which that may happen which, according to the highest ideal, should happen. It is a world, for the most part, in which evil does not succeed, in which the vicious are foiled, in which the right, the honest, the sincere, and the good prevail. It cultivates the imagination, and in this respect is far better than the pulpit. The mission of the pulpit is to narrow and shrivel the human mind. The pulpit denounces the freedom of thought and of expression; but on the stage the mind is free, and for thousands of years the poor, the oppressed, the enslaved, have been permitted to witness plays wherein the slave was freed, wherein the oppressed became the victor, and where the downtrodden rose supreme.

And there is another thing. The stage has always laughed at the spirit of caste. The low-born lass has loved the prince. All human distinctions in this ideal world have for the moment vanished, while honesty and love have triumphed. The stage lightens the cares of life. The pulpit increases the tears and groans of man. There is this difference: The pretence of honesty and the honesty of pretence.

Question. How do you view the Episcopalian scheme of building a six-million-dollar untaxed cathedral in this city for the purpose of "uniting the sects," and, when that is accomplished, "unifying the world in the love of Christ," and thereby abolishing misery?

Answer. I regard the building of an Episcopal cathedral simply as a piece of religious folly. The world will never be converted by Christian palaces and temples. Every dollar used in its construction will be wasted. It will have no tendency to unite the various sects; on the contrary, it will excite the envy and jealousy of every other sect. It will widen the gulf between the Episcopalian and the Methodist, between the Episcopalian and the Presbyterian, and this hatred will continue until the other sects build a cathedral just a little larger, and then the envy and the hatred will be on the other side.

Religion will never unify the world, and never will give peace to mankind. There has been more war in the last eighteen hundred years than during any similar period within historic times. War will be abolished, if it ever is abolished, not by religion, but by intelligence. It will be abolished when the poor people of Germany, of France, of Spain, of England, and other countries find that they have no interest in war. When those who pay, and those who do the fighting, find that they are simply destroying their own interests, wars will cease.

There ought to be a national court to decide national difficulties. We consider a community civilized when the individuals of that community submit their differences to a legal tribunal; but there being no national court, nations now sustain, as to each other, the relation of savages—that is to say, each one must defend its rights by brute force. The establishment of a national court civilizes nations, and tends to do away with war.

Christianity caused so much war, so much bloodshed, that Christians were forced to interpolate a passage to account for their history, and the interpolated passage is, "I came not to bring peace, but a sword." Suppose that all the money wasted in cathedrals in the Middle Ages had been used for the construction of schoolhouses, academies, and universities, how much better the world would have been! Suppose that instead of supporting hundreds of thousands of idle priests, the money had been given to men of science, for the purpose of finding out something of benefit to the human race here in this world.

Question. What is your opinion of "Christian charity" and the "fatherhood of God" as an economic polity for abolishing poverty and misery?

Answer. Of course, the world is not to be civilized and clothed and fed through charity. Ordinary charity creates more want than it alleviates. The greatest possible charity is the greatest possible justice. When proper wages are paid, when every one is as willing to give what a thing is worth as he is now willing to get it for less, the world will be fed and clothed.

I believe in helping people to help themselves. I believe that corporations, and successful men, and superior men intellectually, should do all within their power to keep from robbing their fellow- men. The superior man should protect the inferior. The powerful should be the shield of the weak. To-day it is, for the most part, exactly the other way. The failures among men become the food of success.

The world is to grow better and better through intelligence, through a development of the brain, through taking advantage of the forces of nature, through science, through chemistry, and through the arts. Religion can do nothing except to sow the seeds of discord between men and nations. Commerce, manufactures, and the arts tend to peace and the well-being of the world. What is known as religion —that is to say, a system by which this world is wasted in preparation for another—a system in which the duties of men are greater to God than to his fellow-men—a system that denies the liberty of thought and expression—tends only to discord and retrogression. Of course, I know that religious people cling to the Bible on account of the good that is in it, and in spite of the bad, and I know that Freethinkers throw away the Bible on account of the bad that is in it, in spite of the good. I hope the time will come when that book will be treated like other books, and will be judged upon its merits, apart from the fiction of inspiration. The church has no right to speak of charity, because it is an object of charity itself. It gives nothing; all it can do is to receive. At best, it is only a respectable beggar. I never care to hear one who receives alms pay a tribute to charity. The one who gives alms should pay this tribute. The amount of money expended upon churches and priests and all the paraphernalia of superstition, is more than enough to drive the wolves from the doors of the world.

Question. Have you noticed the progress Catholics are making in the Northwest, discontinuing public schools, and forcing people to send their children to the parochial schools; also, at Pittsburg, Pa., a Roman Catholic priest has been elected principal of a public school, and he has appointed nuns as assistant teachers?

Answer. Sectarian schools ought not to be supported by public taxation. It is the very essence of religious tyranny to compel a Methodist to support a Catholic school, or to compel a Catholic to support a Baptist academy. Nothing should be taught in the public schools that the teachers do not know. Nothing should be taught about any religion, and nothing should be taught that can, in any way, be called sectarian. The sciences are not religion. There is no such thing as Methodist mathematics, or Baptist botany. In other words, no religion has anything to do with facts. The facts are all secular; the sciences are all of this world. If Catholics wish to establish their own schools for the purpose of preserving their ignorance, they have the right to do so; so has any other denomination. But in this country the State has no right to teach any form of religion whatever. Persons of all religions have the right to advocate and defend any religion in which they believe, or they have the right to denounce all religions. If the Catholics establish parochial schools, let them support such schools; and if they do, they will simply lessen or shorten the longevity of that particular superstition. It has often been said that nothing will repeal a bad law as quickly as its enforcement. So, in my judgment, nothing will destroy any church as certainly, and as rapidly, as for the members of that church to live squarely up to the creed. The church is indebted to its hypocrisy to-day for its life. No orthodox church in the United States dare meet for the purpose of revising the creed. They know that the whole thing would fall to pieces.

Nothing could be more absurd than for a Roman Catholic priest to teach a public school, assisted by nuns. The Catholic Church is the enemy of human progress; it teaches every man to throw away his reason, to deny his observation and experience.

Question. Your opinions have frequently been quoted with regard to the Anarchists—with regard to their trial and execution. Have you any objection to stating your real opinion in regard to the matter?

Answer. Not in the least. I am perfectly willing that all civilized people should know my opinions on any question in which others than myself can have any interest.

I was anxious, in the first place, that the defendants should have a fair and impartial trial. The worst form of anarchy is when a judge violates his conscience and bows to a popular demand. A court should care nothing for public opinion. An honest judge decides the law, not as it ought to be, but as it is, and the state of the public mind throws no light upon the question of what the law then is.

I thought that some of the rulings on the trial of the Anarchists were contrary to law. I think so still. I have read the opinion of the Supreme Court of Illinois, and while the conclusion reached by that tribunal is the law of that case, I was not satisfied with the reasons given, and do not regard the opinion as good law. There is no place for an Anarchist in the United States. There is no excuse for any resort to force; and it is impossible to use language too harsh or too bitter in denouncing the spirit of anarchy in this country. But, no matter how bad a man is, he has the right to be fairly tried; and if he cannot be fairly tried, then there is anarchy on the bench. So I was opposed to the execution of these men. I thought it would have been far better to commute the punishment to imprisonment, and I said so; and I not only said so, but I wrote a letter to Governor Oglesby, in which I urged the commutation of the death sentence. In my judgment, a great mistake was made. I am on the side of mercy, and if I ever make mistakes, I hope they will all be made on that side. I have not the slightest sympathy with the feeling of revenge. Neither have I ever admitted, and I never shall, that every citizen has not the right to give his opinion on all that may be done by any servant of the people, by any judge, or by any court, by any officer—however small or however great. Each man in the United States is a sovereign, and a king can freely speak his mind.

Words were put in my mouth that I never uttered with regard to the Anarchists. I never said that they were saints, or that they would be martyrs. What I said was that they would be regarded as saints and martyrs by many people if they were executed, and that has happened which I said would happen. I am, so far as I know, on the side of the right. I wish, above all things, for the preservation of human liberty. This Government is the best, and we should not lose confidence in liberty. Property is of very little value in comparison with freedom. A civilization that rests on slavery is utterly worthless. I do not believe in sacrificing all there is of value in the human heart, or in the human brain, for the preservation of what is called property, or rather, on account of the fear that what is called "property" may perish. Property is in no danger while man is free. It is the freedom of man that gives value to property. It is the happiness of the human race that creates what we call value. If we preserve liberty, the spirit of progress, the conditions of development, property will take care of itself.

Question. The Christian press during the past few months has been very solicitous as to your health, and has reported you weak and feeble physically, and not only so, but asserts that there is a growing disposition on your part to lay down your arms, and even to join the church.

Answer. I do not think the Christian press has been very solicitous about my health. Neither do I think that my health will ever add to theirs. The fact is, I am exceedingly well, and my throat is better than it has been for many years. Any one who imagines that I am disposed to lay down my arms can read by Reply to Dr. Field in the November number of the North American Review. I see no particular difference in myself, except this; that my hatred of superstition becomes a little more and more intense; on the other hand, I see more clearly, that all the superstitions were naturally produced, and I am now satisfied that every man does as he must, including priests and editors of religious papers.

This gives me hope for the future. We find that certain soil, with a certain amount of moisture and heat, produces good corn, and we find when the soil is poor, or when the ground is too wet, or too dry, that no amount of care can, by any possibility, produce good corn. In other words, we find that the fruit, that is to say, the result, whatever it may be, depends absolutely upon the conditions. This being so, we will in time find out the conditions that produce good, intelligent, honest men. This is the hope for the future. We shall know better than to rely on what is called reformation, or regeneration, or a resolution born of ignorant excitement. We shall rely, then, on the eternal foundation—the fact in nature— that like causes produce like results, and that good conditions will produce good people.

Question. Every now and then some one challenges you to a discussion, and nearly every one who delivers lectures, or speeches, attacking you, or your views, says that you are afraid publicly to debate these questions. Why do you not meet these men, and why do you not answer these attacks?

Answer. In the first place, it would be a physical impossibility to reply to all the attacks that have been made—to all the "answers." I receive these attacks, and these answers, and these lectures almost every day. Hundreds of them are delivered every year. A great many are put in pamphlet form, and, of course, copies are received by me. Some of them I read, at least I look them over, and I have never yet received one worthy of the slightest notice, never one in which the writer showed the slightest appreciation of the questions under discussion. All these pamphlets are about the same, and they could, for the matter, have all been produced by one person. They are impudent, shallow, abusive, illogical, and in most respects, ignorant. So far as the lecturers are concerned, I know of no one who has yet said anything that challenges a reply. I do not think a single paragraph has been produced by any of the gentlemen who have replied to me in public, that is now remembered by reason of its logic or beauty. I do not feel called upon to answer any argument that does not at least appear to be of value. Whenever any article appears worthy of an answer, written in a kind and candid spirit, it gives me pleasure to reply.

I should like to meet some one who speaks by authority, some one who really understands his creed, but I cannot afford to waste time on little priests or obscure parsons or ignorant laymen.

—The Truth Seeker, New York, January 14, 1888.

ROSCOE CONKLING.

Question. What is Mr. Conkling's place in the political history of the United States?

Answer. Upon the great questions Mr. Conkling has been right. During the war he was always strong and clear, unwavering and decided. His position was always known. He was right on reconstruction, on civil rights, on the currency, and, so far as I know, on all important questions. He will be remembered as an honest, fearless man. He was admired for his known integrity. He was never even suspected of being swayed by an improper consideration. He was immeasurably above purchase.

His popularity rested upon his absolute integrity. He was not adapted for a leader, because he would yield nothing. He had no compromise in his nature. He went his own road and he would not turn aside for the sake of company. His individuality was too marked and his will too imperious to become a leader in a republic. There is a great deal of individuality in this country, and a leader must not appear to govern and must not demand obedience. In the Senate he was a leader. He settled with no one.

Question. What essentially American idea does he stand for?

Answer. It is a favorite saying in this country that the people are sovereigns. Mr. Conkling felt this to be true, and he exercised what he believed to be his rights. He insisted upon the utmost freedom for himself. He settled with no one but himself. He stands for individuality—for the freedom of the citizen, the independence of the man. No lord, no duke, no king was ever prouder of his title or his place than Mr. Conkling was of his position and his power. He was thoroughly American in every drop of his blood.

Question. What have you to say about his having died with sealed lips?

Answer. Mr. Conkling was too proud to show wounds. He did not tell his sorrows to the public. It seemed sufficient to him to know the facts himself. He seemed to have great confidence in time, and he had the patience to wait. Of course he could have told many things that would have shed light on many important events, but for my part I think he acted in the noblest way.

He was a striking and original figure in our politics. He stood alone. I know of no one like him. He will be remembered as a fearless and incorruptible statesman, a great lawyer, a magnificent speaker, and an honest man.

—The Herald, New York, April 19, 1888.

THE CHURCH AND THE STAGE.

Question. I have come to talk with you a little about the drama. Have you any decided opinions on that subject?

Answer. Nothing is more natural than imitation. The little child with her doll, telling it stories, putting words in its mouth, attributing to it the feelings of happiness and misery, is the simple tendency toward the drama. Little children always have plays, they imitate their parents, they put on the clothes of their elders, they have imaginary parties, carry on conversation with imaginary persons, have little dishes filled with imaginary food, pour tea and coffee out of invisible pots, receive callers, and repeat what they have heard their mothers say. This is simply the natural drama, an exercise of the imagination which always has been and which, probably, always will be, a source of great pleasure. In the early days of the world nothing was more natural than for the people to re-enact the history of their country—to represent the great heroes, the great battles, and the most exciting scenes the history of which has been preserved by legend. I believe this tendency to re-enact, to bring before the eyes the great, the curious, and pathetic events of history, has been universal. All civilized nations have delighted in the theatre, and the greatest minds in many countries have been devoted to the drama, and, without doubt, the greatest man about whom we know anything devoted his life to the production of plays.

Question. I would like to ask you why, in your opinion as a student of history, has the Protestant Church always been so bitterly opposed to the theatre?

Answer. I believe the early Christians expected the destruction of the world. They had no idea of remaining here, in the then condition of things, but for a few days. They expected that Christ would come again, that the world would be purified by fire, that all the unbelievers would be burned up and that the earth would become a fit habitation for the followers of the Saviour. Protestantism became as ascetic as the early Christians. It is hard to conceive of anybody believing in the "Five Points" of John Calvin going to any place of amusement. The creed of Protestantism made life infinitely sad and made man infinitely responsible. According to this creed every man was liable at any moment to be summoned to eternal pain; the most devout Christian was not absolutely sure of salvation. This life was a probationary one. Everybody was considered as waiting on the dock of time, sitting on his trunk, expecting the ship that was to bear him to an eternity of good or evil—probably evil. They were in no state of mind to enjoy burlesque or comedy, and, so far as tragedy was concerned, their own lives and their own creeds were tragic beyond anything that could by any possibility happen in this world. A broken heart was nothing to be compared with a damned soul; the afflictions of a few years, with the flames of eternity. This, to say the least of it, accounts, in part, for the hatred that Protestantism always bore toward the stage. Of course, the churches have always regarded the theatre as a rival and have begrudged the money used to support the stage. You know that Macaulay said the Puritans objected to bear-baiting, not because they pitied the bears, but because they hated to see the people enjoy themselves. There is in this at least a little truth. Orthodox religion has always been and always will be the enemy of happiness. This world is not the place for enjoyment. This is the place to suffer. This is the place to practice self-denial, to wear crowns of thorns; the other world is the place for joy, provided you are fortunate enough to travel the narrow, grass-grown path. Of course, wicked people can be happy here. People who care nothing for the good of others, who live selfish and horrible lives, are supposed by Christians to enjoy themselves; consequently, they will be punished in another world. But whoever carried the cross of decency, and whoever denied himself to that degree that he neither stole nor forged nor murdered, will be paid for this self-denial in another world. And whoever said that he preferred a prayer-meeting with five or six queer old men and two or three very aged women, with one or two candles, and who solemnly affirmed that he enjoyed that far more than he could a play of Shakespeare, was expected with much reason, I think, to be rewarded in another world.

Question. Do you think that church people were justified in their opposition to the drama in the days when Congreve, Wycherley and Ben Jonson were the popular favorites?

Answer. In that time there was a great deal of vulgarity in many of the plays. Many things were said on the stage that the people of this age would not care to hear, and there was not very often enough wit in the saying to redeem it. My principal objection to Congreve, Wycherley and most of their contemporaries is that the plays were exceedingly poor and had not much in them of real, sterling value. The Puritans, however, did not object on account of the vulgarity; that was not the honest objection. No play was ever put upon the English stage more vulgar then the "Table Talk" of Martin Luther, and many sermons preached in that day were almost unrivaled for vulgarity. The worst passages in the Old Testament were quoted with a kind of unction that showed a love for the vulgar. And, in my judgment, the worst plays were as good as the sermons, and the theatre of that time was better adapted to civilize mankind, to soften the human heart, and to make better men and better women, than the pulpit of that day. The actors, in my judgment, were better people than the preachers. They had in them more humanity, more real goodness and more appreciation of beauty, of tenderness, of generosity and of heroism. Probably no religion was ever more thoroughly hateful than Puritanism. But all religionists who believe in an eternity of pain would naturally be opposed to everything that makes this life better; and, as a matter of fact, orthodox churches have been the enemies of painting, of sculpture, of music and the drama.

Question. What, in your estimation, is the value of the drama as a factor in our social life at the present time?

Answer. I believe that the plays of Shakespeare are the most valuable things in the possession of the human race. No man can read and understand Shakespeare without being an intellectually developed man. If Shakespeare could be as widely circulated as the Bible—if all the Bible societies would break the plates they now have and print Shakespeare, and put Shakespeare in all the languages of the world, nothing would so raise the intellectual standard of mankind. Think of the different influence on men between reading Deuteronomy and "Hamlet" and "King Lear"; between studying Numbers and the "Midsummer Night's Dream"; between pondering over the murderous crimes and assassinations in Judges, and studying "The Tempest" or "As You Like It." Man advances as he develops intellectually. The church teaches obedience. The man who reads Shakespeare has his intellectual horizon enlarged. He begins to think for himself, and he enjoys living in a new world. The characters of Shakespeare become his acquaintances. He admires the heroes, the philosophers; he laughs with the clowns, and he almost adores the beautiful women, the pure, loving, and heroic women born of Shakespeare's heart and brain. The stage has amused and instructed the world. It had added to the happiness of mankind. It has kept alive all arts. It is in partnership with all there is of beauty, of poetry, and expression. It goes hand in hand with music, with painting, with sculpture, with oratory, with philosophy, and history. The stage has humor. It abhors stupidity. It despises hypocrisy. It holds up to laughter the peculiarities, the idiosyncrasies, and the little insanities of mankind. It thrusts the spear of ridicule through the shield of pretence. It laughs at the lugubrious and it has ever taught and will, in all probability, forever teach, that Man is more than a title, and that human love laughs at all barriers, at all the prejudices of society and caste that tend to keep apart two loving hearts.

Question. What is your opinion of the progress of the drama in educating the artistic sense of the community as compared with the progress of the church as an educator of the moral sentiment?

Answer. Of course, the stage is not all good, nor is—and I say this with becoming modesty—the pulpit all bad. There have been bad actors and there have been good preachers. There has been no improvement in plays since Shakespeare wrote. There has been great improvement in theatres, and the tendency seems to me be toward higher artistic excellence in the presentation of plays. As we become slowly civilized we will constantly demand more artistic excellence. There will always be a class satisfied with the lowest form of dramatic presentation, with coarse wit, with stupid but apparent jokes, and there will always be a class satisfied with almost anything; but the class demanding the highest, the best, will constantly increase in numbers, and the other classes will, in all probability, correspondingly decrease. The church has ceased to be an educator. In an artistic direction it never did anything except in architecture, and that ceased long ago. The followers of to-day are poor copyists. The church has been compelled to be a friend of, or rather to call in the assistance of, music. As a moral teacher, the church always has been and always will be a failure. The pulpit, to use the language of Frederick Douglass, has always "echoed the cry of the street." Take our own history. The church was the friend of slavery. That institution was defended in nearly every pulpit. The Bible was the auction-block on which the slave-mother stood while her child was sold from her arms. The church, for hundreds of years, was the friend and defender of the slave-trade. I know of no crime that has not been defended by the church, in one form or another. The church is not a pioneer; it accepts a new truth, last of all, and only when denial has become useless. The church preaches the doctrine of forgiveness. This doctrine sells crime on credit. The idea that there is a God who rewards and punishes, and who can reward, if he so wishes, the meanest and vilest of the human race, so that he will be eternally happy, and can punish the best of the human race, so that he will be eternally miserable, is subversive of all morality. Happiness ought to be the result of good actions. Happiness ought to spring from the seed a man sows himself. It ought not to be a reward, it ought to be a consequence, and there ought to be no idea that there is any being who can step between action and consequence. To preach that a man can abuse his wife and children, rob his neighbors, slander his fellow-citizens, and yet, a moment or two before he dies, by repentance become a glorified angel is, in my judgment, immoral. And to preach that a man can be a good man, kind to his wife and children, an honest man, paying his debts, and yet, for the lack of a certain belief, the moment after he is dead, be sent to an eternal prison, is also immoral. So that, according to my opinion, while the church teaches men many good things, it also teaches doctrines subversive of morality. If there were not in the whole world a church, the morality of man, in my judgment, would be the gainer.

Question. What do you think of the treatment of the actor by society in his social relations?

Answer. For a good many years the basis of society has been the dollar. Only a few years ago all literary men were ostracized because they had no money; neither did they have a reading public. If any man produced a book he had to find a patron—some titled donkey, some lauded lubber, in whose honor he could print a few well-turned lies on the fly-leaf. If you wish to know the degradation of literature, read the dedication written by Lord Bacon to James I., in which he puts him beyond all kings, living and dead—beyond Cæsar and Marcus Aurelius. In those days the literary man was a servant, a hack. He lived in Grub Street. He was only one degree above the sturdy vagrant and the escaped convict. Why was this? He had no money and he lived in an age when money was the fountain of respectability. Let me give you another instance: Mozart, whose brain was a fountain of melody, was forced to eat at table with coachmen, with footmen and scullions. He was simply a servant who was commanded to make music for a pudding-headed bishop. The same was true of the great painters, and of almost all other men who rendered the world beautiful by art, and who enriched the languages of mankind. The basis of respectability was the dollar.

Now that the literary man has an intelligent public he cares nothing for the ignorant patron. The literary man makes money. The world is becoming civilized and the literary man stands high. In England, however, if Charles Darwin had been invited to dinner, and there had been present some sprig of nobility, some titled vessel holding the germs of hereditary disease, Darwin would have been compelled to occupy a place beneath him. But I have hopes even for England. The same is true of the artist. The man who can now paint a picture by which he receives from five thousand to fifty thousand dollars, is necessarily respectable. The actor who may realize from one to two thousand dollars a night, or even more, is welcomed in the stupidest and richest society. So with the singers and with all others who instruct and amuse mankind. Many people imagine that he who amuses them must be lower than they. This, however, is hardly possible. I believe in the aristocracy of the brain and heart; in the aristocracy of intelligence and goodness, and not only appreciate but admire the great actor, the great painter, the great sculptor, the marvelous singer. In other words, I admire all people who tend to make this life richer, who give an additional thought to this poor world.

Question. Do you think this liberal movement, favoring the better class of plays, inaugurated by the Rev. Dr. Abbott, will tend to soften the sentiment of the orthodox churches against the stage?

