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         FRAGMENTS from the pin of Robert G. Ingersoll.

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          Bank of Wisdom, Box 926, Louisville, KY 40201

                The Works of ROBERT G. INGERSOLL

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                           FRAGMENTS.

     A letter written to Col. Thomas Donaldson, of Philadelphia,
declining an invitation to be a guest of the Clover Club of that
city.

                              Washington, D.C, January 16, 1883.

     CLOVER. -- I regret that I cannot be "in clover with you on
the 28th instant.

     A wonderful thing is clover! It means honey and cream, -- that
is to say, industry and contentment, -- that is to say, the happy
bees in perfumed fields, and at the cottage gate "bos" the
bountiful serenely chewing satisfaction's cud, in that blessed
twilight pause that like a benediction falls between all toil and
sleep.

     This clover makes me dream of happy hours; of childhood's rosy
cheeks; of dimpled babes; of wholesome, loving wives; of honest
men; of springs and brooks and violets and all there is of
stainless joy in peaceful human life.

     A wonderful word is "clover"! Drop the "c," and you have the
happiest of mankind. Drop the "r," and "c," and you have left the
only thing that makes a heaven of this dull and barren earth. Drop
the "r," and there remains a warm, deceitful bud that sweetens
breath and keeps the peace in countless homes whose masters
frequent clubs. After all, Bottom was right:

             "Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow."

                Yours sincerely and regretfully,

                                              R.G. INGERSOLL.

                          ****     ****

     SUPERSTITION puts belief above goodness -- credulity above
virtue.

     Here are two men. One is industrious, frugal, honest,
generous. He has a happy home -- loves his wife and children -- 


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fills their lives with sunshine. He enjoys study, thoughts, music,
and all the subtleties of Art -- but he does not believe the creed
-- cares nothing for sacred books, worships no god and fears no
devil.

     The other is ignorant, coarse, brutal, beats his wife and
children -- but he believes -- regards the Bible as inspired - bows
to the priests, counts his beads, says his prayers, confesses and
contributes, and the Catholic Church declares and the Protestant
Churches declare that he is the better man.

     The ignorant believer, coarse and brutal as he is, is going to
heaven. He will be washed in the blood of the Lamb. He will have
wings -- a harp and a halo.

     The intelligent and generous man who loves his fellow-men --
who develops his brain, who enjoys the beautiful, is going to hell
-- to the eternal prison.

     Such is the justice of God -- the mercy of Christ.

                          ****     ****

     WHILE reading the accounts of the coronation of the Czar, of
the pageants, processions and feasts, of the pomp and parade, of
the barbaric splendor, of cloth of gold and glittering gems, I
could not help thinking of the poor and melancholy peasants, of the
toiling, half-fed millions, of the sad and ignorant multitudes who
belong body and soul to this Czar.

     I thought of the backs that have been scarred by the knout, of
the thousands in prisons for having dared to say a whispered word
for freedom, of the great multitude who had been driven like cattle
along the weary roads that lead to the hell of Siberia.

     The cannon at Moscow were not loud enough, nor the clang of
the bells, nor the blare of the trumpets, to drown the groans of
the captives.

     I thought of the fathers that had been torn from wives and
children for the crime of speaking like men.

     And when the priests spoke of the Czar as the "God-selected
man," the "God-adorned man," my blood grew warm.

     When I read of the coronation of the Czarina I thought of
Siberia. I thought of girls working in the mines, hauling ore from
the pits with chains about their waists; young girls, almost naked,
at the mercy of brutal officials; young girls weeping and moaning
their lives away because between their pure lips the word Liberty
had burst into blossom,

     Yet law neglects, forgets them, and crowns the Czarina. The
injustice, the agony and horror in this poor world are enough to
make mankind insane.




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     Ignorance and superstition crown impudence and tyranny.
Millions of money squandered for the humiliation of man, to
dishonor the people.

     Back of the coronation, back of all the ceremonies, back of
all the hypocrisy there is nothing but a lie.

     It is not true that God "selected" this Czar to rule and rob
a hundred millions of human beings,

     It is all an ignorant, barbaric, superstitious lie -- a lie
that pomp and pageant, and flaunting flags, and robed priests, and
swinging censers, cannot change to truth.

     Those who are not blinded by the glare and glitter at Moscow
see millions of homes on which the shadows fall; see millions of
weeping mothers, whose children have been stolen by the Czar; see
thousands of villages without schools, millions of houses without
books, millions and millions of men, women and children in whose
future there is no star and whose only friend is death.

     The coronation is an insult to the nineteenth century.

     Long live the people of Russia!

                          ****     ****

     MUSIC. -- The savage enjoys noises -- explosion -- the
imitation of thunder. This noise expresses his feeling. He enjoys
concussion. His ear and brain are in harmony. So, he takes
cognizance of but few colors. The neutral tints make no impression
on his eyes. He appreciates the flames of red and yellow. That is
to say, there is a harmony between his brain and eye. As he
advances, develops, progresses, his ear catches other sounds, his
eye other colors. He becomes a complex being, and there has entered
into his mind the idea of proportion. The music of the drum no
longer satisfies him. He sees that there is as much difference
between noises and melodies as between stones and statues. The
strings in Corti's Harp become sensitive and possibly new ones are
developed.

     The eye keeps pace with the ear, and the worlds of sound and
sight increase from age to age.

     The first idea of music is the keeping of time -- a recurring
emphasis at intervals of equal length or duration. This is
afterward modified -- the music of joy being fast, the emphasis at
short intervals, and that of sorrow slow.

     After all, this music of time corresponds to the action of the
blood and muscles. There is a rise and fall under excitement of
both. In joy the heart beats fast, and the music corresponding to
such emotion is quick. In grief -- in sadness, the blood is
delayed. In music the broad division is one of time. In language,
words of joy are born of light -- that which shines -- words of
grief of darkness and gloom. There is still another division: The
language of happiness comes also from heat, and that of sadness 
from cold.

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     These ideas or divisions are universal. In all art are the
light and shadow -- the heat and cold.

                          ****     ****

     OF COURSE England has no love for America. By England I mean
the governing class. Why should monarchy be in love with
republicanism, with democracy? The monarch insists that he gets his
right to rule from what he is pleased to call the will of God,
whereas in a republic the sovereign authority is the will of the
people. It is impossible that there should be any real friendship
between the two forms of government.

     We must, however, remember one thing, and that is, that there
is an England within England -- an England that does not belong to
the titled classes -- an England that has not been bribed or
demoralized by those in authority; and that England has always been
our friend, because that England is the friend of liberty and of
progress everywhere. But the lackeys, the snobs, the flatterers of
the titled, those who are willing to crawl that they may rise, are
now and always have been the enemies of the great Republic.

     it is a curious fact that in monarchical governments the
highest and lowest are generally friends. There may be a foundation
for this friendship in the fact that both are parasites -- both
live on the labor of honest men. After all, there is a kinship
between the prince and the pauper. Both extend the hand for alms,
and the fact that one is jeweled and the other extremely dirty
makes no difference in principle -- and the owners of these hands
have always been fast friends, and, in accordance with the great
law of ingratitude, both have held in contempt the people who
supported them.

     One thing we must not forget, and that is that the best people
of England are our friends. The best writers, the best thinkers are
on our side. It is only natural that all who visit America should
find some fault. We find fault ourselves, and to be thin-skinned is
almost a plea of guilty. For my part, I have no doubt about the
future of America. It not only is, but is to be for many, many
generations, the greatest nation of the world.

     I DO NOT care so much where, as with whom, I live. If the
right folks are with me I can manage to get a good deal of
happiness in the city or in the country. Cats love places and
become attached to chimney-corners and all sorts of nooks -- but I
have but little of the cat in me, and am not particularly in love
with places. After all, a palace without affection is a poor hovel,
and the meanest hut with love in it is a palace for the soul.