Answer. I have not read what Dr. Abbott has written on this subject. From your statement of his position, I think he entertains quite a sensible view, and, when we take into consideration that he is a minister, a miraculously sensible view. It is not the business of the dramatist, the actor, the painter or the sculptor to teach what the church calls morality. The dramatist and the actor ought to be truthful, ought to be natural—that is to say, truthfully and naturally artistic. He should present pictures of life properly chosen, artistically constructed; an exhibition of emotions truthfully done, artistically done. If vice is presented naturally, no one will fall in love with vice. If the better qualities of the human heart are presented naturally, no one can fail to fall in love with them. But they need not be presented for that purpose. The object of the artist is to present truthfully and artistically. He is not a Sunday school teacher. He is not to have the moral effect eternally in his mind. It is enough for him to be truly artistic. Because, as I have said, a great many times, the greatest good is done by indirection. For instance, a man lives a good, noble, honest and lofty life. The value of that life would be destroyed if he kept calling attention to it—if he said to all who met him, "Look at me!" he would become intolerable. The truly artistic speaks of perfection; that is to say, of harmony, not only of conduct, but of harmony and proportion in everything. The pulpit is always afraid of the passions, and really imagines that it has some influence on men and women, keeping them in the path of virtue. No greater mistake was ever made. Eternally talking and harping on that one subject, in my judgment, does harm. Forever keeping it in the mind by reading passages from the Bible, by talking about the "corruption of the human heart," of the "power of temptation," of the scarcity of virtue, of the plentifulness of vice—all these platitudes tend to produce exactly what they are directed against.

Question. I fear, Colonel, that I have surprised you into agreeing with a clergyman. The following are the points made by the Rev. Dr. Abbott in his editorial on the theatre, and it seems to me that you and he think very much alike—on that subject. The points are these:

1. It is not the function of the drama to teach moral lessons.

2. A moral lesson neither makes nor mars either a drama or a novel.

3. The moral quality of a play does not depend upon the result.

4. The real function of the drama is like that of the novel—not to amuse, not to excite; but to portray life, and so minister to it. And as virtue and vice, goodness and evil, are the great fundamental facts of life, they must, in either serious story or serious play, be portrayed. If they are so portrayed that the vice is alluring and the virtue repugnant, the play or story is immoral; if so portrayed that the vice is repellant and the virtue alluring, they play or story is moral.

5. The church has no occasion to ask the theatre to preach; though if it does preach we have a right to demand that its ethical doctrines be pure and high. But we have a right to demand that in its pictures of life it so portrays vice as to make it abhorrent, and so portrays virtue as to make it attractive.

Answer. I agree in most of what you have read, though I must confess that to find a minister agreeing with me, or to find myself agreeing with a minister, makes me a little uncertain. All art, in my judgment, is for the sake of expression—equally true of the drama as of painting and sculpture. No poem touches the human heart unless it touches the universal. It must, at some point, move in unison with the great ebb and flow of things. The same is true of the play, of a piece of music or a statue. I think that all real artists, in all departments, touch the universal and when they do the result is good; but the result need not have been a consideration. There is an old story that at first there was a temple erected upon the earth by God himself; that afterward this temple was shivered into countless pieces and distributed over the whole earth, and that all the rubies and diamonds and precious stones since found are parts of that temple. Now, if we could conceive of a building, or of anything involving all Art, and that it had been scattered abroad, then I would say that whoever find and portrays truthfully a thought, an emotion, a truth, has found and restored one of the jewels.

—Dramatic Mirror, New York, April 21, 1888.

PROTECTION AND FREE TRADE.

Question. Do you take much interest in politics, Colonel Ingersoll?

Answer. I take as much interest in politics as a Republican ought who expects nothing and who wants nothing for himself. I want to see this country again controlled by the Republican party. The present administration has not, in my judgment, the training and the political intelligence to decide upon the great economic and financial questions. There are a great many politicians and but few statesmen. Here, where men have to be elected every two or six years, there is hardly time for the officials to study statesmanship—they are busy laying pipes and fixing fences for the next election. Each one feels much like a monkey at a fair, on the top of a greased pole, and puts in the most of his time dodging stones and keeping from falling. I want to see the party in power best qualified, best equipped, to administer the Government.

Question. What do you think will be the particular issue of the coming campaign?

Answer. That question has already been answered. The great question will be the tariff. Mr. Cleveland imagines that the surplus can be gotten rid of by a reduction of the tariff. If the reduction is so great as to increase the demand for foreign articles, the probability is that the surplus will be increased. The surplus can surely be done away with by either of two methods; first make the tariff prohibitory; second, have no tariff. But if the tariff is just at that point where the foreign goods could pay it and yet undersell the American so as to stop home manufactures, then the surplus would increase.

As a rule we can depend on American competition to keep prices at a reasonable rate. When that fails we have at all times the governing power in our hands—that is to say, we can reduce the tariff. In other words, the tariff is not for the benefit of the manufacturer—the protection is not for the mechanic or the capitalist —it is for the whole country. I do not believe in protecting silk simply to help the town of Paterson, but I am for the protection of the manufacture, because, in my judgment, it helps the entire country, and because I know that it has given us a far better article of silk at a far lower price than we obtained before the establishment of those factories.

I believe in the protection of every industry that needs it, to the end that we may make use of every kind of brain and find use for all human capacities. In this way we will produce greater and better people. A nation of agriculturalists or a nation of mechanics would become narrow and small, but where everything is done, then the brain is cultivated on every side, from artisan to artist. That is to say, we become thinkers as well as workers; muscle and mind form a partnership.

I don't believe that England is particularly interested in the welfare of the United States. It never seemed probable to me that men like Godwin Smith sat up nights fearing that we in some way might injure ourselves. To use a phrase that will be understood by theologians at least, we ought to "copper" all English advice.

The free traders say that there ought to be no obstructions placed by governments between buyers and sellers. If we want to make the trade, of course there should be no obstruction, but if we prefer that Americans should trade with Americans—that Americans should make what Americans want—then, so far as trading with foreigners is concerned, there ought to be an obstruction.

I am satisfied that the United States could get along if the rest of the world should be submerged, and I want to see this country in such a condition that it can be independent of the rest of mankind.

There is more mechanical genius in the United States than in the rest of the world, and this genius has been fostered and developed by protection. The Democracy wish to throw all this away—to make useless this skill, this ingenuity, born of generations of application and thought. These deft and marvelous hands that create the countless things of use and beauty to be worth no more than the common hands of ignorant delvers and shovelers. To the extent that thought is mingled with labor, labor becomes honorable and its burden lighter.

Thousands of millions of dollars have been invested on the faith of this policy—millions and millions of people are this day earning their bread by reason of protection, and they are better housed and better fed and better clothed than any other workmen on the globe.

The intelligent people of this country will not be satisfied with President Cleveland's platform—with his free trade primer. They believe in good wages for good work, and they know that this is the richest nation in the world. The Republic is worth at least sixty billion dollars. This vast sum is the result of labor, and this labor has been protected either directly or indirectly. This vast sum has been made by the farmer, the mechanic, the laborer, the miner, the inventor.

Protection has given work and wages to the mechanic and a market to the farmer. The interests of all laborers in America—all men who work—are identical. If the farmer pays more for his plow he gets more for his plowing. In old times, when the South manufactured nothing and raised only raw material—for the reason that its labor was enslaved and could not be trusted with education enough to become skillful—it was in favor of free trade; it wanted to sell the raw material to England and buy the manufactured article where it could buy the cheapest. Even under those circumstances it was a short-sighted and unpatriotic policy. Now everything is changing in the South. They are beginning to see that he who simply raises raw material is destined to be forever poor. For instance, the farmer who sells corn will never get rich; the farmer should sell pork and beef and horses. So a nation, a State, that parts with its raw material, loses nearly all the profits, for the reason that the profit rises with the skill requisite to produce. It requires only brute strength to raise cotton; it requires something more to spin it, to weave it, and the more beautiful the fabric the greater the skill, and consequently the higher the wages and the greater the profit. In other words, the more thought is mingled with labor the more valuable is the result.

Besides all this, protection is the mother of economy; the cheapest at last, no matter whether the amount paid is less or more. It is far better for us to make glass than to sell sand to other countries; the profit on sand will be exceedingly small.

The interests of this country are united; they depend upon each other. You destroy one and the effect upon all the rest may be disastrous. Suppose we had free trade to-day, what would become of the manufacturing interests to-morrow? The value of property would fall thousands of millions of dollars in an instant. The fires would die out in thousands and thousands of furnaces, innumerable engines would stop, thousands and thousands would stop digging coal and iron and steel. What would the city that had been built up by the factories be worth? What would be the effect on farms in that neighborhood? What would be the effect on railroads, on freights, on business—what upon the towns through which they passed? Stop making iron in Pennsylvania, and the State would be bankrupt in an hour. Give us free trade, and New Jersey, Connecticut and many other States would not be worth one dollar an acre.

If a man will think of the connection between all industries—of the dependence and inter-dependence of each on all; of the subtle relations between all human pursuits—he will see that to destroy some of the grand interest makes financial ruin and desolation. I am not talking now about a tariff that is too high, because that tariff does not produce a surplus—neither am I asking to have that protected which needs no protection—I am only insisting that all the industries that have been fostered and that need protection should be protected, and that we should turn our attention to the interests of our own country, letting other nations take care of themselves. If every American would use only articles produced by Americans—if they would wear only American cloth, only American silk—if we would absolutely stand by each other, the prosperity of this nation would be the marvel of human history. We can live at home, and we have now the ingenuity, the intelligence, the industry to raise from nature everything that a nation needs.

Question. What have you to say about the claim that Mr. Cleveland does not propose free trade?

Answer. I suppose that he means what he said. His argument was all for free trade, and he endeavored to show to the farmer that he lost altogether more money by protection, because he paid a higher price for manufactured articles and received no more for what he had to sell. This certainly was an argument in favor of free trade. And there is no way to decrease the surplus except to prohibit the importation of foreign articles, which certainly Mr. Cleveland is not in favor of doing, or to reduce the tariff to a point so low that no matter how much may be imported the surplus will be reduced. If the message means anything it means free trade, and if there is any argument in it it is an argument in favor of absolutely free trade. The party, not willing to say "free trade" uses the word "reform." This is simply a mask and a pretence. The party knows that the President made a mistake. The party, however, is so situated that it cannot get rid of Cleveland, and consequently must take him with his mistake—they must take him with his message, and then show that all he intended by "free trade" was "reform."

Question. Who do you think ought to be nominated at Chicago?

Answer. Personally, I am for General Gresham. I am saying nothing against the other prominent candidates. They have their friends, and many of them are men of character and capacity, and would make good Presidents. But I know of no man who has a better record than Gresham, and of no man who, in my judgment, would receive a larger number of votes. I know of no Republican who would not support Judge Gresham. I have never heard one say that he had anything against him or know of any reason why he should not be voted for. He is a man of great natural capacity. He is candid and unselfish. He has for many years been engaged in the examination and decision of important questions, of good principles, and consequently he has a trained mind. He knows how to take hold of a question, to get at a fact, to discover in a multitude of complications the real principle—the heart of the case. He has always been a man of affairs. He is not simply a judge—that is to say, a legal pair of scales—he knows the effect of his decision on the welfare of communities—he is not governed entirely by precedents—he has opinions of his own. In the next place, he is a man of integrity in all the relations of life. He is not a seeker after place, and, so far as I know, he has done nothing for the purpose of inducing any human being to favor his nomination. I have never spoken to him on the subject.

In the West he has developed great strength, in fact, his popularity has astonished even his best friends. The great mass of people want a perfectly reliable man—one who will be governed by his best judgment and by a desire to do the fair and honorable thing. It has been stated that the great corporations might not support him with much warmth for the reason that he has failed to decide certain cases in their favor. I believe that he has decided the law as he believed it to be, and that he has never been influenced in the slightest degree, by the character, position, or the wealth of the parties before him. It may be that some of the great financiers, the manipulators, the creators of bonds and stocks, the blowers of financial bubbles, will not support him and will not contribute any money for the payment of election expenses, because they are perfectly satisfied that they could not make any arrangements with him to get the money back, together with interest thereon, but the people of this country are intelligent enough to know what that means, and they will be patriotic enough to see to it that no man needs to bow or bend or cringe to the rich to attain the highest place.

The possibility is that Mr. Blaine could have been nominated had he not withdrawn, but having withdrawn, of course the party is released. Others were induced to become candidates, and under these circumstances Mr. Blaine has hardly the right to change his mind, and certainly other persons ought not to change it for him.

Question. Do you think that the friends of Gresham would support Blaine if he should be nominated?

Answer. Undoubtedly they would. If they go into convention they must abide the decision. It would be dishonorable to do that which you would denounce in others. Whoever is nominated ought to receive the support of all good Republicans. No party can exist that will not be bound by its own decision. When the platform is made, then is the time to approve or reject. The conscience of the individual cannot be bound by the action of party, church or state. But when you ask a convention to nominate your candidate, you really agree to stand by the choice of the convention. Principles are of more importance than candidates. As a rule, men who refuse to support the nominee, while pretending to believe in the platform, are giving an excuse for going over to the enemy. It is a pretence to cover desertion. I hope that whoever may be nominated at Chicago will receive the cordial support of the entire party, of every man who believes in Republican principles, who believes in good wages for good work, and has confidence in the old firms of "Mind and Muscle," of "Head and Hand."

—New York Press, May 27, 1888.

LABOR, AND TARIFF REFORM.

Question. What, in your opinion, is the condition of labor in this country as compared with that abroad?

Answer. In the first place, it is self-evident that if labor received more in other lands than in this the tide of emigration would be changed. The workingmen would leave our shores. People who believe in free trade are always telling us that the laboring man is paid much better in Germany than in the United States, and yet nearly every ship that comes from Germany is crammed with Germans, who, for some unaccountable reason, prefer to leave a place where they are doing well and come to one where they must do worse.

The same thing can be said of Denmark and Sweden, of England, Scotland, Ireland and of Italy. The truth is, that in all those lands the laboring man can earn just enough to-day to do the work of to-morrow; everything he earns is required to get food enough in his body and rags enough on his back to work from day to day, to toil from week to week. There are only three luxuries within his reach—air, light, and water; probably a fourth might be added —death.

In those countries the few own the land, the few have the capital, the few make the laws, and the laboring man is not a power. His opinion in neither asked nor heeded. The employers pay as little as they can. When the world becomes civilized everybody will want to pay what things are worth, but now capital is perfectly willing that labor shall remain at the starvation line. Competition on every hand tends to put down wages. The time will come when the whole community will see that justice is economical. If you starve laboring men you increase crime; you multiply, as they do in England, workhouses, hospitals and all kinds of asylums, and these public institutions are for the purpose of taking care of the wrecks that have been produced by greed and stinginess and meanness—that is to say, by the ignorance of capital.

Question. What effect has the protective tariff on the condition of labor in this country?

Answer. To the extent that the tariff keeps out the foreign article it is a direct protection to American labor. Everything in this country is on a larger scale than in any other. There is far more generosity among the manufacturers and merchants and millionaires and capitalists of the United States than among those of any other country, although they are bad enough and mean enough here.

But the great thing for the laboring man in the United States is that he is regarded as a man. He is a unit of political power. His vote counts just as much as that of the richest and most powerful. The laboring man has to be consulted. The candidate has either to be his friend or to pretend to be his friend, before he can succeed. A man running for the presidency could not say the slightest word against the laboring man, or calculated to put a stain upon industry, without destroying every possible chance of success. Generally, every candidate tries to show that he is a laboring man, or that he was a laboring man, or that his father was before him. There is in this country very little of the spirit of caste—the most infamous spirit that ever infested the heartless breast of the brainless head of a human being.

Question. What will be the effect on labor of a departure in American policy in the direction of free trade?

Answer. If free trade could be adopted to-morrow there would be an instant shrinkage of values in this country. Probably the immediate loss would equal twenty billion dollars—that is to say, one-third of the value of the country. No one can tell its extent. All thing are so interwoven that to destroy one industry cripples another, and the influence keeps on until it touches the circumference of human interests.

I believe that labor is a blessing. It never was and never will be a curse. It is a blessed thing to labor for your wife and children, for your father and mother, and for the ones you love. It is a blessed thing to have an object in life—something to do— something to call into play your best thoughts, to develop your faculties and to make you a man. How beautiful, how charming, are the dreams of the young mechanic, the artist, the musician, the actor and the student. How perfectly stupid must be the life of a young man with nothing to do, no ambition, no enthusiasm—that is to say, nothing of the divine in him; the young man with an object in life, of whose brain a great thought, a great dream has taken possession, and in whose heart there is a great, throbbing hope. He looks forward to success—to wife, children, home—all the blessings and sacred joys of human life. He thinks of wealth and fame and honor, and of a long, genial, golden, happy autumn.

Work gives the feeling of independence, of self-respect. A man who does something necessarily puts a value on himself. He feels that he is a part of the world's force. The idler—no matter what he says, no matter how scornfully he may look at the laborer—in his very heart knows exactly what he is; he knows that he is a counterfeit, a poor worthless imitation of a man.

But there is a vast difference between work and what I call "toil." What must be the life of a man who can earn only one dollar or two dollars a day? If this man has a wife and a couple of children how can the family live? What must they eat? What must they wear? From the cradle to the coffin they are ignorant of any luxury of life. If the man is sick, if one of the children dies, how can doctors and medicines be paid for? How can the coffin or the grave be purchased? These people live on what might be called "the snow line"—just at that point where trees end and the mosses begin. What are such lives worth? The wages of months would hardly pay for the ordinary dinner of the family of a rich man. The savings of a whole life would not purchase one fashionable dress, or the lace on it. Such a man could not save enough during his whole life to pay for the flowers of a fashionable funeral.

And yet how often hundreds of thousands of persons, who spend thousands of dollars every year on luxuries, really wonder why the laboring people should complain. They are astonished when a car driver objects to working fourteen hours a day. Men give millions of dollars to carry the gospel to the heathen, and leave their own neighbors without bread; and these same people insist on closing libraries and museums of art on Sunday, and yet Sunday is the only day that these institutions can be visited by the poor.

They even want to stop the street cars so that these workers, these men and women, cannot go to the parks or the fields on Sunday. They want stages stopped on fashionable avenues so that the rich may not be disturbed in their prayers and devotions.

The condition of the workingman, even in America, is bad enough. If free trade will not reduce wages what will? If manufactured articles become cheaper the skilled laborers of America must work cheaper or stop producing the articles. Every one knows that most of the value of a manufactured article comes from labor. Think of the difference between the value of a pound of cotton and a pound of the finest cotton cloth; between a pound of flax and enough point lace to weigh a pound; between a few ounces of paint, two or three yards of canvas and a great picture; between a block of stone and a statue! Labor is the principal factor in price; when the price falls wages must go down.

I do not claim that protection is for the benefit of any particular class, but that it is for the benefit not only of that particular class, but of the entire country. In England the common laborer expects to spend his old age in some workhouse. He is cheered through all his days of toil, through all his years of weariness, by the prospect of dying a respectable pauper. The women work as hard as the men. They toil in the iron mills. They make nails, they dig coal, they toil in the fields.

In Europe they carry the hod, they work like beasts and with beasts, until they lose almost the semblance of human beings—until they look inferior to the animals they drive. On the labor of these deformed mothers, of these bent and wrinkled girls, of little boys with the faces of old age, the heartless nobility live in splendor and extravagant idleness. I am not now speaking of the French people, as France is the most prosperous country in Europe.

Let us protect our mothers, our wives and our children from the deformity of toil, from the depths of poverty.

Question. Is not the ballot an assurance to the laboring man that he can get fair treatment from his employer?

Answer. The laboring man in this country has the political power, provided he has the intelligence to know it and the intelligence to use it. In so far as laws can assist labor, the workingman has it in his power to pass such laws; but in most foreign lands the laboring man has really no voice. It is enough for him to work and wait and suffer and emigrate. He can take refuge in the grave or go to America.

In the old country, where people have been taught that all blessing come from the king, it is very natural for the poor to believe the other side of that proposition—that is to say, all evils come from the king, from the government. They are rocked in the cradle of this falsehood. So when they come to this country, if they are unfortunate, it is natural for them to blame the Government.

The discussion of these questions, however, has already done great good. The workingman is becoming more and more intelligent. He is getting a better idea every day of the functions and powers and limitations of government, and if the problem is ever worked out— and by "problem" I mean the just and due relations that should exist between labor and capital—it will be worked out here in America.

Question. What assurance has the American laborer that he will not be ultimately swamped by foreign immigration?

Answer. Most of the immigrants that come to American come because they want a home. Nearly every one of them is what you may call "land hungry." In his country, to own a piece of land was to be respectable, almost a nobleman. The owner of a little land was regarded as the founder of a family—what you might call a "village dynasty." When they leave their native shores for America, their dream is to become a land owner—to have fields, to own trees, and to listen to the music of their own brooks.

The moment they arrive the mass of them seek the West, where land can be obtained. The great Northwest now is being filled with Scandinavian farmers, with persons from every part of Germany—in fact from all foreign countries—and every year they are adding millions of acres to the plowed fields of the Republic. This land hunger, this desire to own a home, to have a field, to have flocks and herds, to sit under your own vine and fig tree, will prevent foreign immigration from interfering to any hurtful degree with the skilled workmen of America. These land owners, these farmers, become consumers of manufactured articles. They keep the wheels and spindles turning and the fires in the forges burning.

Question. What do you think of Cleveland's message?

Answer. Only the other day I read a speech made by the Hon. William D. Kelley, of Pennsylvania, upon this subject, in which he says in answer to what he calls "the puerile absurdity of President Cleveland's assumption" that the duty is always added to the cost, not only of imported commodities, but to the price of like commodities produced in this country, "that the duties imposed by our Government on sugar reduced to ad valorem were never so high as now, and the price of sugar was never in this country so low as it is now." He also showed that this tax on sugar has made it possible for us to produce sugar from other plants and he gives the facts in relation to corn sugar.

We are now using annually nineteen million bushels of corn for the purpose of making glucose or corn sugar. He shows that in this industry alone there has been a capital invested of eleven million dollars; that seven hundred and thirty-two thousand acres of land are required to furnish the supply, and that this one industry now gives employment to about twenty-two thousand farmers, about five thousand laborers in factories, and that the annual value of this product of corn sugar is over seventeen million dollars.

He also shows what we may expect from the cultivation of the beet. I advise every one to read that speech, so that they may have some idea of the capabilities of this country, of the vast wealth asking for development, of the countless avenues opened for ingenuity, energy and intelligence.

Question. Does the protective tariff cheapen the prices of commodities to the laboring man?

Answer. In this there are involved two questions. If the tariff is so low that the foreign article is imported, of course this tariff is added to the cost and must be paid by the consumer; but if the protective tariff is so high that the importer cannot pay it, and as a consequence the article is produced in America, then it depends largely upon competition whether the full amount of the tariff will be added to the article. As a rule, competition will settle that question in America, and the article will be sold as cheaply as the producers can afford.

For instance: If there is a tariff, we will say of fifty cents on a pair of shoes, and this tariff is so low that the foreign article can afford to pay it, then that tariff, of course, must be paid by the consumer. But suppose the tariff was five dollars on a pair of shoes—that is to say, absolutely prohibitory—does any man in his senses say that five dollars would be added to each pair of American shoes? Of course, the statement is the answer.

I think it is the duty of the laboring man in this country, first, thoroughly to post himself upon these great questions, to endeavor to understand his own interest as well as the interest of his country, and if he does, I believe he will arrive at the conclusion that it is far better to have the country filled with manufacturers than to be employed simply in the raising of raw material. I think he will come to the conclusion that we had better have skilled labor here, and that it is better to pay for it than not to have it. I think he will find that it is better for America to be substantially independent of the rest of the world. I think he will conclude that nothing is more desirable than the development of American brain, and that nothing better can be raised than great and splendid men and women. I think he will conclude that the cloud coming from the factories, from the great stacks and chimneys, is the cloud on which will be seen, and always seen, the bow of American promise.

Question. What have you to say about tariff reform?

Answer. I have this to say: That the tariff is for the most part the result of compromises—that is, one State wishing to have something protected agrees to protect something else in some other State, so that, as a matter of fact, many things are protected that need no protection, and many things are unprotected that ought to be cared for by the Government.

I am in favor of a sensible reform of the tariff—that is to say, I do not wish to put it in the power of the few to practice extortion upon the many. Congress should always be wide awake, and whenever there is any abuse it should be corrected. At the same time, next to having the tariff just—next in importance is to have it stable. It does us great injury to have every dollar invested in manufactures frightened every time Congress meets. Capital should feel secure. Insecurity calls for a higher interest, wants to make up for the additional risk, whereas, when a dollar feels absolutely certain that it is well invested, that it is not to be disturbed, it is satisfied with a very low rate of interest.