     If the time comes when poverty and want cease for the most
part to exist, then the city will be far better than the country.
People are always talking about the beauties of nature and the
delights of solitude, but to me some people are more interesting
than rocks and trees. As to city and country life I think that I
substantially agree with Touchstone:




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     "In respect that it is solitary I like it very well; but in
respect that it is private it is a very vile life. Now, in respect
it is in the fields it pleases me well; but in respect it is not in
the court it is tedious."

                          ****     ****

     WHAT do I think of the launchings in Georgia? I suppose these
outrages -- these frightful crimes -- make the same impression on
my mind that they do on the minds of all civilized people. I know
of no words strong enough, bitter enough, to express my indignation
and horror. Men who belong to the "superior" race take a negro --
a criminal, a supposed murderer, one alleged to have assaulted a
white woman -- chain him to a tree, saturate his clothing with
kerosene, pile fagots about his feet. This is the preparation for
the festival. The people flock in from the neighborhood -- come in
special trains from the towns. They are going to enjoy themselves.

     Laughing and cursing they gather about the victim. A man steps
from the crowd -- a man who hates crime and loves virtue. He draws
his knife, and in a spirit of merry sport cuts off one of the
victim's ears. This he keeps for a trophy -- a souvenir. Another
gentlemen fond of a jest cuts off the other ear. Another cuts off
the nose of the chained and helpless wretch. The victim suffered in
silence. He uttered no groan, no word -- the one man of the two
thousand who had courage.

     Other white heroes cut and slashed his flesh. The crowd
cheered. The people were intoxicated with joy. Then the fagots were
lighted and the bleeding and mutilated man was clothed in flame.

     The people were wild with hideous delight. With greedy eyes
they watched him burn; with hungry ears they listened for his
shrieks -- for the music of his moans and cries. He did not shriek.
The festival was not quite perfect.

     But they had their revenge. They trampled on the charred and
burning corpse. They divided among themselves the broken bones.
They wanted mementos -- keepsakes that they could give to their
loving wives and gentle babes.

     These horrors were perpetrated in the name of justice. The
savages who did these things belong to the superior race. They are
citizens of the great Republic. And yet, it does not seem possible
that such fiends are human beings. They are a disgrace to our
country, our century and the human race.

     Ex-Governor Atkinson protested against this savagery. He was
threatened with death. The good people were helpless. While these
lynchers murder the blacks they will destroy their own country. No
civilized man wishes to live where the mob is supreme. He does not
wish to be governed by murderers.

     Let me say that what I have said is flattery compared with
what I feel. When I think of the other lynching -- of the poor man
mutilated and hanged without the slightest evidence, of the negro
who said that these murders would be avenged, and who was brutally 


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murdered for the utterance of a natural feeling -- I am utterly at
a loss for words.

     Are the white people insane? Has mercy fled to beasts? Has the
United States no power to protect a citizen? A nation that cannot
or will not protect its citizens in time of peace has no right to
ask its citizens to protect it in time of war.

                          ****     ****

     OUR COUNTRY. -- Our country is all we hope for -- all we are.
It is the grave of our father, of our mother, of each and every one
of the sacred dead.

     It is every glorious memory of our race. Every heroic deed.
Every act of self-sacrifice done by our blood. It is all the
accomplishments of the past -- all the wise things said -- all the
kind things done -- all the poems written and all the poems lived
-- all the defeats sustained -- all the victories won -- the girls
we love -- the wives we adore -- the children we carry in our
hearts -- all the firesides of home all the quiet springs, the
babbling brooks, the rushing rivers, the mountains, plains and
woods -- the dells and dales and vines and vales.

                          ****     ****

     GIFT GIVING. -- I believe in the festival called Christmas --
not in the celebration of the birth of any man, but to celebrate
the triumph of light over darkness -- the victory of the sun.

     I believe in giving gifts on that day, and a real gift should
be given to those who cannot return it; gifts from the rich to the
poor, from the prosperous to the unfortunate, from parents to
children.

     There is no need of giving water to the sea or light to the
sun. Let us give to those who need, neither asking nor expecting
return, not even asking gratitude, only asking that the gift shall
make the receiver happy -- and he who gives in that way increases
his own joy.