The present agitation—the message of President Cleveland upon these questions—will cost the country many hundred millions of dollars.

Question. I see that some one has been charging that Judge Gresham is an Infidel?

Answer. I have known Judge Gresham for many years, and of course have heard him talk upon many subjects, but I do not remember ever discussing with him a religious topic. I only know that he believes in allowing every man to express his opinions, and that he does not hate a man because he differs with him. I believe that he believes in intellectual hospitality, and that he would give all churches equal rights, and would treat them all with the utmost fairness. I regard him as a fair-minded, intelligent and honest man, and that is enough for me. I am satisfied with the way he acts, and care nothing about his particular creed. I like a manly man, whether he agrees with me or not. I believe that President Garfield was a minister of the Church of the Disciples—that made no difference to me. Mr. Blaine is a member of some church in Augusta—I care nothing for that. Whether Judge Gresham belongs to any church, I do not know. I never asked him, but I know he does not agree with me by a large majority.

In this country, where a divorce has been granted between church and state, the religious opinions of candidates should be let alone. To make the inquiry is a piece of impertinence—a piece of impudence. I have voted for men of all persuasions and expect to keep right on, and if they are not civilized enough to give me the liberty they ask for themselves, why I shall simply set them an example of decency.

Question. What do you think of the political outlook?

Answer. The people of this country have a great deal of intelligence. Tariff and free trade and protection and home manufactures and American industries—all these things will be discussed in every schoolhouse of the country, and in thousands and thousands of political meetings, and when next November comes you will see the Democratic party overthrown and swept out of power by a cyclone. All other questions will be lost sight of. Even the Prohibitionists would rather drink beer in a prosperous country than burst with cold water and hard times.

The preservation of what we have will be the great question. This is the richest country and the most prosperous country, and I believe that the people have sense enough to continue the policy that has given them those results. I never want to see the civilization of the Old World, or rather the barbarism of the Old World, gain a footing on this continent. I am an American. I believe in American ideas—that is to say, in equal rights, and in the education and civilization of all the people.

—New York Press, June 3, 1888.

CLEVELAND AND THURMAN.

Question. What do you think of the Democratic nominations?

Answer. In the first place, I hope that this campaign is to be fought on the issues involved, and not on the private characters of the candidates. All that they have done as politicians—all measures that they have favored or opposed—these are the proper subjects of criticism; in all other respects I think it better to let the candidates alone. I care but little about the private character of Mr. Cleveland or of Mr. Thurman. The real question is, what do they stand for? What policy do they advocate? What are the reasons for and against the adoption of the policy they propose?

I do not regard Cleveland as personally popular. He has done nothing, so far as I know, calculated to endear him to the popular heart. He certainly is not a man of enthusiasm. He has said nothing of a striking or forcible character. His messages are exceedingly commonplace. He is not a man of education, of wide reading, of refined tastes, or of general cultivation. He has some firmness and a good deal of obstinacy, and he was exceedingly fortunate in his marriage.

Four years ago he was distinctly opposed to a second term. He was then satisfied that no man should be elected President more than once. He was then fearful that a President might use his office, his appointing power, to further his own ends instead of for the good of the people. He started, undoubtedly, with that idea in his mind. He was going to carry out the civil service doctrine to the utmost. But when he had been President a few months he was exceedingly unpopular with his party. The Democrats who elected him had been out of office for twenty-five years. During all those years they had watched the Republicans sitting at the national banquet. Their appetites had grown keener and keener, and they expected when the 4th of March, 1885, came that the Republicans would be sent from the table and that they would be allowed to tuck the napkins under their chins. The moment Cleveland got at the head of the table he told his hungry followers that there was nothing for them, and he allowed the Republicans to go on as usual.

In a little while he began to hope for a second term, and gradually the civil service notion faded from his mind. He stuck to it long enough to get the principal mugwump papers committed to him and to his policy; long enough to draw their fire and to put them in a place where they could not honorably retreat without making themselves liable to the charge of having fought only for the loaves and fishes. As a matter of fact, no men were hungrier for office than the gentlemen who had done so much for civil service reform. They were so earnest in the advocacy of that principle that they insisted that only their followers should have place; but the real rank and file, the men who had been Democrats through all the disastrous years, and who had prayed and fasted, became utterly disgusted with Mr. Cleveland's administration and they were not slow to express their feelings. Mr. Cleveland saw that he was in danger of being left with no supporters, except a few who thought themselves too respectable really to join the Democratic party. So for the last two years, and especially the last year, he turned his attention to pacifying the real Democrats. He is not the choice of the Democratic party. Although unanimously nominated, I doubt if he was the unanimous choice of a single delegate.

Another very great mistake, I think, has been made by Mr. Cleveland. He seems to have taken the greatest delight in vetoing pension bills, and they seem to be about the only bills he has examined, and he has examined them as a lawyer would examine the declaration, brief or plea of his opponent. He has sought for technicalities, to the end that he might veto these bills. By this course he has lost the soldier vote, and there is no way by which he can regain it. Upon this point I regard the President as exceedingly weak. He has shown about the same feeling toward the soldier now that he did during the war. He was not with them then either in mind or body. He is not with them now. His sympathies are on the other side. He has taken occasion to show his contempt for the Democratic party again and again. This certainly will not add to his strength. He has treated the old leaders with great arrogance. He has cared nothing for their advice, for their opinions, or for their feelings.

The principal vestige of monarchy or despotism in our Constitution is the veto power, and this has been more liberally used by Mr. Cleveland than by any other President. This shows the nature of the man and how narrow he is, and through what a small intellectual aperture he views the world. Nothing is farther from true democracy than this perpetual application of the veto power. As a matter of fact, it should be abolished, and the utmost that a President should be allowed to do, would be to return a bill with his objections, and the bill should then become a law upon being passed by both houses by a simple majority. This would give the Executive the opportunity of calling attention to the supposed defects, and getting the judgment of Congress a second time.

I am perfectly satisfied that Mr. Cleveland is not popular with his party. The noise and confusion of the convention, the cheers and cries, were all produced and manufactured for effect and for the purpose of starting the campaign.

Now, as to Senator Thurman. During the war he occupied substantially the same position occupied by Mr. Cleveland. He was opposed to putting down the Rebellion by force, and as I remember it, he rather justified the people of the South for going with their States. Ohio was in favor of putting down the Rebellion, yet Mr. Thurman, by some peculiar logic of his own, while he justified Southern people for going into rebellion because they followed their States, justified himself for not following his State. His State was for the Union. His State was in favor of putting down rebellion. His State was in favor of destroying slavery. Certainly, if a man is bound to follow his State, he is equally bound when the State is right. It is hardly reasonable to say that a man is only bound to follow his State when his State is wrong; yet this was really the position of Senator Thurman.

I saw the other day that some gentlemen in this city had given as a reason for thinking that Thurman would strengthen the ticket, that he had always been right on the financial question. Now, as a matter of fact, he was always wrong. When it was necessary for the Government to issue greenbacks, he was a hard money man—he believed in the mint drops—and if that policy had been carried out, the Rebellion could not have been suppressed. After the suppression of the Rebellion, and when hundreds and hundreds of millions of greenbacks were afloat, and the Republican party proposed to redeem them in gold, and to go back—as it always intended to do—to hard money—to a gold and silver basis—then Senator Thurman, holding aloft the red bandanna, repudiated hard money, opposed resumption, and came out for rag currency as being the best. Let him change his ideas—put those first that he had last—and you might say that he was right on the currency question; but when the country needed the greenback he was opposed to it, and when the country was able to redeem the greenback, he was opposed to it.

It gives me pleasure to say that I regard Senator Thurman as a man of ability, and I have no doubt that he was coaxed into his last financial position by the Democratic party, by the necessities of Ohio, and by the force and direction of the political wind. No matter how much respectability he adds to the ticket, I do not believe that he will give any great strength. In the first place, he is an old man. He has substantially finished his career. Young men cannot attach themselves to him, because he has no future. His following is not an army of the young and ambitious—it is rather a funeral procession. Yet, notwithstanding this fact, he will furnish most of the enthusiasm for this campaign—and that will be done with his handkerchief. The Democratic banner is Thurman's red bandanna. I do not believe that it will be possible for the Democracy to carry Ohio by reason of Thurman's nomination, and I think the failure to nominate Gray or some good man from that State, will lose Indiana. So, while I have nothing to say against Senator Thurman, nothing against his integrity or his ability, still, under the circumstances, I do not think his nomination a strong one.

Question. Do you think that the nominations have been well received throughout the United States?

Answer. Not as well as in England. I see that all the Tory papers regard the nominations as excellent—especially that of Cleveland. Every Englishman who wants Ireland turned into a penitentiary, and every Irishman to be treated as a convict, is delighted with the action of the St. Louis convention. England knows what she wants. Her market is growing small. A few years ago she furnished manufactured articles to a vast portion of the world. Millions of her customers have become ingenious enough to manufacture many things that they need, so the next thing England did was to sell them the machinery. Now they are beginning to make their own machinery. Consequently, English trade is falling off. She must have new customers. Nothing would so gratify her as to have sixty millions of Americans buy her wares. If she could see our factories still and dead; if she could put out the fires of our furnaces and forges; there would come to her the greatest prosperity she has ever known. She would fatten on our misfortunes —grow rich and powerful and arrogant upon our poverty. We would become her servants. We would raise the raw material with ignorant labor and allow her children to reap all the profit of its manufacture, and in the meantime to become intelligent and cultured while we grew poor and ignorant.

The greatest blow that can be inflicted upon England is to keep her manufactured articles out of the United States. Sixty millions of Americans buy and use more than five hundred millions of Asiatics —buy and use more than all of China, all of India and all of Africa. One civilized man has a thousand times the wants of a savage or of a semi-barbarian. Most of the customers of England want a few yards of calico, some cheap jewelry, a little powder, a few knives and a few gallons of orthodox rum.

To-day the United States is the greatest market in the world. The commerce between the States is almost inconceivable in its immensity. In order that you may have some idea of the commerce of this country, it is only necessary to remember one fact. We have railroads enough engaged in this commerce to make six lines around the globe. The addition of a million Americans to our population gives us a better market than a monopoly of ten millions of Asiatics. England, with her workhouses, with her labor that barely exists, wishes this market, and wishes to destroy the manufactures of America, and she expects Irish-Americans to assist her in this patriotic business.

Now, as to the enthusiasm in this country. I fail to see it. The nominations have fallen flat. It has been known for a long time that Cleveland was to be nominated. That has all been discounted, and the nomination of Judge Thurman has been received in a quite matter-of-fact way. It may be that his enthusiasm was somewhat dampened by what might be called the appearance above the horizon of the morning star of this campaign—Oregon. What a star to rise over the work of the St. Louis convention! What a prophecy for Democrats to commence business with! Oregon, with the free trade issue, seven thousand to eight thousand Republican majority—the largest ever given by that State—Oregon speaks for the Pacific Coast.

Question. What do you think of the Democratic platform?

Answer. Mr. Watterson was kind enough to say that before they took the roof off of the house they were going to give the occupants a chance to get out. By the "house" I suppose he means the great workshop of America. By the "roof" he means protection; and by the "occupants" the mechanics. He is not going to turn them out at once, or take the roof off in an instant, but this is to be done gradually.

In other words, they will remove it shingle by shingle or tile by tile, until it becomes so leaky or so unsafe that the occupants— that is to say, the mechanics, will leave the building.

The first thing in the platform is a reaffirmation of the platform of 1884, and an unqualified endorsement of President Cleveland's message on the tariff. And if President Cleveland's message has any meaning whatever, it means free trade—not instantly, it may be—but that is the object and the end to be attained. All his reasoning, if reasoning it can be called, is in favor of absolute free trade. The issue is fairly made—shall American labor be protected, or must the American laborer take his chances with the labor market of the world? Must he stand upon an exact par with the laborers of Belgium and England and Germany, not only, but with the slaves and serfs of other countries? Must he be reduced to the diet of the old country? Is he to have meat on holidays and a reasonably good dinner on Christmas, and live the rest of the year on crusts, crumbs, scraps, skimmed milk, potatoes, turnips, and a few greens that he can steal from the corners of fences? Is he to rely for meat, on poaching, and then is he to be transported to some far colony for the crime of catching a rabbit? Are our workingmen to wear wooden shoes?

Now, understand me, I do not believe that the Democrats think that free trade would result in disaster. Their minds are so constituted that they really believe that free trade would be a great blessing. I am not calling in question their honesty. I am simply disputing the correctness of their theory. It makes no difference, as a matter of fact, whether they are honest or dishonest. Free trade established by honest people would be just as injurious as if established by dishonest people. So there is no necessity of raising the question of intention. Consequently, I admit that they are doing the best they know now. This is not admitting much, but it is something, as it tends to take from the discussion all ill feeling.

We all know that the tariff protects special interests in particular States. Louisiana is not for free trade. It may be for free trade in everything except sugar. It is willing that the rest of the country should pay an additional cent or two a pound on sugar for its benefit, and while receiving the benefit it does not wish to bear its part of the burden. If the other States protect the sugar interests in Louisiana, certainly that State ought to be willing to protect the wool interest in Ohio, the lead and hemp interest in Missouri, the lead and wool interest in Colorado, the lumber interest in Minnesota, the salt and lumber interest in Michigan, the iron interest in Pennsylvania, and so I might go on with a list of the States—because each one has something that it wishes to have protected.

It sounds a little strange to hear a Democratic convention cry out that the party "is in favor of the maintenance of an indissoluble union of free and indestructible States." Only a little while ago the Democratic party regarded it as the height of tyranny to coerce a free State. Can it be said that a State is "free" that is absolutely governed by the Nation? Is a State free that can make no treaty with any other State or country—that is not permitted to coin money or to declare war? Why should such a State be called free? The truth is that the States are not free in that sense. The Republican party believes that this is a Nation and that the national power is the highest, and that every citizen owes the highest allegiance to the General Government and not to his State. In other words, we are not Virginians or Mississippians or Delawareans —we are Americans. The great Republic is a free Nation, and the States are but parts of that Nation. The doctrine of State Sovereignty was born of the institution of slavery. In the history of our country, whenever anything wrong was to be done, this doctrine of State Sovereignty was appealed to. It protected the slave-trade until the year 1808. It passed the Fugitive Slave Law. It made every citizen in the North a catcher of his fellow-man—made it the duty of free people to enslave others. This doctrine of State Rights was appealed to for the purpose of polluting the Territories with the institution of slavery. To deprive a man of his liberty, to put him back into slavery, State lines were instantly obliterated; but whenever the Government wanted to protect one of its citizens from outrage, then the State lines became impassable barriers, and the sword of justice fell in twain across the line of a State.

People forget that the National Government is the creature of the people. The real sovereign is the people themselves. Presidents and congressmen and judges are the creatures of the people. If we had a governing class—if men were presidents or senators by virtue of birth—then we might talk about the danger of centralization; but if the people are sufficiently intelligent to govern themselves, they will never create a government for the destruction of their liberties, and they are just as able to protect their rights in the General Government as they are in the States. If you say that the sovereignty of the State protects labor, you might as well say that the sovereignty of the county protects labor in the State and that the sovereignty of the town protects labor in the county.

Of all subjects in the world the Democratic party should avoid speaking of "a critical period of our financial affairs, resulting from over taxation." How did taxation become necessary? Who created the vast debt that American labor must pay? Who made this taxation of thousands of millions necessary? Why were the greenbacks issued? Why were the bonds sold? Who brought about "a critical period of our financial affairs"? How has the Democratic party "averted disaster"? How could there be a disaster with a vast surplus in the treasury? Can you find in the graveyard of nations this epitaph: "Died of a Surplus"? Has any nation ever been known to perish because it had too much gold and too much silver, and because its credit was better than that of any other nation on the earth? The Democrats seem to think—and it is greatly to their credit—that they have prevented the destruction of the Government when the treasury was full—when the vaults were overflowing. What would they have done had the vaults been empty? Let them wrestle with the question of poverty; let them then see how the Democratic party would succeed. When it is necessary to create credit, to inspire confidence, not only in our own people, but in the nations of the world—which of the parties is best adapted for the task? The Democratic party congratulates itself that it has not been ruined by a Republican surplus! What good boys we are! We have not been able to throw away our legacy!

Is it not a little curious that the convention plumed itself on having paid out more for pensions and bounties to the soldiers and sailors of the Republic than was ever paid before during an equal period? It goes wild in its pretended enthusiasm for the President who has vetoed more pension bills than all the other Presidents put together.

The platform informs us that "the Democratic party has adopted and consistently pursued and affirmed a prudent foreign policy, preserving peace with all nations." Does it point with pride to the Mexican fiasco, or does it rely entirely upon the great fishery triumph? What has the administration done—what has it accomplished in the field of diplomacy?

When we come to civil service, about how many Federal officials were at the St. Louis convention? About how many have taken part in the recent nominations? In other words, who has been idle?

We have recently been told that the wages of workingmen are just as high in the old country as in this, when you take into consideration the cost of living. We have always been told by all the free trade papers and orators, that the tariff has no bearing whatever upon wages, and yet, the Democrats have not succeeded in convincing themselves. I find in their platform this language: "A fair and careful revision of our tax laws, with due allowance for the difference between the wages of American and foreign labor, must promote and encourage every branch of such industries and enterprises by giving them the assurance of an extended market and steady and continuous operations."

It would seem from this that the Democratic party admits that wages are higher here than in foreign countries. Certainly they do not mean to say that they are lower. If they are higher here than in foreign countries, the question arises, why are they higher? If you took off the tariff, the presumption is that they would be as low here as anywhere else, because this very Democratic convention says: "A fair and careful revision of our tax laws, with due allowance for the difference between wages." In other words, they would keep tariff enough on to protect our workingmen from the low wages of the foreigner—consequently, we have the admission of the Democratic party that in order to keep wages in this country higher than they are in Belgium, in Italy, in England and in Germany, we must protect home labor. Then follows the non sequitur, which is a Democratic earmark. They tell us that by keeping a tariff, "making due allowance for the difference between wages, all the industries and enterprises would be encouraged and promoted by giving them the assurance of an extended market." What does the word "extended" mean? If it means anything, it means a market in other countries. In other words, we will put the tariff so low that the wages of American workingmen will be so low that he can compete with the laborers of other countries; otherwise his market could not be "extended." What does this mean? There is evidently a lack of thought here. The two things cannot be accomplished in that way. If the tariff raises American wages, the American cannot compete in foreign markets with the men who work for half the price. What may be the final result is another question. American industry properly protected, American genius properly fostered, may invent ways and means—such wonderful machinery, such quick, inexpensive processes, that in time American genius may produce at a less rate than any other country, for the reason that the laborers of other countries will not be as intelligent, will not be as independent, will not have the same ambition.

Fine phrases will not deceive the people of this country. The American mechanic already has a market of sixty millions of people, and, as I said before, the best market in the world. This country is now so rich, so prosperous, that it is the greatest market of the earth, even for luxuries. It is the best market for pictures, for works of art. It is the best market for music and song. It is the best market for dramatic genius, and it is the best market for skilled labor, the best market for common labor, and in this country the poor man to-day has the best chance—he can look forward to becoming the proprietor of a home, of some land, to independence, to respectability, and to an old age without want and without disgrace.

The platform, except upon this question of free trade, means very little. There are other features in it which I have not at present time to examine, but shall do so hereafter. I want to take it up point by point and find really what it means, what its scope is, and what the intentions were of the gentlemen who made it.

But it may be proper to say here, that in my judgment it is a very weak and flimsy document, as Victor Hugo would say, "badly cut and badly sewed."

Of course, I know that the country will exist whatever party may be in power. I know that all our blessings do not come from laws, or from the carrying into effect of certain policies, and probably I could pay no greater compliment to any country than to say that even eight years of Democratic rule cannot materially affect her destiny.

—New York Press, June 10, 1888.

THE REPUBLICAN PLATFORM OF 1888.

Question. What do you think of the signs of the times so far as the campaign has progressed?

Answer. The party is now going through a period of misrepresentation. Every absurd meaning that can be given to any combination of words will be given to every plank of the platform. In the heat of partisan hatred every plank will look warped and cracked. A great effort is being made to show that the Republican party is in favor of intemperance,—that the great object now is to lessen the price of all intoxicants and increase the cost of all the necessaries of life. The papers that are for nothing but reform of everything and everybody except themselves, are doing their utmost to show that the Republican party is the enemy of honesty and temperance.

The other day, at a Republican ratification meeting, I stated among other things, that we could not make great men and great women simply by keeping them out of temptation—that nobody would think of tying the hands of a person behind them and then praise him for not picking pockets; that great people were great enough to withstand temptation, and in that connection I made this statement: "Temperance goes hand in hand with liberty"—the idea being that when a chain is taken from the body an additional obligation is perceived by the mind. These good papers—the papers that believe in honest politics—stated that I said: "Temperance goes hand in hand with liquor." This was not only in the reports of the meeting, but this passage was made the subject of several editorials. It hardly seems possible that any person really thought that such a statement had been expressed. The Republican party does not want free whiskey —it wants free men; and a great many people in the Republican party are great enough to know that temperance does go hand in hand with liberty; they are great enough to know that all legislation as to what we shall eat, as to what we shall drink, and as to wherewithal we shall be clothed, partakes of the nature of petty, irritating and annoying tyranny. They also know that the natural result is to fill a country with spies, hypocrites and pretenders, and that when a law is not in accordance with an enlightened public sentiment, it becomes either a dead letter, or, when a few fanatics endeavor to enforce it, a demoralizer of courts, of juries and of people.

The attack upon the platform by temperance people is doing no harm, for the reason that long before November comes these people will see the mistake they have made. It seems somewhat curious that the Democrats should attack the platform if they really believe that it means free whiskey.

The tax was levied during the war. It was a war measure. The Government was in extremis, and for that reason was obliged to obtain a revenue from every possible article of value. The war is over; the necessity has disappeared; consequently the Government should return to the methods of peace. We have too many Government officials. Let us get rid of collectors and gaugers and inspectors. Let us do away with all this machinery, and leave the question to be settled by the State. If the temperance people themselves would take a second thought, they would see that when the Government collects eighty or ninety million dollars from a tax on whiskey, the traffic becomes entrenched, it becomes one of the pillars of the State, one of the great sources of revenue. Let the States attend to this question, and it will be a matter far easier to deal with.

The Prohibitionists are undoubtedly honest, and their object is to destroy the traffic, to prevent the manufacture of whiskey. Can they do this as long as the Government collects ninety million dollars per annum from that one source? If there is anything whatever in this argument, is it not that the traffic pays a bribe of ninety million dollars a year for its life? Will not the farmers say to the temperance men: "The distilleries pay the taxes, the distilleries raise the price of corn; is it not better for the General Government to look to another direction for its revenues and leave the States to deal as they may see proper with this question?"

With me, it makes no difference what is done with the liquor— whether it is used in the arts or not—it is a question of policy. There is no moral principle involved on our side of the question, to say the least of it. If it is a crime to make and sell intoxicating liquors, the Government, by licensing persons to make and sell, becomes a party to the crime. If one man poisons another, no matter how much the poison costs, the crime is the same; and if the person from whom the poison was purchased knew how it was to be used, he is also a murderer.

There have been many reformers in this world, and they have seemed to imagine that people will do as they say. They think that you can use people as you do bricks or stones; that you can lay them up in walls and they will remain where they are placed; but the truth is, you cannot do this. The bricks are not satisfied with each other—they go away in the night—in the morning there is no wall. Most of these reformers go up what you might call the Mount Sinai of their own egotism, and there, surrounded by the clouds of their own ignorance, they meditate upon the follies and the frailties of their fellow-men and then come down with ten commandments for their neighbors.

All this talk about the Republican platform being in favor of intemperance, so far as the Democratic party is concerned, is pure, unadulterated hypocrisy—nothing more, nothing less. So far as the Prohibitionists are concerned, they may be perfectly honest, but, if they will think a moment, they will see how perfectly illogical they are. No one can help sympathizing with any effort honestly made to do away with the evil of intemperance. I know that many believe that these evils can be done away with by legislation. While I sympathize with the objects that these people wish to attain, I do not believe in the means they suggest. As life becomes valuable, people will become temperate, because they will take care of themselves. Temperance is born of the countless influences of civilization. Character cannot be forced upon anybody; it is a growth, the seeds of which are within. Men cannot be forced into real temperance any more than they can be frightened into real morality. You may frighten a man to that degree that he will not do a certain thing, but you cannot scare him badly enough to prevent his wanting to do that thing. Reformation begins on the inside, and the man refrains because he perceives that he ought to refrain, not because his neighbors say that he ought to refrain. No one would think of praising convicts in jail for being regular at their meals, or for not staying out nights; and it seems to me that when the Prohibitionists—when the people who are really in favor of temperance—look the ground all over they will see that it is far better to support the Republican party than to throw their votes away; and the Republicans will see that it is simply a proposition to go back to the original methods of collecting revenue for the Government—that it is simply abandoning the measures made necessary by war, and that it is giving to the people the largest liberty consistent with the needs of the Government, and that it is only leaving these questions where in time of peace they properly belong —to the States themselves.

Question. Do you think that the Knights of Labor will cut any material figure in this election?

Answer. The Knights of Labor will probably occupy substantially the same position as other laborers and other mechanics. If they clearly see that the policy advocated by the Republican party is to their interest, that it will give them better wages than the policy advocated by the Democrats, then they will undoubtedly support our ticket. There is more or less irritation between employers and employed. All men engaged in manufacturing and neither good nor generous. Many of them get work for as little as possible, and sell its product for all they can get. It is impossible to adopt a policy that will not by such people be abused. Many of them would like to see the working man toil for twelve hours or fourteen or sixteen in each day. Many of them wonder why they need sleep or food, and are perfectly astonished when they ask for pay. In some instances, undoubtedly, the working men will vote against their own interests simply to get even with such employers.

Some laboring men have been so robbed, so tyrannized over, that they would be perfectly willing to feel for the pillars and take a certain delight in a destruction that brought ruin even to themselves. Such manufacturers, however, I believe to be in a minority, and the laboring men, under the policy of free trade, would be far more in their power. When wages fall below a certain point, then comes degradation, loss of manhood, serfdom and slavery. If any man has the right to vote for his own interests, certainly the man who labors is that man, and every working man having in his will a part of the sovereignty of this nation, having within him a part of the lawmaking power, should have the intelligence and courage to vote for his own interests; he should vote for good wages; he should vote for a policy that would enable him to lay something by for the winter of his life, that would enable him to earn enough to educate his children, enough to give him a home and a fireside.

He need not do this in anger or for revenge, but because it is just, because it is right, and because the working people are in a majority. They ought to control the world, because they have made the world what it is. They have given everything there is of value. Labor plows every field, builds every house, fashions everything of use, and when that labor is guided by intelligence the world is prosperous.

He who thinks good thoughts is a laborer—one of the greatest. The man who invented the reaper will be harvesting the fields for thousands of years to come. If labor is abused in this country the laborers have it within their power to defend themselves.

All my sympathies are with the men who toil. I shed very few tears over bankers and millionaires and corporations—they can take care of themselves. My sympathies are with the man who has nothing to sell but his strength; nothing to sell but his muscle and his intelligence; who has no capital except that which his mother gave him—a capital he must sell every day; my sympathies are with him; and I want him to have a good market; and I want it so that he can sell the work for more than enough to take care of him to-morrow.

I believe that no corporation should be allowed to exist except for the benefit of the whole people. The Government should always act for the benefit of all, and when the Government gives a part of its power to an aggregation of individuals, the accomplishment of some public good should justify the giving of that power; and whenever a corporation becomes subversive of the very end for which it was created, the Government should put an end to its life.

So I believe that after these matters, these issues have been discussed—when something is understood about the effect of a tariff, the effect of protection, the laboring people of this country will be on the side of the Republican party. The Republican party is always trying to do something—trying to take a step in advance. Persons who care for nothing except themselves—who wish to make no effort except for themselves—are its natural enemies.

Question. What do you think of Mr. Mills' Fourth of July speech on his bill?

Answer. Certain allowances should always be made for the Fourth of July. What Mr. Mills says with regard to free trade depends, I imagine, largely on where he happens to be. You remember the old story about the Moniteur. When Napoleon escaped from Elba that paper said: "The ogre has escaped." And from that moment the epithets grew a little less objectionable as Napoleon advanced, and at last the Moniteur cried out: "The Emperor has reached Paris." I hardly believe that Mr. Mills would call his bill in Texas a war tariff measure. He might commence in New York with that description, but as he went South that language, in my judgment, would change, and when he struck the Brazos I think the bill would be described as the nearest possible approach to free trade.

Mr. Mills takes the ground that if raw material comes here free of duty, then we can manufacture that raw material and compete with other countries in the markets of the world—that is to say, under his bill. Now, other countries can certainly get the raw material as cheaply as we can, especially those countries in which the raw material is raised; and if wages are less in other countries than in ours, the raw material being the same, the product must cost more with us than with them. Consequently we cannot compete with foreign countries simply by getting the raw material at the same price; we must be able to manufacture it as cheaply as they, and we can do that only by cutting down the wages of the American workingmen. Because, to have raw material at the same price as other nations, is only a part of the problem. The other part is how cheaply can we manufacture it? And that depends upon wages. If wages are twenty-five cents a day, then we can compete with those nations where wages are twenty-five cents a day; but if our wages are five or six times as high, then the twenty-five cent labor will supply the market. There is no possible way of putting ourselves on an equality with other countries in the markets of the world, except by putting American labor on an equality with the other labor of the world. Consequently, we cannot obtain a foreign market without lessening our wages. No proposition can be plainer than this.

It cannot be said too often that the real prosperity of a country depends upon the well-being of those who labor. That country is not prosperous where a few are wealthy and have all the luxuries that the imagination can suggest, and where the millions are in want, clothed in rags, and housed in tenements not fit for wild beasts. The value of our property depends on the civilization of our people. If the people are happy and contented, if the workingman receives good wages, then our houses and our farms are valuable. If the people are discontented, if the workingmen are in want, then our property depreciates from day to day, and national bankruptcy will only be a question of time.

If Mr. Mills has given a true statement with regard to the measure proposed by him, what relation does that measure bear to the President's message? What has it to do with the Democratic platform? If Mr. Mills has made no mistake, the President wrote a message substantially in favor of free trade. The Democratic party ratified and indorsed that message, and at the same time ratified and indorsed the Mills bill. Now, the message was for free trade, and the Mills bill, according to Mr. Mills, is for the purpose of sustaining the war tariff. They have either got the wrong child or the wrong parents.

Question. I see that some people are objecting to your taking any part in politics, on account of your religious opinion?

Answer. The Democratic party has always been pious. If it is noted for anything it is for its extreme devotion. You have no idea how many Democrats wear out the toes of their shoes praying. I suppose that in this country there ought to be an absolute divorce between church and state and without any alimony being allowed to the church; and I have always supposed that the Republican party was perfectly willing that anybody should vote its ticket who believed in its principles. The party was not established, as I understand it, in the interest of any particular denomination; it was established to promote and preserve the freedom of the American citizen everywhere. Its first object was to prevent the spread of human slavery; its second object was to put down the Rebellion and preserve the Union; its third object was the utter destruction of human slavery everywhere, and its fourth object is to preserve not only the fruit of all that it has won, but to protect American industry to the end that the Republic may not only be free, but prosperous and happy. In this great work all are invited to join, no matter whether Catholics or Presbyterians or Methodists or Infidels—believers or unbelievers. The object is to have a majority of the people of the United States in favor of human liberty, in favor of justice and in favor of an intelligent American policy.

I am not what is called strictly orthodox, and yet I am liberal enough to vote for a Presbyterian, and if a Presbyterian is not liberal enough to stand by a Republican, no matter what his religious opinions may be, then the Presbyterian is not as liberal as the Republican party, and he is not as liberal as an unbeliever; in other words, he is not a manly man.

I object to no man who is running for office on the ticket of my party on account of his religious convictions. I care nothing about the church of which he is a member. That is his business. That is an individual matter—something with which the State has no right to interfere—something with which no party can rightfully have anything to do. These great questions are left open to discussion. Every church must take its chance in the open field of debate. No belief has the right to draw the sword—no dogma the right to resort to force. The moment a church asks for the help of the State, it confesses its weakness, it confesses its inability to answer the arguments against it.

I believe in the absolute equality before the law, of all religions and all metaphysical theories; and I would no more control those things by law than I would endeavor to control the arts and the sciences by legislation. Man admires the beautiful, and what is beautiful to one may not be to another, and this inequality or this difference cannot be regulated by law.

The same is true of what is called religious belief. I am willing to give all others every right that I claim for myself, and if they are not willing to give me the rights they claim for themselves, they are not civilized.

No man acknowledges the truth of my opinions because he votes the same ticket that I do, and I certainly do not acknowledge the correctness of the opinions of others because I vote the Republican ticket. We are Republicans together. Upon certain political questions we agree, upon other questions we disagree—and that is all. Only religious people, who have made up their minds to vote the Democratic ticket, will raise an objection of this kind, and they will raise the objection simply as a pretence, simply for the purpose of muddying the water while they escape.

Of course there may be some exceptions. There are a great many insane people out of asylums. If the Republican party does not stand for absolute intellectual liberty, it had better disband. And why should we take so much pains to free the body, and then enslave the mind? I believe in giving liberty to both. Give every man the right to labor, and give him the right to reap the harvest of his toil. Give every man the right to think, and to reap the harvest of his brain—that is to say, give him the right to express his thoughts.

—New York Press, July 8, 1888.

JAMES G. BLAINE AND POLITICS.

Question. I see that there has lately been published a long account of the relations between Mr. Blaine and yourself, and the reason given for your failure to support him for the nomination in 1884 and 1888?

Answer. Every little while some donkey writes a long article pretending to tell all that happened between Mr. Blaine and myself. I have never seen any article on the subject that contained any truth. They are always the invention of the writer or of somebody who told him. The last account is more than usually idiotic. An unpleasant word has never passed between Mr. Blaine and myself. We have never had any falling out. I never asked Mr. Blaine's influence for myself. I never asked President Hayes or Garfield or Arthur for any position whatever, and I have never asked Mr. Cleveland for any appointment under the civil service.

With regard to the German Mission, about which so much has been said, all that I ever did in regard to that was to call on Secretary Evarts and inform him that there was no place in the gift of the administration that I would accept. I could not afford to throw away a good many thousand dollars a year for the sake of an office. So I say again that I never asked, or dreamed of asking, any such favor of Mr. Blaine. The favors have been exactly the other way— from me, and not from him. So there is not the slightest truth in the charge that there was some difference between our families.

I have great respect for Mrs. Blaine, have always considered her an extremely good and sensible woman; our relations have been of the friendliest character, and such relations have always existed between all the members of both families, so far as I know. Nothing could be more absurd that the charge that there was some feeling growing out of our social relations. We do not depend upon others to help us socially; we need no help, and if we did we would not accept it. The whole story about there having been any lack of politeness or kindness is without the slightest foundation.

In 1884 I did not think that Mr. Blaine could be elected. I thought the same at the Chicago convention this year. I know that he has a great number of ardent admirers and of exceedingly self-denying and unselfish friends. I believe that he has more friends than any other man in the Republican party; but he also has very bitter enemies—enemies with influence. Taking this into consideration, and believing that the success of the party was more important than the success of any individual, I was in favor of nominating some man who would poll the entire Republican vote. This feeling did not grow out of any hostility to any man, but simply out of a desire for Republican success. In other words, I endeavored to take an unprejudiced view of the situation. Under no circumstances would I underrate the ability and influence of Mr. Blaine, nor would I endeavor to deprecate the services he has rendered to the Republican party and to the country. But by this time it ought to be understood that I belong to no man, that I am the proprietor of myself.

There are two kinds of people that I have no use for—leaders and followers. The leader should be principle; the leader should be a great object to be accomplished. The follower should be the man dedicated to the accomplishment of a noble end. He who simply follows persons gains no honor and is incapable of giving honor even to the one he follows. There are certain things to be accomplished and these things are the leaders. We want in this country an American system; we wish to carry into operation, into practical effect, ideas, policies, theories in harmony with our surroundings.

This is a great country filled with intelligent, industrious, restless, ambitious people. Millions came here because they were dissatisfied with the laws, the institutions, the tyrannies, the absurdities, the poverty, the wretchedness and the infamous spirit of caste found in the Old World. Millions of these people are thinking for themselves, and only the people who can teach, who can give new facts, who can illuminate, should be regarded as political benefactors. This country is, in my judgment, in all that constitutes true greatness, the nearest civilized of any country. Only yesterday the German Empire robbed a woman of her child; this was done as a political necessity. Nothing is taken into consideration except some move on the political chess-board. The feelings of a mother are utterly disregarded; they are left out of the question; they are not even passed upon. They are naturally ignored, because in these governments only the unnatural is natural.

In our political life we have substantially outgrown the duel. There are some small, insignificant people who still think it important to defend a worthless reputation on the field of "honor," but for respectable members of the Senate, of the House, of the Cabinet, to settle a political argument with pistols would render them utterly contemptible in this country; that is to say, the opinion that governs, that dominates in this country, holds the duel in abhorrence and in contempt. What could be more idiotic, absurd, childish, than the duel between Boulanger and Floquet? What was settled? It needed no duel to convince the world that Floquet is a man of courage. The same may be said of Boulanger. He has faced death upon many fields. Why, then, resort to the duel? If Boulanger's wound proves fatal, that certainly does not tend to prove that Floquet told the truth, and if Boulanger recovers, it does not tend to prove that he did not tell the truth.

Nothing is settled. Two men controlled by vanity, that individual vanity born of national vanity, try to kill each other; the public ready to reward the victor; the cause of the quarrel utterly ignored; the hands of the public ready to applaud the successful swordsman —and yet France is called a civilized nation. No matter how serious the political situation may be, no matter if everything depends upon one man, that man is at the mercy of anyone in opposition who may see fit to challenge him. The greatest general at the head of their armies may be forced to fight a duel with a nobody. Such ideas, such a system, keeps a nation in peril and makes every cause, to a greater or less extent, depend upon the sword or the bullet of a criminal.

—The Press, New York, July 16, 1888.

THE MILLS BILL.

Question. What, in your opinion, is the significance of the vote on the Mills Bill recently passed in the House? In this I find there were one hundred and sixty-two for it, and one hundred and forty-nine against it; of these, two Republicans voted for, and five Democrats against.

Answer. In the first place, I think it somewhat doubtful whether the bill could have been passed if Mr. Randall had been well. His sickness had much to do with this vote. Had he been present to have taken care of his side, to have kept his forces in hand, he, in my judgment, taking into consideration his wonderful knowledge of parliamentary tactics, would have defeated this bill.

It is somewhat hard to get the average Democrat, in the absence of his leader, to throw away the prospect of patronage. Most members of Congress have to pay tolerably strict attention to their political fences. The President, although clinging with great tenacity to the phrase "civil service," has in all probability pulled every string he could reach for the purpose of compelling the Democratic members not only to stand in line, but to answer promptly to their names. Every Democrat who has shown independence has been stepped on just to the extent he could be reached; but many members, had the leader been on the floor—and a leader like Randall—would have followed him.

There are very few congressional districts in the United States not intensely Democratic where the people want nothing protected. There are a few districts where nothing grows except ancient politics, where they cultivate only the memory of what never ought to have been, where the subject of protection has not yet reached.

The impudence requisite to pass the Mills Bill is something phenomenal. Think of the Representatives from Louisiana saying to the ranchmen of the West and to the farmers of Ohio that wool must be on the free list, but that for the sake of preserving the sugar interest of Louisiana and a little portion of Texas, all the rest of the United States must pay tribute.

Everybody admits that Louisiana is not very well adapted by nature for raising sugar, for the reason that the cane has to be planted every year, and every third year the frost puts in an appearance just a little before the sugar. Now, while I think personally that the tariff on sugar has stimulated the inventive genius of the country to find other ways of producing that which is universally needed; and while I believe that it will not be long until we shall produce every pound of sugar that we consume, and produce it cheaper than we buy it now, I am satisfied that in time and at no distant day sugar will be made in this country extremely cheap, not only from beets, but from sorghum and corn, and it may be from other products. At the same time this is no excuse for Louisiana, neither is it any excuse for South Carolina asking for a tariff on rice, and at the same time wishing to leave some other industry in the United States, in which many more millions have been invested, absolutely without protection.

Understand, I am not opposed to a reasonable tariff on rice, provided it is shown that we can raise rice in this country cheaply and at a profit to such an extent as finally to become substantially independent of the rest of the world. What I object to is the impudence of the gentleman who is raising the rice objecting to the protection of some other industry of far greater importance than his.

After all, the whole thing must be a compromise. We must act together for the common good. If we wish to make something at the expense of another State we must allow that State to make something at our expense, or at least we must be able to show that while it is for our benefit it is also for the benefit of the country at large. Everybody is entitled to have his own way up to the point that his way interferes with somebody else. States are like individuals—their rights are relative—they are subordinated to the good of the whole country.

For many years it has been the American policy to do all that reasonably could be done to foster American industry, to give scope to American ingenuity and a field for American enterprise—in other words, a future for the United States.

The Southern States were always in favor of something like free trade. They wanted to raise cotton for Great Britain—raw material for other countries. At that time their labor was slave labor, and they could not hope ever to have skilled labor, because skilled labor cannot be enslaved. The Southern people knew at that time that if a man was taught enough of mathematics to understand machinery, to run locomotives, to weave cloth; it he was taught enough of chemistry even to color calico, it would be impossible to keep him a slave. Education always was and always will be an abolitionist. The South advocated a system of harmony with slavery, in harmony with ignorance—that is to say, a system of free trade, under which it might raise its raw material. It could not hope to manufacture, because by making its labor intelligent enough to manufacture it would lose it.

In the North, men are working for themselves, and as I have often said, they were getting their hands and heads in partnership. Every little stream that went singing to the sea was made to turn a thousand wheels; the water became a spinner and a weaver; the water became a blacksmith and ran a trip hammer; the water was doing the work of millions of men. In other words, the free people of the North were doing what free people have always done, going into partnership with the forces of nature. Free people want good tools, shapely, well made—tools with which the most work can be done with the least strain.

Suppose the South had been in favor of protection; suppose that all over the Southern country there had been workshops, factories, machines of every kind; suppose that her people had been as ingenious as the people of the North; suppose that her hands had been as deft as those that had been accustomed to skilled labor; then one of two things would have happened; either the South would have been too intelligent to withdraw from the Union, or, having withdrawn, it would have had the power to maintain its position. My opinion is that is would have been too intelligent to withdraw.

When the South seceded it had no factories. The people of the South had ability, but it was not trained in the direction then necessary. They could not arm and equip their men; they could not make their clothes; they could not provide them with guns, with cannon, with ammunition, and with the countless implements of destruction. They had not the ingenuity; they had not the means; they could not make cars to carry their troops, or locomotives to draw them; they had not in their armies the men to build bridges or to supply the needed transportation. They had nothing but cotton —that is to say, raw material. So that you might say that the Rebellion has settled the question as to whether a country is better off and more prosperous, and more powerful, and more ready for war, that is filled with industries, or one that depends simply upon the production of raw material.

There is another thing in this connection that should never be forgotten—at least, not until after the election in November, and then if forgotten, should be remembered at every subsequent election —and that is, that the Southern Confederacy had in its Constitution the doctrine of free trade. Among other things it was fighting for free trade. As a matter of fact, John C. Calhoun was fighting for free trade; the nullification business was in the interest of free trade.

The Southern people are endeavoring simply to accomplish, with the aid of New York, what they failed to accomplish on the field. The South is as "solid" to-day as in 1863. It is now for free trade, and it purposes to carry the day by the aid of one or two Northern States. History is repeating itself. It was the same for many years, up to the election of Abraham Lincoln.

Understand me, I do not blame the South for acting in accordance with its convictions, but the North ought not to be misled. The North ought to understand what the issue is. The South has a different idea of government—it is afraid of what it calls "centralization"—it is extremely sensitive about what are called "State Rights" or the sovereignty of the State. But the North believes in a Union that is united. The North does not expect to have any interest antagonistic to the Union. The North has no mental reservation. The North believes in the Government and in the Federal system, and the North believes that when a State is admitted into the Union it becomes a part—an integral part—of the Nation; that there was a welding, that the State, so far as sovereignty is concerned, is lost in the Union, and that the people of that State become citizens of the whole country.

Question. I see that by the vote two of the five Democrats who voted for protection, and one of the two Republicans who voted for free trade, were New Yorkers. What do you think is the significance of this fact in relation to the question as to whether New York will join the South in the opposition to the industries of the country?

Answer. In the city of New York there are a vast number of men —importers, dealers in foreign articles, representatives of foreign houses, of foreign interests, of foreign ideas. Of course most of these people are in favor of free trade. They regard New York as a good market; beyond that they have not the slightest interest in the United States. They are in favor of anything that will give them a large profit, or that will allow them to do the same business with less capital, or that will do them any good without the slightest regard as to what the effect may be on this country as a nation. They come from all countries, and they expect to remain here until their fortunes are made or lost and all their ideas are moulded by their own interests. Then, there are a great many natives who are merchants in New York and who deal in foreign goods, and they probably think—some of them—that it would be to their interest to have free trade, and they will probably vote according to the ledger. With them it is a question of bookkeeping. Their greed is too great to appreciate the fact that to impoverish customers destroys trade.

At the same time, New York, being one of the greatest manufacturing States of the world, will be for protection, and the Democrats of New York who voted for protection did so, not only because the believed in it themselves, but because their constituents believe in it, and the Republicans who voted the other way must have represented some district where the foreign influence controls.

The people of this State will protect their own industries.

Question. What will be the fate of the Mills Bill in the Senate?

Answer. I think that unless the Senate has a bill prepared embodying Republican ideals, a committee should be appointed, not simply to examine the Mills Bill, but to get the opinions and the ideas of the most intelligent manufacturers and mechanics in this country. Let the questions be thoroughly discussed, and let the information thus obtained be given to the people; let it be published from day to day; let the laboring man have his say, let the manufacturer give his opinion; let the representatives of the principal industries be heard, so that we may vote intelligently, so that the people may know what they are doing.

A great many industries have been attacked. Let them defend themselves. Public property should not be taken for Democratic use without due process of law.

Certainly it is not the business of a Republican Senate to pull the donkey of the Democrats out of the pit; the dug the pit, and we have lost no donkey.

I do not think the Senate called upon to fix up this Mills Bill, to rectify its most glaring mistakes, and then for the sake of saving a little, give up a great deal. What we have got is safe until the Democrats have the power to pass a bill. We can protect our rights by not passing their bills. In other words, we do not wish to practice any great self-denial simply for the purpose of insuring Democratic success. If the bill is sent back to the House, no matter in what form, if it still has the name "Mills Bill" I think the Democrats will vote for it simply to get out of their trouble. They will have the President's message left.

But I do hope that the Senate will investigate this business. It is hardly fair to ask the Senate to take decided and final action upon this bill in the last days of the session. There is no time to consider it unless it is instantly defeated. This would probably be a safe course, and yet, by accident, there may be some good things in this bill that ought to be preserved, and certainly the Democratic party ought to regard it as a compliment to keep it long enough to read it.

The interests involved are great—there are the commercial and industrial interests of sixty millions of people. These questions touch the prosperity of the Republic. Every person under the flag has a direct interest in the solution of these questions. The end that is now arrived at, the policy now adopted, may and probably will last for many years. One can hardly overestimate the immensity of the interests at stake. A man dealing with his own affairs should take time to consider; he should give himself the benefit of his best judgment. When acting for others he should do no less. The Senators represent, or should represent, not only their own views, but above these things they represent the material interests of their constituents, of their States, and to this trust they must be true, and in order to be true, they must understand the material interests of their States, and in order to be faithful, they must understand how the proposed changes in the tariff will affect these interests. This cannot be done in a moment.

In my judgment, the best way is for the Senate, through the proper committee, to hear testimony, to hear the views of intelligent men, of interested men, of prejudiced men—that is to say, they should look at the question from all sides.