                          ****     ****

     WE HAVE no right to enslave our children. We have no right to
bequeath chains and manacles to our heirs. We have no right to
leave a legacy of mental degradation.

     Liberty is the birthright of all. Parents should not deprive
their children of the great gifts of nature. We cannot all leave
lands and gold to those we love; but we can leave Liberty, and that
is of more value than all the wealth of India.

     The dead have no right to enslave the living. To worship
ancestors is to curse posterity. He who bows to the Past insults
the Future; and allows, so to speak, the dead to rob the unborn.
The coffin is good enough in its way, but the cradle is far better.
With the bones of the fathers they beat out the brains of the 
children.

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                        RANDOM THOUGHTS.

     The road is short to anything we fear.

                          ****     ****

     Joy lives in the house beyond the one we reach.

                          ****     ****

IN YOUTH the time is halting, slow and lame.
In age the time is winged and eager as a flame.
The sea seems narrow as we near the farther shore.
Youth goes hand in hand with hope -- old age with fear.
Youth has a wish -- old age a dread.
In youth the leaves and buds seem loath to grow.
Youth shakes the glass to speed the lingering sands.
Youth says to Time: O crutched and limping laggard, get thee wings.
The dawn comes slowly, but the Westering day leaps
like a lover to the dusky bosom of the Ethiop night

                          ****     ****

     I THINK that all days are substantially alike in the long run.
It is no worse to drink on Sunday than on Monday. The idea that one
day in the week is holy is wholly idiotic. Besides, these closing
laws do no good.

     Laws are not locks and keys. Saloon doors care nothing about
laws. Law or no law, people will slip in, and then, having had so
much trouble getting there, they will stay until they stagger out.
These nasty, meddlesome, Pharisaic, hypocritical laws make sneaks
and hypocrites. The children of these laws are like the fathers of
the laws. Ever since I can remember, people have been trying to
make other people temperate by intemperate laws. I have never known
of the slightest success. It is a pity that Christ manufactured
wine, a pity that Paul took heart and thanked God when he saw the
sign of the Three Taverns; a pity that Jehovah put alcohol in
almost everything that grows; a great pity that prayer-meetings are
not more popular than saloons; a pity that our workingmen do not
amuse themselves reading religious papers and the genealogies in
the Old Testament.

     Rum has caused many quarrels and many murders.

     Religion has caused many wars and covered countless fields
with dead.

     Of course, all men should be temperate, -- should avoid excess
-- should keep the golden path between extremes -- should gather
roses, not thorns. The only way to make men temperate is to develop
the brain.

     When passions and appetites are stronger than the intellect,
men are savages; when the intellect governs the passions, when the
passions are servants, men are civilized. The people need education



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-- facts -- philosophy. Drunkenness is one form of intemperance,
prohibition is another form. Another trouble is that these little
laws and ordinances can not be enforced.

     Both parties want votes, and to get votes they will allow
unpopular laws to sleep, neglected, and finally refuse to enforce
them. These spasms of virtue, these convulsions of conscience are
soon over, and then comes a long period of neglectful rest.

                          ****     ****

     THE OLD AND NEW YEAR. -- For countless ages the old earth has
been making, in alternating light and shade, in gleam and gloom,
the whirling circuit of the sun, leaving the record of its flight
in many forms -- in leaves of stone, in growth of tree and vine and
flower, in glittering gems of many hues, in curious forms of
monstrous life, in ravages of flood and flame, in fossil fragments
stolen from decay by chance, in molten masses hurled from lips of
fire, in gorges worn by waveless, foamless cataracts of ice, in
coast lines beaten back by the imprisoned sea, in mountain ranges
and in ocean reefs, in islands lifted from the underworld -- in
continents submerged and given back to light and life.

     Another year has joined his shadowy fellows in the wide and
voiceless desert of the past, where, from the eternal hour-glass
forever fall the sands of time. Another year, with all its joy and
grief, of birth and death, of failure and success -- of love and
hate. And now, the first day of the new o'er arches all. Standing
between the buried and the babe, we cry, "Farewell and Hail!" 