Question. The Senate is almost tied; do you think that any Republicans are likely to vote in the interest of the President's policy at this session?

Answer. Of course I cannot pretend to answer that question from any special knowledge, or on any information that others are not in possession of. My idea is simply this: That a majority of the Senators are opposed to the President's policy. A majority of the Senate will, in my judgment, sustain the Republican policy; that is to say, they will stand by the American system. A majority of the Senate, I think, know that it will be impossible for us to compete in the markets of the world with those nations in which labor is far cheaper than it is in the United States, and that when you make the raw material just the same, you have not overcome the difference in labor, and until this is overcome we cannot successfully compete in the markets of the world with those countries where labor is cheaper. And there are only two ways to overcome this difficulty—either the price of labor must go up in the other countries or must go down in this. I do not believe that a majority of the Senate can be induced to vote for a policy that will decrease the wages of American workingmen.

There is this curious thing: The President started out blowing the trumpet of free trade. It gave, as the Democrats used to say, "no uncertain sound." He blew with all his might. Messrs. Morrison, Carlisle, Mills and many others joined the band. When the Mills Bill was introduced it was heralded as the legitimate offspring of the President's message. When the Democratic convention at St. Louis met, the declaration was made that the President's message, the Mills Bill, the Democratic platform of 1884 and the Democratic platform of 1888, were all the same—all segments of one circle; in fact, they were like modern locomotives—"all the parts interchangeable." As soon as the Republican convention met, made its platform and named its candidates, it is not free trade, but freer trade; and now Mr. Mills, in the last speech that he was permitted to make in favor of his bill, endeavored to show that it was a high protective tariff measure.

This is what lawyers call "a departure in pleading." That is to say, it is a case that ought to be beaten on demurrer.

—New York Press, July 29, 1888.

SOCIETY AND ITS CRIMINALS*

     [* Col. Robert G. Ingersoll was greatly interested in
     securing for Chiara Cignarale a commutation of the death
     sentence to imprisonment for life.  In view of the fact that
     the great Agnostic has made a close study of capital
     punishment, a reporter for the World called upon him a day
     or two ago for an interview touching modern reformatory
     measures and the punishment of criminals.  Speaking
     generally on the subject Colonel Ingersoll said:]

I suppose that society—that is to say, a state or a nation—has the right of self-defence. It is impossible to maintain society— that is to say, to protect the rights of individuals in life, in property, in reputation, and in the various pursuits known as trades and professions, without in some way taking care of those who violate these rights. The principal object of all government should be to protect those in the right from those in the wrong. There are a vast number of people who need to be protected who are unable, by reason of the defects in their minds and by the countless circumstances that enter into the question of making a living, to protect themselves. Among the barbarians there was, comparatively speaking, but little difference. A living was made by fishing and hunting. These arts were simple and easily learned. The principal difference in barbarians consisted in physical strength and courage. As a consequence, there were comparatively few failures. Most men were on an equality. Now that we are somewhat civilized, life has become wonderfully complex. There are hundreds of arts, trades, and professions, and in every one of these there is great competition.

Besides all this, something is needed every moment. Civilized man has less credit than the barbarian. There is something by which everything can be paid for, including the smallest services. Everybody demands payment, and he who fails to pay is a failure. Owing to the competition, owing to the complexity of modern life, owing to the thousand things that must be known in order to succeed in any direction, on either side of the great highway that is called Progress, are innumerable wrecks. As a rule, failure in some honest direction, or at least in some useful employment, is the dawn of crime. People who are prosperous, people who by reasonable labor can make a reasonable living, who, having a little leisure can lay in a little for the winter that comes to all, are honest.

As a rule, reasonable prosperity is virtuous. I don't say great prosperity, because it is very hard for the average man to withstand extremes. When people fail under this law, or rather this fact, of the survival of the fittest, they endeavor to do by some illegal way that which they failed to do in accordance with law. Persons driven from the highway take to the fields, and endeavor to reach their end or object in some shorter way, by some quicker path, regardless of its being right or wrong.

I have said this much to show that I regard criminals as unfortunates. Most people regard those who violate the law with hatred. They do not take into consideration the circumstances. They do not believe that man is perpetually acted upon. They throw out of consideration the effect of poverty, of necessity, and above all, of opportunity. For these reasons they regard criminals with feelings of revenge. They wish to see them punished. They want them imprisoned or hanged. They do not think the law has been vindicated unless somebody has been outraged. I look at these things from an entirely different point of view. I regard these people who are in the clutches of the law not only as unfortunates, but, for the most part, as victims. You may call them victims of nature, or of nations, or of governments; it makes no difference, they are victims. Under the same circumstances the very persons who punish them would be punished. But whether the criminal is a victim or not, the honest man, the industrious man, has the right to defend the product of his labor. He who sows and plows should be allowed to reap, and he who endeavors to take from him his harvest is what we call a criminal; and it is the business of society to protect the honest from the dishonest.

Without taking into account whether the man is or is not responsible, still society has the right of self-defence. Whether that right of self-defence goes to the extent of taking life, depends, I imagine, upon the circumstances in which society finds itself placed. A thousand men on a ship form a society. If a few men should enter into a plot for the destruction of the ship, or for turning it over to pirates, or for poisoning and plundering the most of the passengers—if the passengers found this out certainly they would have the right of self-defence. They might not have the means to confine the conspirators with safety. Under such circumstances it might be perfectly proper for them to destroy their lives and to throw their worthless bodies into the sea. But what society has the right to do depends upon the circumstances. Now, in my judgment, society has the right to do two things—to protect itself and to do what it can to reform the individual. Society has no right to take revenge; no right to torture a convict; no right to do wrong because some individual has done wrong. I am opposed to all corporal punishment in penitentiaries. I am opposed to anything that degrades a criminal or leaves upon him an unnecessary stain, or puts upon him any stain that he did not put upon himself.

Most people defend capital punishment on the ground that the man ought to be killed because he has killed another. The only real ground for killing him, even if that be good, is not that he has killed, but that he may kill. What he has done simply gives evidence of what he may do, and to prevent what he may do, instead of to revenge what he has done, should be the reason given.

Now, there is another view. To what extent does it harden the community for the Government to take life? Don't people reason in this way: That man ought to be killed; the Government, under the same circumstances, would kill him, therefore I will kill him? Does not the Government feed the mob spirit—the lynch spirit? Does not the mob follow the example set by the Government? The Government certainly cannot say that it hangs a man for the purpose of reforming him. Its feelings toward that man are only feelings of revenge and hatred. These are the same feelings that animate the lowest and basest mob.

Let me give you an example. In the city of Bloomington, in the State of Illinois, a man confined in the jail, in his efforts to escape, shot and, I believe, killed the jailer. He was pursued, recaptured, brought back and hanged by a mob. The man who put the rope around his neck was then under indictment for an assault to kill and was out on bail, and after the poor wretch was hanged another man climbed the tree and, in a kind of derision, put a piece of cigar between the lips of the dead man. The man who did this had also been indicted for a penitentiary offence and was then out on bail.

I mention this simply to show the kind of people you find in mobs. Now, if the Government had a greater and nobler thought; if the Government said: "We will reform; we will not destroy; but if the man is beyond reformation we will simply put him where he can do no more harm," then, in my judgment, the effect would be far better. My own opinion is, that the effect of an execution is bad upon the community—degrading and debasing. The effect is to cheapen human life; and, although a man is hanged because he has taken human life, the very fact that his life is taken by the Government tends to do away with the idea that human life is sacred.

Let me give you an illustration. A man in the city of Washington went to Alexandria, Va., for the purpose of seeing a man hanged who had murdered an old man and a woman for the purpose of getting their money. On his return from that execution he came through what is called the Smithsonian grounds. This was on the same day, late in the evening. There he met a peddler, whom he proceeded to murder for his money. He was arrested in a few hours, in a little while was tried and convicted, and in a little while was hanged. And another man, present at this second execution, went home on that same day, and, in passing by a butcher-shop near his house, went in, took from the shop a cleaver, went into his house and chopped his wife's head off.

This, I say, throws a little light upon the effect of public executions. In the Cignarale case, of course the sentence should have been commuted. I think, however, that she ought not to be imprisoned for life. From what I read of the testimony I think she should have been pardoned.

It is hard, I suppose, for a man fully to understand and enter into the feelings of a wife who has been trampled upon, abused, bruised, and blackened by the man she loved—by the man who made to her the vows of eternal affection. The woman, as a rule, is so weak, so helpless. Of course, it does not all happen in a moment. It comes on as the night comes. She notices that he does not act quite as affectionately as he formerly did. Day after day, month after month, she feels that she is entering a twilight. But she hopes that she is mistaken, and that the light will come again. The gloom deepens, and at last she is in midnight—a midnight without a star. And this man, whom she once worshiped, is now her enemy— one who delights to trample upon every sentiment she has—who delights in humiliating her, and who is guilty of a thousand nameless tyrannies. Under these circumstances, it is hardly right to hold that woman accountable for what she does. It has always seemed to me strange that a woman so circumstanced—in such fear that she dare not even tell her trouble—in such fear that she dare not even run away—dare not tell a father or a mother, for fear that she will be killed—I say, that in view of all this, it has always seemed strange to me that so few husbands have been poisoned.

The probability is that society raises its own criminals. It plows the land, sows the seed, and harvests the crop. I believe that the shadow of the gibbet will not always fall upon the earth. I believe the time will come when we shall know too much to raise criminals—know too much to crowd those that labor into the dens and dungeons that we call tenements, while the idle live in palaces. The time will come when men will know that real progress means the enfranchisement of the whole human race, and that our interests are so united, so interwoven, that the few cannot be happy while the many suffer; so that the many cannot be happy while the few suffer; so that none can be happy while one suffers. In other words, it will be found that the human race is interested in each individual. When that time comes we will stop producing criminals; we will stop producing failures; we will not leave the next generation to chance; we will not regard the gutter as a proper nursery for posterity.

People imagine that if the thieves are sent to the penitentiary, that is the last of the thieves; that if those who kill others are hanged, society is on a safe and enduring basis. But the trouble is here: A man comes to your front door and you drive him away. You have an idea that that man's case is settled. You are mistaken. He goes to the back door. He is again driven away. But the case is not settled. The next thing you know he enters at night. He is a burglar. He is caught; he is convicted; he is sent to the penitentiary, and you imagine that the case is settled. But it is not. You must remember that you have to keep all the agencies alive for the purpose of taking care of these people. You have to build and maintain your penitentiaries, your courts of justice; you have to pay your judges, your district attorneys, your juries, you witnesses, your detectives, your police—all these people must be paid. So that, after all, it is a very expensive way of settling this question. You could have done it far more cheaply had you found this burglar when he was a child; had you taken his father and mother from the tenement house, or had you compelled the owners to keep the tenement clean; or if you had widened the streets, if you had planted a few trees, if you had had plenty of baths, if you had had a school in the neighborhood. If you had taken some interest in this family—some interest in this child—instead of breaking into houses, he might have been a builder of houses.

There is, and it cannot be said too often, no reforming influence in punishment; no reforming power in revenge. Only the best of men should be in charge of penitentiaries; only the noblest minds and the tenderest hearts should have the care of criminals. Criminals should see from the first moment that they enter a penitentiary that it is filled with the air of kindness, full of the light of hope. The object should be to convince every criminal that he has made a mistake; that he has taken the wrong way; that the right way is the easy way, and that the path of crime never did and never can lead to happiness; that that idea is a mistake, and that the Government wishes to convince him that he has made a mistake; wishes to open his intellectual eyes; wishes so to educate him, so to elevate him, that he will look back upon what he has done, only with horror. This is reformation. Punishment is not. When the convict is taken to Sing Sing or to Auburn, and when a striped suit of clothes is put upon him—that is to say, when he is made to feel the degradation of his position—no step has been taken toward reformation. You have simply filled his heart with hatred. Then, when he has been abused for several years, treated like a wild beast, and finally turned out again in the community, he has no thought, in a majority of cases, except to "get even" with those who have persecuted him. He feels that it is a persecution.

Question. Do you think that men are naturally criminals and naturally virtuous?

Answer. I think that man does all that he does naturally—that is to say, a certain man does a certain act under certain circumstances, and he does this naturally. For instance, a man sees a five dollar bill, and he knows that he can take it without being seen. Five dollars is no temptation to him. Under the circumstances it is not natural that he should take it. The same man sees five million dollars, and feels that he can get possession of it without detection. If he takes it, then under the circumstances, that was natural to him. And yet I believe there are men above all price, and that no amount of temptation or glory or fame could mislead them. Still, whatever man does, is or was natural to him.

Another view of the subject is this: I have read that out of fifty criminals who had been executed it was found, I believe, in nearly all the cases, that the shape of the skull was abnormal. Whether this is true or not, I don't know; but that some men have a tendency toward what we call crime, I believe. Where this has been ascertained, then, it seems to me, such men should be placed where they cannot multiply their kind. Women who have a criminal tendency should be placed where they cannot increase their kind. For hardened criminals —that is to say, for the people who make crime a business—it would probably be better to separate the sexes; to send the men to one island, the women to another. Let them be kept apart, to the end that people with criminal tendencies may fade from the earth. This is not prompted by revenge. This would not be done for the purpose of punishing these people, but for the protection of society —for the peace and happiness of the future.

My own belief is that the system in vogue now in regard to the treatment of criminals in many States produces more crime than it prevents. Take, for instance, the Southern States. There is hardly a chapter in the history of the world the reading of which could produce greater indignation than the history of the convict system in many of the Southern States. These convicts are hired out for the purpose of building railways, or plowing fields, or digging coal, and in some instances the death-rate has been over twelve per cent. a month. The evidence shows that no respect was paid to the sexes—men and women were chained together indiscriminately. The evidence also shows that for the slightest offences they were shot down like beasts. They were pursued by hounds, and their flesh was torn from their bones.

So in some of the Northern prisons they have what they call the weighing machine—an infamous thing, and he who uses it commits as great a crime as the convict he punishes could have committed. All these things are degrading, debasing, and demoralizing. There is no need of any such punishment in any penitentiary. Let the punishment be of such kind that the convict is responsible himself. For instance, if the convict refuses to obey a reasonable rule he can be put into a cell. He can be fed when he obeys the rule.

If he goes hungry it is his own fault. It depends upon himself to say when he shall eat. Or he may be placed in such a position that if he does not work—if he does not pump—the water will rise and drown him. If the water does rise it is his fault. Nobody pours it upon him. He takes his choice.

These are suggested as desperate cases, but I can imagine no case where what is called corporal punishment should be inflicted, and the reason I am against it is this: I am opposed to any punishment that cannot be inflicted by a gentleman. I am opposed to any punishment the infliction of which tends to harden and debase the man who inflicts it. I am for no laws that have to be carried out by human curs.

Take, for instance, the whipping-post. Nothing can be more degrading. The man who applies the lash is necessarily a cruel and vulgar man, and the oftener he applies it the more and more debased he will become. The whole thing can be stated in the one sentence: I am opposed to any punishment that cannot be inflicted by a gentleman, and by "gentleman" I mean a self-respecting, honest, generous man.

Question. What do you think of the efficacy or the propriety of punishing criminals by solitary confinement?

Answer. Solitary confinement is a species of torture. I am opposed to all torture. I think the criminal should not be punished. He should be reformed, if he is capable of reformation. But, whatever is done, it should not be done as a punishment. Society should be too noble, too generous, to harbor a thought of revenge. Society should not punish, it should protect itself only. It should endeavor to reform the individual. Now, solitary confinement does not, I imagine, tend to the reformation of the individual. Neither can the person in that position do good to any human being. The prisoner will be altogether happier when his mind is engaged, when his hands are busy, when he has something to do. This keeps alive what we call cheerfulness. And let me say a word on this point.

I don't believe that the State ought to steal the labor of a convict. Here is a man who has a family. He is sent to the penitentiary. He works from morning till night. Now, in my judgment, he ought to be paid for the labor over and above what it costs to keep him. That money should be sent to his family. That money should be subject, at least, to his direction. If he is a single man, when he comes out of the penitentiary he should be given his earnings, and all his earnings, so that he would not have the feeling that he had been robbed. A statement should be given to him to show what it had cost to keep him and how much his labor had brought and the balance remaining in his favor. With this little balance he could go out into the world with something like independence. This little balance would be a foundation for his honesty—a foundation for a resolution on his part to be a man. But now each one goes out with the feeling that he has not only been punished for the crime which he committed, but that he has been robbed of the results of his labor while there.

The idea is simply preposterous that the people sent to the penitentiary should live in idleness. They should have the benefit of their labor, and if you give them the benefit of their labor they will turn out as good work as if they were out of the penitentiary. They will have the same reason to do their best. Consequently, poor articles, poorly constructed things, would not come into competition with good articles made by free people outside of the walls.

Now many mechanics are complaining because work done in the penitentiaries is brought into competition with their work. But the only reason that convict work is cheaper is because the poor wretch who does it is robbed. The only reason that the work is poor is because the man who does it has no interest in its being good. If he had the profit of his own labor he would do the best that was in him, and the consequence would be that the wares manufactured in the prisons would be as good as those manufactured elsewhere. For instance, we will say here are three or four men working together. They are all free men. One commits a crime and he is sent to the penitentiary. Is it possible that his companions would object to his being paid for honest work in the penitentiary?

And let me say right here, all labor is honest. Whoever makes a useful thing, the labor is honest, no matter whether the work is done in a penitentiary or in a palace; in a hovel or the open field. Wherever work is done for the good of others, it is honest work. If the laboring men would stop and think, they would know that they support everybody. Labor pays all the taxes. Labor supports all the penitentiaries. Labor pays the warden. Labor pays everything, and if the convicts are allowed to live in idleness labor must pay their board. Every cent of tax is borne by the back of labor. No matter whether your tariff is put on champagne and diamonds, it has to be paid by the men and women who work—those who plow in the fields, who wash and iron, who stand by the forge, who run the cars and work in the mines, and by those who battle with the waves of the sea. Labor pays every bill.

There is one little thing to which I wish to call the attention of all who happen to read this interview, and that is this: Undoubtedly you think of all criminals with horror and when you hear about them you are, in all probability, filled with virtuous indignation. But, first of all, I want you to think of what you have in fact done. Secondly, I want you to think of what you have wanted to do. Thirdly, I want you to reflect whether you were prevented from doing what you wanted to do by fear or by lack of opportunity. Then perhaps you will have more charity.

Question. What do you think of the new legislation in the State changing the death penalty to death by electricity?

Answer. If death by electricity is less painful than hanging, then the law, so far as that goes, is good. There is not the slightest propriety in inflicting upon the person executed one single unnecessary pang, because that partakes of the nature of revenge—that is to say, of hatred—and, as a consequence, the State shows the same spirit that the criminal was animated by when he took the life of his neighbor. If the death penalty is to be inflicted, let it be done in the most humane way. For my part, I should like to see the criminal removed, if he must be removed, with the same care and with the same mercy that you would perform a surgical operation. Why inflict pain? Who wants it inflicted? What good can it, by any possibility, do? To inflict unnecessary pain hardens him who inflicts it, hardens each among those who witness it, and tends to demoralize the community.

Question. Is it not the fact that punishments have grown less and less severe for many years past?

Answer. In the old times punishment was the only means of reformation. If anybody did wrong, punish him. If people still continued to commit the same offence, increase the punishment; and that went on until in what they call "civilized countries" they hanged people, provided they stole the value of one shilling. But larceny kept right on. There was no diminution. So, for treason, barbarous punishments were inflicted. Those guilty of that offence were torn asunder by horses; their entrails were cut out of them while they were yet living and thrown into their faces; their bodies were quartered and their heads were set on pikes above the gates of the city. Yet there was a hundred times more treason then than now. Every time a man was executed and mutilated and tortured in this way the seeds of other treason were sown.

So in the church there was the same idea. No reformation but by punishment. Of course in this world the punishment stopped when the poor wretch was dead. It was found that that punishment did not reform, so the church said: "After death it will go right on, getting worse and worse, forever and forever." Finally it was found that this did not tend to the reformation of mankind. Slowly the fires of hell have been dying out. The climate has been changing from year to year. Men have lost confidence in the power of the thumbscrew, the fagot, and the rack here, and they are losing confidence in the flames of perdition hereafter. In other words, it is simply a question of civilization.

When men become civilized in matters of thought, they will know that every human being has the right to think for himself, and the right to express his honest thought. Then the world of thought will be free. At that time they will be intelligent enough to know that men have different thoughts, that their ways are not alike, because they have lived under different circumstances, and in that time they will also know that men act as they are acted upon. And it is my belief that the time will come when men will no more think of punishing a man because he has committed the crime of larceny than they will think of punishing a man because he has the consumption. In the first case they will endeavor to reform him, and in the second case they will endeavor to cure him.

The intelligent people of the world, many of them, are endeavoring to find out the great facts in Nature that control the dispositions of men. So other intelligent people are endeavoring to ascertain the facts and conditions that govern what we call health, and what we call disease, and the object of these people is finally to produce a race without disease of flesh and without disease of mind. These people look forward to the time when there need to be neither hospitals nor penitentiaries.

—New York World, August 5, 1888.

WOMAN'S RIGHT TO DIVORCE.

Question. Col. Robert G. Ingersoll, the great Agnostic, has always been an ardent defender of the sanctity of the home and of the marriage relation. Apropos of the horrible account of a man's tearing out the eyes of his wife at Far Rockaway last week, Colonel Ingersoll was asked what recourse a woman had under such circumstances?

Answer. I read the account, and I don't remember of ever having read anything more perfectly horrible and cruel. It is impossible for me to imagine such a monster, or to account for such an inhuman human being. How a man could deprive a human being of sight, except where some religious question is involved, is beyond my comprehension. We know that for many centuries frightful punishments were inflicted, and inflicted by the pious, by the theologians, by the spiritual minded, and by those who "loved their neighbors as themselves." We read the accounts of how the lids of men's eyes were cut off and then the poor victims tied where the sum would shine upon their lifeless orbs; of others who were buried alive; of others staked out on the sands of the sea, to be drowned by the rising tide; of others put in sacks filled with snakes. Yet these things appeared far away, and we flattered ourselves that, to a great degree, the world had outgrown these atrocities; and now, here, near the close of the nineteenth century, we find a man—a husband—cruel enough to put out the eyes of the woman he swore to love, protect and cherish. This man has probably been taught that there is forgiveness for every crime, and now imagines that when he repents there will be more joy in heaven over him than over ninety and nine good and loving husbands who have treated their wives in the best possible manner, and who, instead of tearing out their eyes, have filled their lives with content and covered their faces with kisses.

Question. You told me, last week, in a general way, what society should do with the husband in such a case as that. I would like to ask you to-day, what you think society ought to do with the wife in such a case, or what ought the wife to be permitted to do for herself?

Answer. When we take into consideration the crime of the man who blinded his wife, it is impossible not to think of the right of divorce. Many people insist that marriage is an indissoluble tie; that nothing can break it, and that nothing can release either party from the bond. Now, take this case at Far Rockaway. One year ago the husband tore out one of his wife's eyes. Had she then good cause for divorce? Is it possible that an infinitely wise and good God would insist on this poor, helpless woman remaining with the wild beast, her husband? Can anyone imagine that such a course would add to the joy of Paradise, or even tend to keep one harp in tune? Can the good of society require the woman to remain? She did remain, and the result is that the other eye has been torn from its socket by the hands of the husband. Is she entitled to a divorce now? And if she is granted one, is virtue in danger, and shall we lose the high ideal of home life? Can anything be more infamous than to endeavor to make a woman, under such circumstances, remain with such a man? It may be said that she should leave him—that they should live separate and apart. That is to say, that this woman should be deprived of a home; that she should not be entitled to the love of man; that she should remain, for the rest of her days, worse than a widow. That is to say, a wife, hiding, keeping out of the way, secreting herself from the hyena to whom she was married. Nothing, in my judgment, can exceed the heartlessness of a law or of a creed that would compel this woman to remain the wife of this monster. And it is not only cruel, but it is immoral, low, vulgar.

The ground has been taken that woman would lose her dignity if marriages were dissoluble. Is it necessary to lose your freedom in order to retain your character, in order to be womanly or manly? Must a woman in order to retain her womanhood become a slave, a serf, with a wild beast for a master, or with society for a master, or with a phantom for a master? Has not the married woman the right of self-defence? Is it not the duty of society to protect her from her husband? If she owes no duty to her husband; if it is impossible for her to feel toward him any thrill of affection, what is there of marriage left? What part of the contract remains in force? She is not to live with him, because she abhors him. She is not to remain in the same house with him, for fear he may kill her. What, then, are their relations? Do they sustain any relation except that of hunter and hunted—that is, of tyrant and victim? And is it desirable that this relation should be rendered sacred by a church? Is it desirable to have families raised under such circumstances? Are we really in need of the children born of such parents? If the woman is not in fault, does society insist that her life should be wrecked? Can the virtue of others be preserved only by the destruction of her happiness, and by what might be called her perpetual imprisonment? I hope the clergy who believe in the sacredness of marriage—in the indissolubility of the marriage tie—will give their opinions on this case. I believe that marriage is the most important contract that human beings can make. I always believe that a man will keep his contract; that a woman, in the highest sense, will keep hers, But suppose the man does not. Is the woman still bound?

Is there no mutuality? What is a contract? It is where one party promises to do something in consideration that the other party will do something. That is to say, there is a consideration on both sides, moving from one to the other. A contract without consideration is null and void; and a contract duly entered into, where the consideration of one party is withheld, is voidable, and can be voided by the party who has kept, or who is willing to keep, the contract. A marriage without love is bad enough. But what can we say of a marriage where the parties hate each other? Is there any morality in this—any virtue? Will any decent person say that a woman, true, good and loving, should be compelled to live with a man she detests, compelled to be the mother of his children? Is there a woman in the world who would not shrink from this herself? And is there a woman so heartless and so immoral that she would force another to bear what she would shudderingly avoid? Let us bring these questions home. In other words, let us have some sense, some feeling, some heart—and just a little brain. Marriages are made by men and women. They are not made by the State, and they are not made by the gods. By this time people should learn that human happiness is the foundation of virtue—the foundation of morality. Nothing is moral that does not tend to the well-being of sentient beings. Nothing is virtuous the result of which is not a human good. The world has always been living for phantoms, for ghosts, for monsters begotten by ignorance and fear. The world should learn to live for itself. Man should, by this time, be convinced that all the reasons for doing right, and all the reasons for doing wrong, are right here in this world—all within the horizon of this life. And besides, we should have imagination to put ourselves in the place of another. Let a man suppose himself a helpless wife, beaten by a brute who believes in the indissolubility of marriage. Would he want a divorce?

I suppose that very few people have any adequate idea of the sufferings of women and children; of the number of wives who tremble when they hear the footsteps of a returning husband; of the number of children who hide when they hear the voice of a father. Very few people know the number of blows that fall on the flesh of the helpless every day. Few know the nights of terror passed by mothers holding young children at their breasts. Compared with this, the hardships of poverty, borne by those who love each other, are nothing. Men and women, truly married, bear the sufferings of poverty. They console each other; their affection gives to the heart of each perpetual sunshine. But think of the others! I have said a thousand times that the home is the unit of good government. When we have kind fathers and loving mothers, then we shall have civilized nations, and not until then. Civilization commences at the hearthstone. When intelligence rocks the cradle—when the house is filled with philosophy and kindness—you will see a world a peace. Justice will sit in the courts, wisdom in the legislative halls, and over all, like the dome of heaven, will be the spirit of Liberty!

Question. What is your idea with regard to divorce?

Answer. My idea is this: As I said before, marriage is the most sacred contract—the most important contract—that human beings can make. As a rule, the woman dowers the husband with her youth—with all she has. From this contract the husband should never be released unless the wife has broken a condition; that is to say, has failed to fulfill the contract of marriage. On the other hand, the woman should be allowed a divorce for the asking. This should be granted in public, precisely as the marriage should be in public. Every marriage should be known. There should be witnesses, to the end that the character of the contract entered into should be understood; and as all marriage records should be kept, so the divorce should be open, public and known. The property should be divided by a court of equity, under certain regulations of law. If there are children, they should be provided for through the property and the parents. People should understand that men and women are not virtuous by law. They should comprehend the fact that law does not create virtue—that law is not the foundation, the fountain, of love. They should understand that love is in the human heart, and that real love is virtuous. People who love each other will be true to each other. The death of love is the commencement of vice. Besides this, there is a public opinion that has great weight. When that public opinion is right, it does a vast amount of good, and when wrong, a great amount of harm. People marry, or should marry, because it increases the happiness of each and all. But where the marriage turns out to have been a mistake, and where the result is misery, and not happiness, the quicker they are divorced the better, not only for themselves, but for the community at large. These arguments are generally answered by some donkey braying about free love, and by "free love" he means a condition of society in which there is no love. The persons who make this cry are, in all probability, incapable of the sentiment, of the feeling, known as love. They judge others by themselves, and they imagine that without law there would be no restraint.

What do they say of natural modesty? Do they forget that people have a choice? Do they not understand something of the human heart, and that true love has always been as pure as the morning star? Do they believe that by forcing people to remain together who despise each other they are adding to the purity of the marriage relation? Do they not know that all marriage is an outward act, testifying to that which has happened in the heart? Still, I always believe that words are wasted on such people. It is useless to talk to anybody about music who is unable to distinguish one tune from another. It is useless to argue with a man who regards his wife as his property, and it is hardly worth while to suggest anything to a gentleman who imagines that society is so constructed that it really requires, for the protection of itself, that the lives of good and noble women should be wrecked, I am a believer in the virtue of women, in the honesty of man. The average woman is virtuous; the average man is honest, and the history of the world shows it. If it were not so, society would be impossible. I don't mean by this that most men are perfect, but what I mean is this: That there is far more good than evil in the average human being, and that the natural tendency of most people is toward the good and toward the right. And I most passionately deny that the good of society demands that any good person should suffer. I do not regard government as a Juggernaut, the wheels of which must, of necessity, roll over and crush the virtuous, the self-denying and the good. My doctrine is the exact opposite of what is known as free love. I believe in the marriage of true minds and of true hearts. But I believe that thousands of people are married who do not love each other. That is the misfortune of our century. Other things are taken into consideration—position, wealth, title and the thousand things that have nothing to do with real affection. Where men and women truly love each other, that love, in my judgment, lasts as long as life. The greatest line that I know of in the poetry of the world is in the 116th sonnet of Shakespeare: "Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds."

Question. Why do you make such a distinction between the rights of man and the rights of women?

Answer. The woman has, as her capital, her youth, her beauty. We will say that she is married at twenty or twenty-five. In a few years she has lost her beauty. During these years the man, so far as capacity to make money is concerned—to do something—has grown better and better. That is to say, his chances have improved; hers have diminished. She has dowered him with the Spring of her life, and as her life advances her chances decrease. Consequently, I would give her the advantage, and I would not compel her to remain with him against her will. It seems to me far worse to be a wife upon compulsion than to be a husband upon compulsion. Besides this, I have a feeling of infinite tenderness toward mothers. The woman that bears children certainly should not be compelled to live with a man whom she despises. The suffering is enough when the father of the child is to her the one man of all the world. Many people who have a mechanical apparatus in their breasts that assists in the circulation of what they call blood, regard these views as sentimental. But when you take sentiment out of the world nothing is left worth living for, and when you get sentiment out of the heart it is nothing more or less than a pump, an old piece of rubber that has acquired the habit of contracting and dilating. But I have this consolation: The people that do not agree with me are those that do not understand me.

—New York World, 1888.

SECULARISM.

Question. Colonel, what is your opinion of Secularism? Do you regard it as a religion?

Answer. I understand that the word Secularism embraces everything that is of any real interest or value to the human race. I take it for granted that everybody will admit that well-being is the only good; that is to say, that it is impossible to conceive of anything of real value that does not tend either to preserve or to increase the happiness of some sentient being. Secularism, therefore, covers the entire territory. It fills the circumference of human knowledge and of human effort. It is, you may say, the religion of this world; but if there is another world, it is necessarily the religion of that, as well.

Man finds himself in this world naked and hungry. He needs food, raiment, shelter. He finds himself filled with almost innumerable wants. To gratify these wants is the principal business of life. To gratify them without interfering with other people is the course pursued by all honest men.

Secularism teaches us to be good here and now. I know nothing better than goodness. Secularism teaches us to be just here and now. It is impossible to be juster than just.

Man can be as just in this world as in any other, and justice must be the same in all worlds. Secularism teaches a man to be generous, and generosity is certainly as good here as it can be anywhere else. Secularism teaches a man to be charitable, and certainly charity is as beautiful in this world and in this short life as it could be were man immortal.

But orthodox people insist that there is something higher than Secularism; but, as a matter of fact, the mind of man can conceive of nothing better, nothing higher, nothing more spiritual, than goodness, justice, generosity, charity. Neither has the mind of men been capable of finding a nobler incentive to action than human love. Secularism has to do with every possible relation. It says to the young man and to the young woman: "Don't marry unless you can take care of yourselves and your children." It says to the parents: "Live for your children; put forth every effort to the end that your children may know more than you—that they may be better and grander than you." It says: "You have no right to bring children into the world that you are not able to educate and feed and clothe." It says to those who have diseases that can be transmitted to children: "Do not marry; do not become parents; do not perpetuate suffering, deformity, agony, imbecility, insanity, poverty, wretchedness."

Secularism tells all children to do the best they can for their parents—to discharge every duty and every obligation. It defines the relation that should exist between husband and wife; between parent and child; between the citizen and the Nation. And not only that, but between nations.

Secularism is a religion that is to be used everywhere, and at all times—that is to be taught everywhere and practiced at all times. It is not a religion that is so dangerous that it must be kept out of the schools; it is not a religion that is so dangerous that it must be kept out of politics. It belongs in the schools; it belongs at the polls. It is the business of Secularism to teach every child; to teach every voter. It is its business to discuss all political problems, and to decide all questions that affect the rights or the happiness of a human being.

Orthodox religion is a firebrand; it must be kept out of the schools; it must be kept out of politics. All the churches unite in saying that orthodox religion is not for every day use. The Catholics object to any Protestant religion being taught to children. Protestants object to any Catholic religion being taught to children. But the Secularist wants his religion taught to all; and his religion can produce no feeling, for the reason that it consists of facts—of truths. And all of it is important; important for the child, important for the parent, important for the politician —for the President—for all in power; important to every legislator, to every professional man, to every laborer and every farmer—that is to say, to every human being.

The great benefit of Secularism is that is appeals to the reason of every man. It asks every man to think for himself. It does not threaten punishment if a man thinks, but it offers a reward, for fear that he will not think. It does not say, "You will be damned in another world if you think." But it says, "You will be damned in this world if you do not think."

Secularism preserves the manhood and the womanhood of all. It says to each human being: "Stand upon your own feet. Count one! Examine for yourself. Investigate, observe, think. Express your opinion. Stand by your judgment, unless you are convinced you are wrong, and when you are convinced, you can maintain and preserve your manhood or womanhood only by admitting that you were wrong."

It is impossible that the whole world should agree on one creed. It may be impossible that any two human beings can agree exactly in religious belief. Secularism teaches that each one must take care of himself, that the first duty of man is to himself, to the end that he may be not only useful to himself, but to others. He who fails to take care of himself becomes a burden; the first duty of man is not to be a burden.

Every Secularist can give a reason for his creed. First of all, he believes in work—taking care of himself. He believes in the cultivation of the intellect, to the end that he may take advantage of the forces of nature—to the end that he may be clothed and fed and sheltered.

He also believes in giving to every other human being every right that he claims for himself. He does not depend on prayer. He has no confidence in ghosts or phantoms. He knows nothing of another world, and knows just as little of a First Cause. But what little he does know, he endeavors to use, and to use for the benefit of himself and others.

He knows that he sustains certain relations to other sentient beings, and he endeavors to add to the aggregate of human joy. He is his own church, his own priest, his own clergyman and his own pope. He decides for himself; in other words, he is a free man.

He also has a Bible, and this Bible embraces all the good and true things that have been written, no matter by whom, or in what language, or in what time. He accepts everything that he believes to be true, and rejects all that he thinks is false. He knows that nothing is added to the probability of an event, because there has been an account of it written and printed.

All that has been said that is true is part of his Bible. Every splendid and noble thought, every good word, every kind action— all these you will find in his Bible. And, in addition to these, all that is absolutely known—that has been demonstrated—belongs to the Secularist. All the inventions, machines—everything that has been of assistance to the human race—belongs to his religion. The Secularist is in possession of everything that man has. He is deprived only of that which man never had. The orthodox world believes in ghosts and phantoms, in dreams and prayers, in miracles and monstrosities; that is to say, in modern theology. But these things do not exist, or if they do exist, it is impossible for a human being to ascertain the fact. Secularism has no "castles in Spain." It has no glorified fog. It depends upon realities, upon demonstrations; and its end and aim is to make this world better every day—to do away with poverty and crime, and to cover the world with happy and contended homes.

Let me say, right here, that a few years ago the Secular Hall at Leicester, England, was opened by a speech from George Jacob Holyoake, entitled, "Secularism as a Religion." I have never read anything better on the subject of Secularism than this address. It is so clear and so manly that I do not see how any human being can read it without becoming convinced, and almost enraptured.

Let me quote a few lies from this address:—

"The mind of man would die if it were not for Thought, and were Thought suppressed, God would rule over a world of idiots.

"Nature feeds Thought, day and night, with a million hands.

"To think is a duty, because it is a man's duty not to be a fool.

"If man does not think himself, he is an intellectual pauper, living upon the truth acquired by others, and making no contribution himself in return. He has no ideas but such as he obtains by 'out- door relief,' and he goes about the world with a charity mind.

"The more thinkers there are in the world, the more truth there is in the world.

"Progress can only walk in the footsteps of Conviction.

"Coercion in thought is not progress, it reduces to ignominious pulp the backbone of the mind.

"By Religion I mean the simple creed of deed and duty, by which a man seeks his own welfare in his own way, with an honest and fair regard to the welfare and ways of others.

"In these thinking and practical days, men demand a religion of daily life, which stands on a business footing."

I think nothing could be much better than the following, which shows the exact relation that orthodox religion sustains to the actual wants of human beings:

"The Churches administer a system of Foreign Affairs.

"Secularism dwells in a land of its own. It dwells in a land of Certitude.

"In the Kingdom of Thought there is no conquest over man, but over foolishness only."

I will not quote more, but hope all who read this will read the address of Mr. Holyoake, who has, in my judgment, defined Secularism with the greatest possible clearness.

Question. What, in your opinion, are the best possible means to spread this gospel or religion of Secularism?

Answer. This can only be done by the cultivation of the mind— only through intelligence—because we are fighting only the monsters of the mind. The phantoms whom we are endeavoring to destroy do not exist; they are all imaginary. They live in that undeveloped or unexplored part of the mind that belongs to barbarism.

I have sometimes thought that a certain portion of the mind is cultivated so that it rises above the surrounding faculties and is like some peak that has lifted itself above the clouds, while all the valleys below are dark or dim with mist and cloud. It is in this valley-region, amid these mists, beneath these clouds, that these monsters and phantoms are born. And there they will remain until the mind sheds light—until the brain is developed.

One exceedingly important thing is to teach man that his mind has limitations; that there are walls that he cannot scale—that he cannot pierce, that he cannot dig under. When a man finds the limitations of his own mind, he knows that other people's minds have limitations. He, instead of believing what the priest says, he asks the priest questions. In a few moments he finds that the priest has been drawing on his imagination for what is beyond the wall. Consequently he finds that the priest knows no more than he, and it is impossible that he should know more than he.

An ignorant man has not the slightest suspicion of what a superior man may do. Consequently, he is liable to become the victim of the intelligent and cunning. A man wholly unacquainted with chemistry, after having been shown a few wonders, is ready to believe anything. But a chemist who knows something of the limitations of that science—who knows what chemists have done and who knows the nature of things—cannot be imposed upon. When no one can be imposed upon, orthodox religion cannot exist. It is an imposture, and there must be impostors and there must be victims, or the religion cannot be a success.

Secularism cannot be a success, universally, as long as there is an impostor or a victim. This is the difference: The foundation of orthodox religion is imposture. The foundation of Secularism is demonstration. Just to the extent that a man knows, he becomes a Secularist.

Question. What do you think of the action of the Knights of Labor in Indiana in turning out one of their members because he was an Atheist, and because he objected to the reading of the Bible at lodge meetings?

Answer. In my judgment, the Knights of Labor have made a great mistake. They want liberty for themselves—they feel that, to a certain extent, they have been enslaved and robbed. If they want liberty, they should be willing to give liberty to others. Certainly one of their members has the same right to his opinion with regard to the existence of a God, that the other members have to theirs.

I do not blame this man for doubting the existence of a Supreme Being, provided he understands the history of liberty. When a man takes into consideration the fact that for many thousands of years labor was unpaid, nearly all of it being done by slaves, and that millions and hundreds of millions of human beings were bought and sold the same as cattle, and that during all that time the religions of the world upheld the practice, and the priests of the countless unknown gods insisted that the institution of slavery was divine— I do not wonder that he comes to the conclusion that, perhaps, after all, there is no Supreme Being—at least none who pays any particular attention to the affairs of this world.

If one will read the history of the slave-trade, of the cruelties practiced, of the lives sacrificed, of the tortures inflicted, he will at least wonder why "a God of infinite goodness and wisdom" did not interfere just a little; or, at least, why he did not deny that he was in favor of the trade. Here, in our own country, millions of men were enslaved, and hundreds and thousands of ministers stood up in their pulpits, with their Bibles in front of them, and proceeded to show that slavery was about the only institution that they were absolutely certain was divine. And they proved it by reading passages from this very Bible that the Knights of Labor in Indiana are anxious to have read in their meetings. For their benefit, let me call their attention to a few passages, and suggest that, hereafter, they read those passages at every meeting, for the purpose of convincing all the Knights that the Lord is on the side of those who work for a living:—

"Both thy bondsmen and thy bondsmaids which thou shalt have, shall be of the heathen round about you; of them shall ye buy bondsmen and bondmaids.

"Moreover, of the children of the strangers that do sojourn among you, of them shall ye buy, and of their families which are with you, which they begat in your land; and they shall be your possession.

"And ye shall take them as an inheritance, for your children after you to inherit them for a possession. They shall be your bondsmen forever."

Nothing seems more natural to me than that a man who believes that labor should be free, and that he who works should be free, should come to the conclusion that the passages above quoted are not entirely on his side. I don't see why people should be in favor of free bodies who are not also in favor of free minds. If the mind is to remain in imprisonment, it is hardly worth while to free the body. If the man has the right to labor, he certainly has the right to use his mind, because without mind he can do no labor. As a rule, the more mind he has, the more valuable his labor is, and the freer his mind is the more valuable he is.

If the Knights of Labor expect to accomplish anything in this world, they must do it by thinking. They must have reason on their side, and the only way they can do anything by thinking is to allow each other to think. Let all the men who do not believe in the inspiration of the Bible, leave the Knights of Labor and I do not know how many would be left. But I am perfectly certain that those left will accomplish very little, simply from their lack of sense.

Intelligent clergymen have abandoned the idea of plenary inspiration. The best ministers in the country admit that the Bible is full of mistakes, and while many of them are forced to say that slavery is upheld by the Old Testament they also insist that slavery was and is, and forever will be wrong. What had the Knights of Labor to do with a question of religion? What business is it of theirs who believes or disbelieves in the religion of the day? Nobody can defend the rights of labor without defending the right to think.

I hope that in time these Knights will become intelligent enough to read in their meetings something of importance; something that applies to this century; something that will throw a little light on questions under discussion at the present time. The idea of men engaged in a kind of revolution reading from Leviticus, Deuteronomy and Haggai, for the purpose of determining the rights of workingmen in the nineteenth century! No wonder such men have been swallowed by the whale of monopoly. And no wonder that, while that are in the belly of this fish, they insist on casting out a man with sense enough to understand the situation! The Knights of Labor have made a mistake and the sooner they reverse their action the better for all concerned. Nothing should be taught in this world that somebody does not know.

—Secular Thought, Toronto, Canada, August 25, 1888.

SUMMER RECREATION—MR. GLADSTONE.

Question. What is the best philosophy of summer recreation?

Answer. As a matter of fact, no one should be overworked. Recreation becomes necessary only when a man has abused himself or has been abused. Holidays grew out of slavery. An intelligent man ought not to work so hard to-day that he is compelled to rest to-morrow. Each day should have its labor and its rest. But in our civilization, if it can be called civilization, every man is expected to devote himself entirely to business for the most of the year and by that means to get into such a state of body and mind that he requires, for the purpose of recreation, the inconveniences, the poor diet, the horrible beds, the little towels, the warm water, the stale eggs and the tough beef of the average "resort." For the purpose of getting his mental and physical machinery in fine working order, he should live in a room for two or three months that is about eleven by thirteen; that is to say, he should live in a trunk, fight mosquitoes, quarrel with strangers, dispute bills, and generally enjoy himself; and this is supposed to be the philosophy of summer recreation. He can do this, or he can go to some extremely fashionable resort where his time is taken up in making himself and family presentable.

Seriously, there are few better summer resorts than New York City. If there were no city here it would be the greatest resort for the summer on the continent; with its rivers, its bay, with its wonderful scenery, with the winds from the sea, no better could be found. But we cannot in this age of the world live in accordance with philosophy. No particular theory can be carried out. We must live as we must; we must earn our bread and we must earn it as others do, and, as a rule, we must work when others work. Consequently, if we are to take any recreation we must follow the example of others; go when they go and come when they come. In other words, man is a social being, and if one endeavors to carry individuality to an extreme he must suffer the consequences. So I have made up my mind to work as little as I can and to rest as much as I can.

Question. What is your opinion of Mr. Gladstone as a controversialist?

Answer. Undoubtedly Mr. Gladstone is a man of great talent, of vast and varied information, and undoubtedly he is, politically speaking, at least, one of the greatest men in England—possibly the greatest. As a controversialist, and I suppose by that you mean on religious questions, he is certainly as good as his cause. Few men can better defend the indefensible than Mr. Gladstone. Few men can bring forward more probabilities in favor of the impossible, then Mr. Gladstone. He is, in my judgment, controlled in the realm of religion by sentiment; he was taught long ago certain things as absolute truths and he has never questioned them. He has had all he can do to defend them. It is of but little use to attack sentiment with argument, or to attack argument with sentiment. A question of sentiment can hardly be discussed; it is like a question of taste. A man is enraptured with a landscape by Corot; you cannot argue him out of his rapture; the sharper the criticism the greater his admiration, because he feels that it is incumbent upon him to defend the painter who has given him so much real pleasure. Some people imagine that what they think ought to exist must exist, and that what they really desire to be true is true. We must remember that Mr. Gladstone has been what is called a deeply religions man all his life. There was a time when he really believed it to be the duty of the government to see to it that the citizens were religious; when he really believed that no man should hold any office or any position under the government who was not a believer in the established religion; who was not a defender of the parliamentary faith. I do not know whether he has ever changed his opinions upon these subjects or not. There is not the slightest doubt as to his honesty, as to his candor. He says what he believes, and for his belief he gives the reasons that are satisfactory to him. To me it seems impossible that miracles can be defended. I do not see how it is possible to bring forward any evidence that any miracle was ever performed; and unless miracles have been performed, Christianity has no basis as a system. Mr. Hume took the ground that it was impossible to substantiate a miracle, for the reason that it is more probable that the witnesses are mistaken, or are dishonest, than that a fact in nature should be violated. For instance: A man says that a certain time, in a certain locality, the attraction of gravitation was suspended; that there were several moments during which a cannon ball weighed nothing, during which when dropped from the hand, or rather when released from the hand, it refused to fall and remained in the air. It is safe to say that no amount of evidence, no number of witnesses, could convince an intelligent man to-day that such a thing occurred. We believe too thoroughly in the constancy of nature. While men will not believe witnesses who testify to the happening of miracles now, they seem to have perfect confidence in men whom they never saw, who have been dead for two thousand years. Of course it is known that Mr. Gladstone has published a few remarks concerning my religious views and that I have answered him the best I could. I have no opinion to give as to that controversy; neither would it be proper for me to say what I think of the arguments advanced by Mr. Gladstone in addition to what I have already published. I am willing to leave the controversy where it is, or I am ready to answer any further objections that Mr. Gladstone may be pleased to urge.

In my judgment, the "Age of Faith" is passing away. We are living in a time of demonstration.

[NOTE: From an unfinished interview found among Colonel Ingersoll's papers.]

PROHIBITION.

It has been decided in many courts in various States that the traffic in liquor can be regulated—that it is a police question. It has been decided by the courts in Iowa that its manufacture and sale can be prohibited, and, not only so, but that a distillery or a brewery may be declared a nuisance and may legally be abated, and these decisions have been upheld by the Supreme Court of the United States. Consequently, it has been settled by the highest tribunal that States have the power either to regulate or to prohibit the sale of intoxicating liquors, and not only so, but that States have the power to destroy breweries and distilleries without making any compensation to owners.

So it has always been considered within the power of the State to license the selling of intoxicating liquors. In other words, this question is one that the States can decide for themselves. It is not, and it should not be, in my judgment, a Federal question. It is something with which the United States has nothing to do. It belongs to the States; and where a majority of the people are in favor of prohibition and pass laws to that effect, there is nothing in the Constitution of the United States that interferes with such action.

The remaining question, then, is not a question of power, but a question of policy, and at the threshold of this question is another: Can prohibitory laws be enforced? There are to-day in Kansas,—a prohibition State—more saloons, that is to say, more places in which liquor is sold, than there are in Georgia, a State without prohibition legislation. There are more in Nebraska, according to the population, more in Iowa, according to the population, than in many of the States in which there is the old license system. You will find that the United States has granted more licenses to wholesale and retail dealers in these prohibition States,—according to the population,—than in many others in which prohibition has not been adopted.

These facts tend to show that it is not enough for the Legislature to say: "Be it enacted." Behind every law there must be an intelligent and powerful public opinion. A law, to be enforced, must be the expression of such powerful and intelligent opinion; otherwise it becomes a dead letter; it is avoided; judges continue the cases, juries refuse to convict, and witnesses are not particular about telling the truth. Such laws demoralize the community, or, to put it in another way, demoralized communities pass such laws.

Question. What do you think of the prohibitory movement on general principles?

Answer. The trouble is that when a few zealous men, intending to reform the world, endeavor to enforce unpopular laws, they are compelled to resort to detectives, to a system of espionage. For the purpose of preventing the sale of liquors somebody has to watch. Eyes and ears must become acquainted with keyholes. Every neighbor suspects every other. A man with a bottle or demijohn is followed. Those who drink get behind doors, in cellars and garrets. Hypocrisy becomes substantially universal. Hundreds of people become suddenly afflicted with a variety of diseases, for the cure of which alcohol in some form is supposed to be indispensable. Malaria becomes general, and it is perfectly astonishing how long a few pieces of Peruvian bark will last, and how often the liquor can be renewed without absorbing the medicinal qualities of the bark. The State becomes a paradise for patent medicine—the medicine being poor whiskey with a scientific name.

Physicians become popular in proportion as liquor of some kind figures in their prescriptions. Then in the towns clubs are formed, the principal object being to establish a saloon, and in many instances the drug store becomes a favorite resort, especially on Sundays.

There is, however, another side to this question. It is this: Nothing in the world is more important than personal liberty. Many people are in favor of blotting out the sun to prevent the growth of weeds. This is the mistake of all prohibitory fanaticism.

Question. What is true temperance, Colonel Ingersoll?

Answer. Men have used stimulants for many thousand years, and as much is used to-day in various forms as in any other period of the world's history. They are used with more prudence now than ever before, for the reason that the average man is more intelligent now than ever before. Intelligence has much to do with temperance. The barbarian rushes to the extreme, for the reason that but little, comparatively, depends upon his personal conduct or personal habits. Now the struggle for life is so sharp, competition is so severe, that few men can succeed who carry a useless burden. The business men of our country are compelled to lead temperate lives, otherwise their credit is gone. Men of wealth, men of intelligence, do not wish to employ intemperate physicians. They are not willing to trust their health or their lives with a physician who is under the influence of liquor. The same is true of business men in regard to their legal interests. They insist upon having sober attorneys; they want the counsel of a sober man. So in every department. On the railways it is absolutely essential that the engineer, that the conductor, the train dispatcher and every other employee, in whose hands are the lives of men, should be temperate. The consequence is that under the law of the survival of the fittest, the intemperate are slowly but surely going to the wall; they are slowly but surely being driven out of employments of trust and importance. As we rise in the scale of civilization we continually demand better and better service. We are continually insisting upon better habits, upon a higher standard of integrity, of fidelity. These are the causes, in my judgment, that are working together in the direction of true temperance.

Question. Do you believe the people can be made to do without a stimulant?

Answer. The history of the world shows that all men who have advanced one step beyond utter barbarism have used some kind of stimulant. Man has sought for it in every direction. Every savage loves it. Everything has been tried. Opium has been used by many hundreds of millions. Hasheesh has filled countless brains with chaotic dreams, and everywhere that civilization has gone the blood of the grape has been used. Nothing is easier now to obtain than liquor. In one bushel of corn there are at least five gallons— four can easily be extracted. All starch, all sugars, can be changed almost instantly into alcohol. Every grain that grows has in it the intoxicating principle, and, as a matter of fact, nearly all of the corn, wheat, sugar and starch that man eats is changed into alcohol in his stomach. Whether man can be compelled to do without a stimulant is a question that I am unable to answer. Of one thing I am certain: He has never yet been compelled to do without one. The tendency, I think, of modern times is toward a milder stimulant than distilled liquors. Whisky and brandies are too strong; wine and beer occupy the middle ground. Wine is a fireside, whisky a conflagration.

It seems to me that it would be far better if the Prohibitionists would turn their attention toward distilled spirits. If they were willing to compromise, the probability is that they would have public opinion on their side. If they would say: "You may have all the beer and all the wine and cider you wish, and you can drink them when and where you desire, but the sale of distilled spirits shall be prohibited," it is possible that this could be carried out in good faith in many if not in most of the States—possibly in all. We all know the effect of wine, even when taken in excess, is nothing near as disastrous as the effect of distilled spirits. Why not take the middle ground? The wine drinkers of the old country are not drunkards. They have been drinking wine for generations. It is drunk by men, women and children. It adds to the sociability of the family. It does not separate the husband from the rest, it keeps them all together, and in that view is rather a benefit than an injury. Good wine can be raised as cheaply here as in any part of the world. In nearly every part of our country the grape grows and good wine can be made. If our people had a taste for wine they would lose the taste for stronger drink, and they would be disgusted with the surroundings of the stronger drink.

The same may be said in favor of beer. As long as the Prohibitionists make no distinction between wine and whisky, between beer and brandy, just so long they will be regarded by most people as fanatics.

The Prohibitionists cannot expect to make this question a Federal one. The United States has no jurisdiction of this subject. Congress can pass no laws affecting this question that could have any force except in such parts of our country as are not within the jurisdiction of States. It is a question for the States and not for the Federal Government. The Prohibitionists are simply throwing away their votes. Let us suppose that we had a Prohibition Congress and a Prohibition President—what steps could be taken to do away with drinking in the city of New York? What steps could be taken in any State of this Union? What could by any possibility be done?

A few years ago the Prohibitionists demanded above all things that the tax be taken from distilled spirits, claiming at that time that such a tax made the Government a partner in vice.

Now when the Republican party proposes under certain circumstances to remove that tax, the Prohibitionists denounce the movement as one in favor of intemperance. We have also been told that the tax on whisky should be kept for the reason that it increases the price, and that an increased price tends to make a temperate people; that if the tax is taken off, the price will fall and the whole country start on the downward road to destruction. Is it possible that human nature stands on such slippery ground? It is possible that our civilization to-day rests upon the price of alcohol, and that, should the price be reduced, we would all go down together? For one, I cannot entertain such a humiliating and disgraceful view of human nature. I believe that man is destined to grow greater, grander and nobler. I believe that no matter what the cost of alcohol may be, life will grow too valuable to be thrown away. Men hold life according to its value. Men, as a rule, only throw away their lives when they are not worth keeping. When life becomes worth living it will be carefully preserved and will be hoarded to the last grain of sand that falls through the glass of time.

Question. What is the reason for so much intemperance?

Answer. When many people are failures, when they are distanced in the race, when they fall behind, when they give up, when they lose ambition, when they finally become convinced that they are worthless, precisely as they are in danger of becoming dishonest. In other words, having failed in the race of life on the highway, they endeavor to reach to goal by going across lots, by crawling through the grass. Disguise this matter as we may, all people are not successes, all people have not the brain or the muscle or the moral stamina necessary to succeed. Some fall in one way, some in another; some in the net of strong drink, some in the web of circumstances and others in a thousand ways, and the world itself cannot grow better unless the unworthy fail. The law is the survival of the fittest, that is to say, the destruction of the unfit. There is no scheme of morals, no scheme of government, no scheme of charity, that can reverse this law. If it could be reversed, then the result would be the survival of the unfittest, the speedy end of which would be the extinction of the human race.

Temperance men say that it is wise, in so far as possible, to remove temptation from our fellow-men.

Let us look at this in regard to other matters. How do we do away with larceny? We cannot remove property. We cannot destroy the money of the world to keep people from stealing some of it. In other words, we cannot afford to make the world valueless to prevent larceny. All strength by which temptation is resisted must come from the inside. Virtue does not depend upon the obstacles to be overcome; virtue depends upon what is inside of the man. A man is not honest because the safe of the bank is perfectly secure. Upon the honest man the condition of the safe has no effect. We will never succeed in raising great and splendid people by keeping them out of temptation. Great people withstand temptation. Great people have what may be called moral muscle, moral force. They are poised within themselves. They understand their relations to the world. The best possible foundation for honesty is the intellectual perception that dishonesty can, under no circumstances, be a good investment—that larceny is not only wicked, but foolish—not only criminal, but stupid—that crimes are committed only by fools.

On every hand there is what is called temptation. Every man has the opportunity of doing wrong. Every man, in this country, has the opportunity of drinking too much, has the opportunity of acquiring the opium habit, has the opportunity of taking morphine every day—in other words, has the opportunity of destroying himself. How are they to be prevented? Most of them are prevented—at least in a reasonable degree—and they are prevented by their intelligence, by their surroundings, by their education, by their objects and aims in life, by the people they love, by the people who love them.

No one will deny the evils of intemperance, and it is hardly to be wondered at that people who regard only one side—who think of the impoverished and wretched, of wives and children in want, of desolate homes—become the advocates of absolute prohibition. At the same time, there is a philosophic side, and the question is whether more good cannot be done by moral influence, by example, by education, by the gradual civilization of our fellow-men, than in any other possible way. The greatest things are accomplished by indirection. In this way the idea of force, of slavery, is avoided. The person influenced does not feel that he has been trampled upon, does not regard himself as a victim—he feels rather as a pupil, as one who receives a benefit, whose mind has been enlarged, whose life has been enriched—whereas the direct way of "Thou shalt not" produces an antagonism—in other words, produces the natural result of "I will."

By removing one temptation you add strength to others. By depriving a man of one stimulant, as a rule, you drive him to another, and the other may be far worse than the one from which he has been driven. We have hundreds of laws making certain things misdemeanors, which are naturally right.

Thousands of people, honest in most directions, delight in outwitting the Government—derive absolute pleasure from getting in a few clothes and gloves and shawls without the payment of duty. Thousands of people buy things in Europe for which they pay more than they would for the same things in America, and then exercise their ingenuity in slipping them through the custom-house.

A law to have real force must spring from the nature of things, and the justice of this law must be generally perceived, otherwise it will be evaded.

The temperance people themselves are playing into the hands of the very party that would refuse to count their votes. Allow the Democrats to remain in power, allow the Democrats to be controlled by the South, and a large majority might be in favor of temperance legislation, and yet the votes would remain uncounted. The party of reform has a great interest in honest elections, and honest elections must first be obtained as the foundation of reform. The Prohibitionists can take their choice between these parties. Would it not be far better for the Prohibitionists to say: "We will vote for temperance men; we will stand with the party that is the nearest in favor of what we deem to be the right"? They should also take into consideration that other people are as honest as they; that others disbelieve in prohibition as honestly as they believe in it, and that other people cannot leave their principles to vote for prohibition; and they must remember, that these other people are in the majority.

Mr. Fisk knows that he cannot be elected President—knows that it is impossible for him to carry any State in the Union. He also knows that in nearly every State in the Union—probably in all—a majority of the people believe in stimulants. Why not work with the great and enlightened majority? Why rush to the extreme for the purpose not only of making yourself useless but hurtful?

No man in the world is more opposed to intemperance than I am. No man in the world feels more keenly the evils and the agony produced by the crime of drunkenness. And yet I would not be willing to sacrifice liberty, individuality, and the glory and greatness of individual freedom, to do away with all the evils of intemperance. In other words, I believe that slavery, oppression and suppression would crowd humanity into a thousand deformities, the result of which would be a thousand times more disastrous to the well-being of man. I do not believe in the slave virtues, in the monotony of tyranny, in the respectability produced by force. I admire the men who have grown in the atmosphere of liberty, who have the pose of independence, the virtues of strength, of heroism, and in whose hearts is the magnanimity, the tenderness, and the courage born of victory.

—New York World, October 21, 1888.

ROBERT ELSMERE.

Why do people read a book like "Robert Elsmere," and why do they take any interest in it? Simply because they are not satisfied with the religion of our day. The civilized world has outgrown the greater part of the Christian creed. Civilized people have lost their belief in the reforming power of punishment. They find that whips and imprisonment have but little influence for good. The truth has dawned upon their minds that eternal punishment is infinite cruelty—that it can serve no good purpose and that the eternity of hell makes heaven impossible. That there can be in this universe no perfectly happy place while there is a perfectly miserable place—that no infinite being can be good who knowingly and, as one may say, willfully created myriads of human beings, knowing that they would be eternally miserable. In other words, the civilized man is greater, tenderer, nobler, nearer just than the old idea of God. The ideal of a few thousand years ago is far below the real of to-day. No good man now would do what Jehovah is said to have done four thousand years ago, and no civilized human being would now do what, according to the Christian religion, Christ threatens to do at the day of judgment.

Question. Has the Christian religion changed in theory of late years, Colonel Ingersoll?

Answer. A few years ago the Deists denied the inspiration of the Bible on account of its cruelty. At the same time they worshiped what they were pleased to call the God of Nature. Now we are convinced that Nature is as cruel as the Bible; so that, if the God of Nature did not write the Bible, this God at least has caused earthquakes and pestilence and famine, and this God has allowed millions of his children to destroy one another. So that now we have arrived at the question—not as to whether the Bible is inspired and not as to whether Jehovah is the real God, but whether there is a God or not. The intelligence of Christendom to-day does not believe in an inspired art or an inspired literature. If there be an infinite God, inspiration in some particular regard would be a patch—it would be the puttying of a crack, the hiding of a defect —in other words, it would show that the general plan was defective.

Question. Do you consider any religion adequate?

Answer. A good man, living in England, drawing a certain salary for reading certain prayers on stated occasions, for making a few remarks on the subject of religion, putting on clothes of a certain cut, wearing a gown with certain frills and flounces starched in an orthodox manner, and then looking about him at the suffering and agony of the world, would not feel satisfied that he was doing anything of value for the human race. In the first place, he would deplore his own weakness, his own poverty, his inability to help his fellow-men. He would long every moment for wealth, that he might feed the hungry and clothe the naked—for knowledge, for miraculous power, that he might heal the sick and the lame and that he might give to the deformed the beauty of proportion. He would begin to wonder how a being of infinite goodness and infinite power could allow his children to die, to suffer, to be deformed by necessity, by poverty, to be tempted beyond resistance; how he could allow the few to live in luxury, and the many in poverty and want, and the more he wondered the more useless and ironical would seem to himself his sermons and his prayers. Such a man is driven to the conclusion that religion accomplishes but little—that it creates as much want as it alleviates, and that it burdens the world with parasites. Such a man would be forced to think of the millions wasted in superstition. In other words, the inadequacy, the uselessness of religion would be forced upon his mind. He would ask himself the question: "Is it possible that this is a divine institution? Is this all that man can do with the assistance of God? Is this the best?"

Question. That is a perfectly reasonable question, is it not, Colonel Ingersoll?

Answer. The moment a man reaches the point where he asks himself this question he has ceased to be an orthodox Christian. It will not do to say that in some other world justice will be done. If God allows injustice to triumph here, why not there?

Robert Elsmere stands in the dawn of philosophy. There is hardly light enough for him to see clearly; but there is so much light that the stars in the night of superstition are obscured.

Question. You do not deny that a religious belief is a comfort?

Answer. There is one thing that it is impossible for me to comprehend. Why should any one, when convinced that Christianity is a superstition, have or feel a sense of loss? Certainly a man acquainted with England, with London, having at the same time something like a heart, must feel overwhelmed by the failure of what is known as Christianity. Hundreds of thousands exist there without decent food, dwelling in tenements, clothed with rags, familiar with every form of vulgar vice, where the honest poor eat the crust that the vicious throw away. When this man of intelligence, of heart, visits the courts; when he finds human liberty a thing treated as of no value, and when he hears the judge sentencing girls and boys to the penitentiary—knowing that a stain is being put upon them that all the tears of all the coming years can never wash away—knowing, too, and feeling that this is done without the slightest regret, without the slightest sympathy, as a mere matter of form, and that the judge puts this brand of infamy upon the forehead of the convict just as cheerfully as a Mexican brands his cattle; and when this man of intelligence and heart knows that these poor people are simply the victims of society, the unfortunates who stumble and over whose bodies rolls the Juggernaut—he knows that there is, or at least appears to be, no power above or below working for righteousness—that from the heavens is stretched no protecting hand. And when a man of intelligence and heart in England visits the workhouse, the last resting place of honest labor; when he thinks that the young man, without any great intelligence, but with a good constitution, starts in the morning of his life for the workhouse, and that it is impossible for the laboring man, one who simply has his muscle, to save anything; that health is not able to lay anything by for the days of disease—when the man of intelligence and heart sees all this, he is compelled to say that the civilization of to-day, the religion of to-day, the charity of to-day—no matter how much of good there may be behind them or in them, are failures.

A few years ago people were satisfied when the minister said: "All this will be made even in another world; a crust-eater here will sit at the head of the banquet there, and the king here will beg for the crumbs that fall from the table there." When this was said, the poor man hoped and the king laughed. A few years ago the church said to the slave: "You will be free in another world, and your freedom will be made glorious by the perpetual spectacle of your master in hell." But the people—that is, many of the people—are no longer deceived by what once were considered fine phrases. They have suffered so much that they no longer wish to see others suffer and no longer think of the suffering of others as a source of joy to themselves. The poor see that the eternal starvation of kings and queens in another world will be no compensation for what they have suffered there. The old religions appear vulgar and the ideas of rewards and punishments are only such as would satisfy a cannibal chief or one of his favorites.

Question. Do you think the Christian religion has made the world better?

Answer. For many centuries there has been preached and taught in an almost infinite number of ways a supernatural religion. During all this time the world has been in the care of the Infinite, and yet every imaginable vice has flourished, every imaginable pang has been suffered, and every injustice has been done. During all these years the priests have enslaved the minds, and the kings the bodies, of men. The priests did what they did in the name of God, and the kings appeal to the same source of authority. Man suffered as long as he could. Revolution, reformation, was simply a re- action, a cry from the poor wretch that was between the upper and the nether millstone. The liberty of man has increased just in the proportion that the authority of the gods has decreased. In other words, the wants of man, instead of the wishes of God, have inaugurated what we call progress, and there is this difference: Theology is based upon the narrowest and intensest form of selfishness. Of course, the theologian knows, the Christian knows, that he can do nothing for God; consequently all that he does must be and is for himself, his object being to win the approbation of this God, to the end that he may become a favorite. On the other side, men touched not only by their own misfortunes, but by the misfortunes of others, are moved not simply by selfishness, but by a splendid sympathy with their fellow-men.

Question. Christianity certainly fosters charity?

Answer. Nothing is more cruel than orthodox theology, nothing more heartless than a charitable institution. For instance, in England, think for a moment of the manner in which charities are distributed, the way in which the crust is flung at Lazarus. If that parable could be now retold, the dogs would bite him. The same is true in this country. The institution has nothing but contempt for the one it relieves. The people in charge regard the pauper as one who has wrecked himself. They feel very much as a man would feel rescuing from the water some hare-brained wretch who had endeavored to swim the rapids of Niagara—the moment they reach him they begin to upbraid him for being such a fool. This course makes charity a hypocrite, with every pauper for its enemy.

Mrs. Ward compelled Robert Elsmere to perceive, in some slight degree, the failure of Christianity to do away with vice and suffering, with poverty and crime. We know that the rich care but little for the poor. No matter how religious the rich may be, the sufferings of their fellows have but little effect upon them. We are also beginning to see that what is called charity will never redeem this world.

The poor man willing to work, eager to maintain his independence, knows that there is something higher than charity—that is to say, justice. He finds that many years before he was born his country was divided out between certain successful robbers, flatterers, cringers and crawlers, and that in consequence of such division not only he himself, but a large majority of his fellow-men are tenants, renters, occupying the surface of the earth only at the pleasure of others. He finds, too, that these people who have done nothing and who do nothing, have everything, and that those who do everything have but little. He finds that idleness has the money and that the toilers are compelled to bow to the idlers. He finds also that the young men of genius are bribed by social distinctions —unconsciously it may be—but still bribed in a thousand ways. He finds that the church is a kind of waste-basket into which are thrown the younger sons of titled idleness.

Question. Do you consider that society in general has been made better by religious influences?

Answer. Society is corrupted because the laurels, the titles, are in the keeping and within the gift of the corrupters. Christianity is not an enemy of this system—it is in harmony with it. Christianity reveals to us a universe presided over by an infinite autocrat—a universe without republicanism, without democracy—a universe where all power comes from one and the same source, and where everyone using authority is accountable, not to the people, but to this supposed source of authority. Kings reign by divine right. Priests are ordained in a divinely appointed way—they do not get their office from man. Man is their servant, not their master.

In the story of Robert Elsmere all there is of Christianity is left except the miraculous. Theism remains, and the idea of a protecting Providence is left, together with a belief in the immeasurable superiority of Jesus Christ. That is to say, the miracles are discarded for lack of evidence, and only for lack of evidence; not on the ground that they are impossible, not on the ground that they impeach and deny the integrity of cause and effect, not on the ground that they contradict the self-evident proposition that an effect must have an efficient cause, but like the Scotch verdict, "not proven." It is an effort to save and keep in repair the dungeons of the Inquisition for the sake of the beauty of the vines that have overrun them. Many people imagine that falsehoods may become respectable on account of age, that a certain reverence goes with antiquity, and that if a mistake is covered with the moss of sentiment it is altogether more credible than a parvenu fact. They endeavor to introduce the idea of aristocracy into the world of thought, believing, and honestly believing, that a falsehood long believed is far superior to a truth that is generally denied.

Question. If Robert Elsmere's views were commonly adopted what would be the effect?

Answer. The new religion of Elsmere is, after all, only a system of outdoor relief, an effort to get successful piracy to give up a larger per cent. for the relief of its victims. The abolition of the system is not dreamed of. A civilized minority could not by any possibility be happy while a majority of the world were miserable. A civilized majority could not be happy while a minority were miserable. As a matter of fact, a civilized world could not be happy while one man was really miserable. At the foundation of civilization is justice—that is to say, the giving of an equal opportunity to all the children of men. Secondly, there can be no civilization in the highest sense until sympathy becomes universal. We must have a new definition for success. We must have new ideals. The man who succeeds in amassing wealth, who gathers money for himself, is not a success. It is an exceedingly low ambition to be rich to excite the envy of others, or for the sake of the vulgar power it gives to triumph over others. Such men are failures. So the man who wins fame, position, power, and wins these for the sake of himself, and wields this power not for the elevation of his fellow-men, but simply to control, is a miserable failure. He may dispense thousands of millions in charity, and his charity may be prompted by the meanest part of his nature—using it simply as a bait to catch more fish and to prevent the rising tide of indignation that might overwhelm him. Men who steal millions and then give a small percentage to the Lord to gain the praise of the clergy and to bring the salvation of their souls within the possibilities of imagination, are all failures.

Robert Elsmere gains our affection and our applause to the extent that he gives up what are known as orthodox views, and his wife Catherine retains our respect in the proportion that she lives the doctrine that Elsmere preaches. By doing what she believes to be right, she gains our forgiveness for her creed. One is astonished that she can be as good as she is, believing as she does. The utmost stretch of our intellectual charity is to allow the old wine to be put in a new bottle, and yet she regrets the absence of the old bottle—she really believes that the bottle is the important thing—that the wine is but a secondary consideration. She misses the label, and not having perfect confidence in her own taste, she does not feel quite sure that the wine is genuine.

Question. What, on the whole, is your judgment of the book?

Answer. I think the book conservative. It is an effort to save something—a few shreds and patches and ravelings—from the wreck. Theism is difficult to maintain. Why should we expect an infinite Being to do better in another world than he has done and is doing in this? If he allows the innocent to suffer here, why not there? If he allows rascality to succeed in this world, why not in the next? To believe in God and to deny his personality is an exceedingly vague foundation for a consolation. If you insist on his personality and power, then it is impossible to account for what happens. Why should an infinite God allow some of his children to enslave others? Why should he allow a child of his to burn another child of his, under the impression that such a sacrifice was pleasing to him?

Unitarianism lacks the motive power. Orthodox people who insist that nearly everybody is going to hell, and that it is their duty to do what little they can to save their souls, have what you might call a spur to action. We can imagine a philanthropic man engaged in the business of throwing ropes to persons about to go over the falls of Niagara, but we can hardly think of his carrying on the business after being convinced that there are no falls, or that people go over them in perfect safety. In this country the question has come up whether all the heathen are bound to be damned unless they believe in the gospel. Many admit that the heathen will be saved if they are good people, and that they will not be damned for not believing something that they never heard. The really orthodox people—that is to say, the missionaries—instantly see that this doctrine destroys their business. They take the ground that there is but one way to be saved—you must believe on the Lord Jesus Christ—and they are willing to admit, and cheerfully to admit, that the heathen for many generations have gone in an unbroken column down to eternal wrath. And they not only admit this, but insist upon it, to the end that subscriptions may not cease. With them salary and salvation are convertible terms.

The tone of this book is not of the highest. Too much stress is laid upon social advantages—too much respect for fashionable folly and for ancient absurdity. It is hard for me to appreciate the feelings of one who thinks it difficult to give up the consolations of the gospel. What are the consolations of the Church of England? It is a religion imposed upon the people by authority. It is the gospel at the mouth of a cannon, at the point of a bayonet, enforced by all authority, from the beadle to the Queen. It is a parasite living upon tithes—these tithes being collected by the army and navy. It produces nothing—is simply a beggar—or rather an aggregation of beggars. It teaches nothing of importance. It discovers nothing. It is under obligation not to investigate. It has agreed to remain stationary not only, but to resist all innovation. According to the creed of this church, a very large proportion of the human race is destined to suffer eternal pain. This does not interfere with the quiet, with the serenity and repose of the average clergyman. They put on their gowns, they read the service, they repeat the creed and feel that their duty has been done. How any one can feel that he is giving up something of value when he finds that the Episcopal creed is untrue is beyond my imagination. I should think that every good man and woman would overflow with joy, that every heart would burst into countless blossoms the moment the falsity of the Episcopal creed was established.

Christianity is the most heartless of all religions—the most unforgiving, the most revengeful. According to the Episcopalian belief, God becomes the eternal prosecutor of his own children. I know of no creed believed by any tribe, not excepting the tribes where cannibalism is practiced, that is more heartless, more inhuman than this. To find that the creed is false is like being roused from a frightful dream, in which hundreds of serpents are coiled about you, in which their eyes, gleaming with hatred, are fixed on you, and finding the world bathed in sunshine and the songs of birds in your ears and those you love about you.

—New York World, November 18, 1888.

WORKING GIRLS.

Question. What is your opinion of the work undertaken by the World in behalf of the city slave girl?

Answer. I know of nothing better for a great journal to do. The average girl is so helpless, and the greed of the employer is such, that unless some newspaper or some person of great influence comes to her assistance, she is liable not simply to be imposed upon, but to be made a slave. Girls, as a rule, are so anxious to please, so willing to work, that they bear almost every hardship without complaint. Nothing is more terrible than to see the rich living on the work of the poor. One can hardly imagine the utter heartlessness of a man who stands between the wholesale manufacturer and the wretched women who make their living—or rather retard their death—by the needle. How a human being can consent to live on this profit, stolen from poverty, is beyond my imagination. These men, when known, will be regarded as hyenas and jackals. They are like the wild beasts which follow herds of cattle for the purpose of devouring those that are injured or those that have fallen by the wayside from weakness.

Question. What effect has unlimited immigration on the wages of women?

Answer. If our country were overpopulated, the effect of immigration would be to lessen wages, for the reason that the working people of Europe are used to lower wages, and have been in the habit of practicing an economy unknown to us. But this country is not overpopulated. There is plenty of room for several hundred millions more. Wages, however, are too low in the United States. The general tendency is to leave the question of labor to what is called the law of supply and demand. My hope is that in time we shall become civilized enough to know that there is a higher law, or rather a higher meaning in the law of supply and demand, than is now perceived. Year after year what are called the necessaries of life increase. Many things now regarded as necessaries were formerly looked upon as luxuries. So, as man becomes civilized, he increases what may be called the necessities of his life. When perfectly civilized, one of the necessities of his life will be that the lives of others shall be of some value to them. A good man is not happy so long as he knows that other good men and women suffer for raiment and for food, and have no roof but the sky, no home but the highway. Consequently what is called the law of supply and demand will then have a much larger meaning.

In nature everything lives upon something else. Life feeds upon life. Something is lying in wait for something else, and even the victim is weaving a web or crouching for some other victim, and the other victim is in the same business—watching for something else. The same is true in the human world—people are living on each other; the cunning obtain the property of the simple; wealth picks the pockets of poverty; success is a highwayman leaping from the hedge. The rich combine, the poor are unorganized, without the means to act in concert, and for that reason become the prey of combinations and trusts. The great questions are: Will man ever be sufficiently civilized to be honest? Will the time ever come when it can truthfully be said that right is might? The lives of millions of people are not worth living, because of their ignorance and poverty, and the lives of millions of others are not worth living, on account of their wealth and selfishness. The palace without justice, without charity, is as terrible as the hovel without food.

Question. What effect has the woman's suffrage movement had on the breadwinners of the country?

Answer. I think the women who have been engaged in the struggle for equal rights have done good for women in the direction of obtaining equal wages for equal work. There has also been for many years a tendency among women in our country to become independent —a desire to make their own living—to win their own bread. So many husbands are utterly useless, or worse, that many women hardly feel justified in depending entirely on a husband for the future. They feel somewhat safer to know how to do something and earn a little money themselves. If men were what they ought to be, few women would be allowed to labor—that is to say, to toil. It should be the ambition of every healthy and intelligent man to take care of, to support, to make happy, some woman. As long as women bear the burdens of the world, the human race can never attain anything like a splendid civilization. There will be no great generation of men until there has been a great generation of women. For my part, I am glad to hear this question discussed—glad to know that thousands of women take some interest in the fortunes and in the misfortunes of their sisters.

The question of wages for women is a thousand times more important than sending missionaries to China or to India. There is plenty for missionaries to do here. And by missionaries I do not mean gentlemen and ladies who distribute tracts or quote Scripture to people out of work. If we are to better the condition of men and women we must change their surroundings. The tenement house breeds a moral pestilence. There can be in these houses no home, no fireside, no family, for the reason that there is no privacy, no walls between them and the rest of the world. There is no sacredness, no feeling, "this is ours."

Question. Might not the rich do much?

Answer. It would be hard to overestimate the good that might be done by the millionaires if they would turn their attention to sending thousands and thousands into the country or to building them homes miles from the city, where they could have something like privacy, where the family relations could be kept with some sacredness. Think of the "homes" in which thousands and thousands of young girls are reared in our large cities. Think of what they see and what they hear; of what they come in contact with. How is it possible for the virtues to grow in the damp and darkened basements? Can we expect that love and chastity and all that is sweet and gentle will be produced in these surroundings, in cellars and garrets, in poverty and dirt? The surroundings must be changed.

Question. Are the fathers and brothers blameless who allow young girls to make coats, cloaks and vests in an atmosphere poisoned by the ignorant and low-bred?

Answer. The same causes now brutalizing girls brutalize their fathers and brothers, and the same causes brutalize the ignorant and low-lived that poison the air in which these girls are made to work. It is hard to pick out one man and say that he is to blame, or one woman and say that the fault is hers. We must go back of all this. In my opinion, society raises its own failures, its own criminals, its own wretches of every sort and kind. Great pains are taken to raise these crops. The seeds, it may be, were sown thousands of years ago, but they were sown, and the present is the necessary child of all the past. If the future is to differ from the present, the seeds must now be sown. It is not simply a question of charity, or a question of good nature, or a question of what we call justice—it is a question of intelligence. In the first place, I suppose that it is the duty of every human being to support himself—first, that he may not become a burden upon others, and second, that he may help others. I think all people should be taught never, under any circumstances, if by any possibility they can avoid it, to become a burden. Every one should be taught the nobility of labor, the heroism and splendor of honest effort. As long as it is considered disgraceful to labor, or aristocratic not to labor, the world will be filled with idleness and crime, and with every possible moral deformity.

Question. Has the public school system anything to do with the army of pupils who, after six years of study, willingly accept the injustice and hardship imposed by capital?

Answer. The great trouble with the public school is that many things are taught that are of no immediate use. I believe in manual training schools. I believe in the kindergarten system. Every person ought to be taught how to do something—ought to be taught the use of their hands. They should endeavor to put in palpable form the ideas that they gain. Such an education gives them a confidence in themselves, a confidence in the future—gives them a spirit and feeling of independence that they do not now have. Men go through college studying for many years, and when graduated have not the slightest conception of how to make a living in any department of human effort. Thousands of them are to-day doing manual labor and doing it very poorly, whereas, if they had been taught the use of tools, the use of their hands, they would derive a certain pleasure from their work. It is splendid to do anything well. One can be just as poetic working with iron and wood as working with words and colors.

Question. What ought to be done, or what is to be the end?

Answer. The great thing is for the people to know the facts. There are thousands and millions of splendid and sympathetic people who would willingly help, if they only knew; but they go through the world in such a way that they know but little of it. They go to their place of business; they stay in their offices for a few hours; they go home; they spend the evening there or at a club; they come in contact with the well-to-do, with the successful, with the satisfied, and they know nothing of the thousands and millions on every side. They have not the least idea how the world lives, how it works, how it suffers. They read, of course, now and then, some paragraph in which the misfortune of some wretch is set forth, but the wretch is a kind of steel engraving, an unreal shadow, a something utterly unlike themselves. The real facts should be brought home, the sympathies of men awakened, and awakened to such a degree that they will go and see how these people live, see how they work, see how they suffer.

Question. Does exposure do any good?

Answer. I hope that The World will keep on. I hope that it will express every horror that it can, connected with the robbery of poor and helpless girls, and I hope that it will publish the names of all the robbers it can find, and the wretches who oppress the poor and who live upon the misfortunes of women.

The crosses of this world are mostly born by wives, by mothers and by daughters. Their brows are pierced by thorns. They shed the bitterest tears. They live and suffer and die for others. It is almost enough to make one insane to think of what woman, in the years of savagery and civilization, has suffered. Think of the anxiety and agony of motherhood. Maternity is the most pathetic fact in the universe. Think how helpless girls are. Think of the thorns in the paths they walk—of the trials, the temptations, the want, the misfortune, the dangers and anxieties that fill their days and nights. Every true man will sympathize with woman, and will do all in his power to lighten her burdens and increase the sunshine of her life.

Question. Is there any remedy?

Answer. I have always wondered that the great corporations have made no provisions for their old and worn out employees. It seems to me that not only great railway companies, but great manufacturing corporations, ought to provide for their workmen. Many of them are worn out, unable longer to work, and they are thrown aside like old clothes. They find their way to the poorhouses or die in tenements by the roadside. This seems almost infinitely heartless. Men of great wealth, engaged in manufacturing, instead of giving five hundred thousand dollars for a library, or a million dollars for a college, ought to put this money aside, invest it in bonds of the Government, and the interest ought to be used in taking care of the old, of the helpless, of those who meet with accidents in their work. Under our laws, if an employee is caught in a wheel or in a band, and his arm or leg is torn off, he is left to the charity of the community, whereas the profits of the business ought to support him in his old age. If employees had this feeling—that they were not simply working for that day, not simply working while they have health and strength, but laying aside a little sunshine for the winter of age—if they only felt that they, by their labor, were creating a fireside in front of which their age and helplessness could sit, the feeling between employed and employers would be a thousand times better. On the great railways very few people know the number of the injured, of those who lose their hands or feet, of those who contract diseases riding on the tops of freight trains in snow and sleet and storm; and yet, when these men become old and helpless through accident, they are left to shift for themselves. The company is immortal, but the employees become helpless. Now, it seems to me that a certain per cent. should be laid aside, so that every brakeman and conductor could feel that he was providing for himself, as well as for his fellow-workmen, so that when the dark days came there would be a little light.

The men of wealth, the men who control these great corporations— these great mills—give millions away in ostentatious charity. They send missionaries to foreign lands. They endow schools and universities and allow the men who earned the surplus to die in want. I believe in no charity that is founded on robbery. I have no admiration for generous highwaymen or extravagant pirates. At the foundation of charity should be justice. Let these men whom others have made wealthy give something to their workmen—something to those who created their fortunes. This would be one step in the right direction. Do not let it be regarded as charity—let it be regarded as justice.

—New York World, December 2, 1888.

PROTECTION FOR AMERICAN ACTORS.

Question. It is reported that you have been retained as counsel for the Actors' Order of Friendship—the Edwin Forrest Lodge of New York, and the Shakespeare Lodge of Philadelphia—for the purpose of securing the necessary legislation to protect American actors— is that so?

Answer. Yes, I have been retained for that purpose, and the object is simply that American actors may be put upon an equal footing with Americans engaged in other employments. There is a law now which prevents contractors going abroad and employing mechanics or skilled workmen, and bringing them to this country to take the places of our citizens.

No one objects to the English, German and French mechanics coming with their wives and children to this country and making their homes here. Our ports are open, and have been since the foundation of this Government. Wages are somewhat higher in this country than in any other, and the man who really settles here, who becomes, or intends to become an American citizen, will demand American wages. But if a manufacturer goes to Europe, he can make a contract there and bring hundreds and thousands of mechanics to this country who will work for less wages than the American, and a law was passed to prevent the American manufacturer, who was protected by a tariff, from burning the laborer's candle at both ends. That is to say, we do not wish to give him the American price, by means of a tariff, and then allow him to go to Europe and import his labor at the European price.

In the law, actors were excepted, and we now find the managers are bringing entire companies from the old county, making contracts with them there, and getting them at much lower prices than they would have had to pay for American actors.

No one objects to a foreign actor coming here for employment, but we do not want an American manager to go there, and employ him to act here. No one objects to the importation of a star. We wish to see and hear the best actors in the world. But the rest of the company—the support—should be engaged in the United States, if the star speaks English.

I see that it is contended over in England, that English actors are monopolizing the American stage because they speak English, while the average American actor does not. The real reason is that the English actor works for less money—he is the cheaper article. Certainly no one will accuse the average English actor of speaking English. The hemming and hawing, the aristocratic stutter, the dropping of h's and picking them up at the wrong time, have never been popular in the United States, except by way of caricature. Nothing is more absurd than to take the ground that the English actors are superior to the American. I know of no English actor who can for a moment be compared with Joseph Jefferson, or with Edwin Booth, or with Lawrence Barrett, or with Denman Thompson, and I could easily name others.

If English actors are so much better than American, how is it that an American star is supported by the English? Mary Anderson is certainly an American actress, and she is supported by English actors. Is it possible that the superior support the inferior? I do not believe that England has her equal as an actress. Her Hermione is wonderful, and the appeal to Apollo sublime. In Perdita she "takes the winds of March with beauty." Where is an actress on the English stage the superior of Julia Marlowe in genius, in originality, in naturalness?

Is there any better Mrs. Malaprop than Mrs. Drew, and better Sir Anthony than John Gilbert? No one denies that the English actors and actresses are great. No one will deny that the plays of Shakespeare are the greatest that have been produced, and no one wishes in any way to belittle the genius of the English people.

In this country the average person speaks fairly good English, and you will find substantially the same English spoken in most of the country; whereas in England there is a different dialect in almost every county, and most of the English people speak the language as if was not their native tongue. I think it will be admitted that the English write a good deal better than they speak, and that their pronunciation is not altogether perfect.

These things, however, are not worth speaking of. There is no absolute standard. They speak in the way that is natural to them, and we in the way that is natural to us. This difference furnishes no foundation for a claim of general superiority. The English actors are not brought here on account of their excellence, but on account of their cheapness. It requires no great ability to play the minor parts, or the leading roles in some plays, for that matter. And yet acting is a business, a profession, a means of getting bread.

We protect our mechanics and makers of locomotives and of all other articles. Why should we not protect, by the same means, the actor? You may say that we can get along without actors. So we can get along without painters, without sculptors and without poets. But a nation that gets along without these people of genius amounts to but little. We can do without music, without players and without composers; but when we take art and poetry and music and the theatre out of the world, it becomes an exceedingly dull place.

Actors are protected and cared for in proportion that people are civilized. If the people are intelligent, educated, and have imaginations, they enjoy the world of the stage, the creations of poets, and they are thrilled by great music, and, as a consequence, respect the dramatist, the actor and the musician.

Question. It is claimed that an amendment to the law, such as is desired, will interfere with the growth of art?

Answer. No one is endeavoring to keep stars from this country. If they have American support, and the stars really know anything, the American actors will get the benefit. If they bring their support with them, the American actor is not particularly benefitted, and the star, when the season is over, takes his art and his money with him.

Managers who insist on employing foreign support are not sacrificing anything for art. Their object is to make money. They care nothing for the American actor—nothing for the American drama. They look for the receipts. It is the sheerest cant to pretend that they are endeavoring to protect art.

On the 26th of February, 1885, a law was passed making it unlawful "for any person, company, partnership or corporation, in any manner whatsoever, to prepay the transportation, or in any way assist or encourage the importation or emigration of any alien or aliens into the United States, under contract or agreement, parol or special, previous to the importation or emigration of such aliens to perform labor or services of any kind the United States."

By this act it was provided that its provisions should not apply to professional actors, artists, lecturers or singers, in regard to persons employed strictly as personal or domestic servants. The object now in view is so to amend the law that its provision shall apply to all actors except stars.

Question. In this connection there has been so much said about the art of acting—what is your idea as to that art?

Answer. Above all things in acting, there must be proportion. There are no miracles in art or nature. All that is done—every inflection and gesture—must be in perfect harmony with the circumstances. Sensationalism is based on deformity, and bears the same relation to proportion that caricature does to likeness.

The stream that flows even with its banks, making the meadows green, delights us ever; the one that overflows surprises for a moment. But we do not want a succession of floods.

In acting there must be natural growth, not sudden climax. The atmosphere of the situation, the relation sustained to others, should produce the emotions. Nothing should be strained. Beneath domes there should be buildings, and buildings should have foundations. There must be growth. There should be the bud, the leaf, the flower, in natural sequence. There must be no leap from naked branches to the perfect fruit.

Most actors depend on climax—they save themselves for the supreme explosion. The scene opens with a slow match and ends when the spark reaches the dynamite. So, most authors fill the first act with contradictions and the last with explanations. Plots and counter-plots, violence and vehemence, perfect saints and perfect villains—that is to say, monsters, impelled by improbable motives, meet upon the stage, where they are pushed and pulled for the sake of the situation, and where everything is so managed that the fire reaches the powder and the explosion is the climax.

There is neither time, nor climate, nor soil, in which the emotions and intentions may grow. No land is plowed, no seed is sowed, no rain falls, no light glows—the events are all orphans.

No one would enjoy a sudden sunset—we want the clouds of gold that float in the azure sea. No one would enjoy a sudden sunrise—we are in love with the morning star, with the dawn that modestly heralds the day and draws aside, with timid hands, the curtains of the night. In other words, we want sequence, proportion, logic, beauty.

There are several actors in this country who are in perfect accord with nature—who appear to make no effort—whose acting seems to give them joy and rest. We do well what we do easily. It is a great mistake to exhaust yourself, instead of the subject. All great actors "fill the stage" because they hold the situation. You see them and nothing else.

Question. Speaking of American actors, Colonel, I believe you are greatly interested in the playing of Miss Marlowe, and have given your opinion of her as Parthenia; what do you think of her Julia and Viola?

Answer. A little while ago I saw Miss Marlowe as Julia, in "The Hunchback." We must remember the limitations of the play. Nothing can excel the simplicity, the joyous content of the first scene. Nothing could be more natural than the excitement produced by the idea of leaving what you feel to be simple and yet good, for what you think is magnificent, brilliant and intoxicating. It is only in youth that we are willing to make this exchange. One does not see so clearly in the morning of life when the sun shines in his eyes. In the afternoon, when the sun is behind him, he sees better —he is no longer dazzled. In old age we are not only willing, but anxious, to exchange wealth and fame and glory and magnificence, for simplicity. All the palaces are nothing compared with our little cabin, and all the flowers of the world are naught to the wild rose that climbs and blossoms by the lowly window of content.

Happiness dwells in the valleys with the shadows.

The moment Julia is brought in contact with wealth, she longs for the simple—for the true love of one true man. Wealth and station are mockeries. These feelings, these emotions, Miss Marlowe rendered not only with look and voice and gesture, but with every pose of her body; and when assured that her nuptials with the Earl could be avoided, the only question in her mind was as to the absolute preservation of her honor—not simply in fact, but in appearance, so that even hatred could not see a speck upon the shining shield of her perfect truth. In this scene she was perfect—everything was forgotten except the desire to be absolutely true.

So in the scene with Master Walter, when he upbraids her for forgetting that she is about to meet her father, when excusing her forgetfulness on the ground that he has been to her a father. Nothing could exceed the delicacy and tenderness of this passage. Every attitude expressed love, gentleness, and a devotion even unto death. One felt that there could be no love left for the father she expected to meet—Master Walter had it all.

A greater Julia was never on the stage—one in whom so much passion mingled with so much purity. Miss Marlowe never "o'ersteps the modesty of nature." She maintains proportion. The river of her art flows even with the banks.

In Viola, we must remember the character—a girl just rescued from the sea—disguised as a boy—employed by the Duke, whom she instantly loves—sent as his messenger to woo another for him—Olivia enamored of the messenger—forced to a duel—mistaken for her brother by the Captain, and her brother taken for herself by Olivia—and yet, in the midst of these complications and disguises, she remains a pure and perfect girl—these circumstances having no more real effect upon her passionate and subtle self than clouds on stars.

When Malvolio follows and returns the ring the whole truth flashes upon her. She is in love with Orsino—this she knows. Olivia, she believes, is in love with her. The edge of the situation, the dawn of this entanglement, excites her mirth. In this scene she becomes charming—an impersonation of Spring. Her laughter is as natural and musical as the song of a brook. So, in the scene with Olivia in which she cries, "Make me a willow cabin at your gate!" she is the embodiment of grace, and her voice is as musical as the words, and as rich in tone as they are in thought.

In the duel with Sir Andrew she shows the difference between the delicacy of woman and the cowardice of man. She does the little that she can, not for her own sake, but for the sake of her disguise —she feels that she owes something to her clothes.

But I have said enough about this actress to give you an idea of one who is destined to stand first in her profession.

We will now come back to the real question. I am in favor of protecting the American actor. I regard the theatre as the civilizer of man. All the arts united upon the stage, and the genius of the race has been lavished on this mimic world.

—New York Star, December 23, 1888.