                                        January 1, 1893.

                          ****     ****

     KNOWLEDGE consists in the perception of facts, their relations
-- conditions, modes and results of action. Experience is the
foundation of knowledge -- without experience it is impossible to
know. It may be that experience can be transmitted -- inherited.
Suppose that an infinite being existed in infinite space. He being
the only existence, what knowledge could he gain by experience? He
could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. He would have no use
for what we call the senses. Could he use what we call the
faculties of the mind? He could not compare, remember, hope or
fear. He could not reason. How could he know that he existed? How
could he use force? There was in the universe nothing that would
resist -- nothing.

                          ****     ****

     MOST MEN are economical when dealing with abundance, hoarding
gold and wasting time -- throwing away the sunshine of life -- the
few remaining hours, and hugging to their shriveled hearts that
which they do not and cannot even expect to use. Old age should
enjoy the luxury of giving. How divine to live in the atmosphere,
the climate of gratitude, The men who clutch and fiercely hold and
look at wife and children with eyes dimmed by age and darkened by
suspicion, giving naught until the end, then give to death the 
gratitude that should have been their own.

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                          ****     ****

     DEATH OF THE AGED. -- After all, there is something tenderly
appropriate in the serene death of the old. Nothing is more
touching than the death of the young, the strong. But when the
duties of life have all been nobly done; when the sun touches the
horizon; when the purple twilight falls upon the past, the present,
and the future; when memory, with dim eyes, can scarcely spell the
blurred and faded records of the vanished days -- then, surrounded
by kindred and by friends, death comes like a strain of music. The
day has been long, the road weary, and the traveler gladly stops at
the welcome inn.

     Nearly forty-eight years ago, under the snow, in the little
town of Cazenovia, my poor mother was buried. I was but two years
old. I remember her as she looked in death. That sweet, cold face
has kept my heart warm through all the changing years.

                          ****     ****

     THERE is no cunning art to trace
     In any feature, form or face,
     Or wrinkled palm, with criss-cross lines
     The good or bad in peoples' minds.
     Nor can we guess men's thoughts or aims
     By seeing how they write their names.
     We could as well foretell their acts
     By getting outlines of their tracks.
     Ourselves we do not know -- how then
     Can we find out our fellow-men?
     And yet -- although the reason laughs --
     We like to look at autographs --
     And almost think that we can guess
     What lines and dots of ink express. --

                          August 11, 1892.
                                          R.G. INGERSOLL.

     From the autograph collection of Miss Eva Ingersoll Farrell.

                          ****     ****

     THE WORLD Is growing poor. -- Darwin the naturalist, the
observer, the philosopher, is dead. Wagner the greatest composer
the world has produced, is silent. Hugo the poet, patriot and
philanthropist, is at rest. Three mighty rivers have ceased to
flow. The smallest insect was made interesting by Darwin's glance;
the poor blind worm became the farmer's friend -- the maker of the
farm, -- and even weeds began to dream and hope.

                          ****     ****

     BUT IF we live beyond life's day and reach the dusk, and
slowly travel in the shadows of the night, the way seems long, and
being weary we ask for rest, and then, as in our youth, we chide
the loitering hours. When eyes are dim and memory fails to keep a
record of events; when ears are dull and muscles fail to obey the
will; when the pulse is low and the tired heart is weak. and the 


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poor brain has hardly power to think, then comes the dream, the
hope of rest, the longing for the peace of dreamless sleep.

                          ****     ****

     SAINTS. -- The saints have poisoned life with piety. They have
soured the mother's milk. They have insisted that joy is crime --
that beauty is a bait with which the Devil captures the souls of
men -- that laughter leads to sin -- that pleasure, in its every
form, degrades, and that love itself is but the loathsome serpent
of unclean desire. They have tried to compel men to love shadows
rather than women -- phantoms rather than people.

     The saints have been the assassins of sunshine, -- the
skeletons at feasts. They have been the enemies of happiness. They
have hated the singing birds, the blossoming plants. They have
loved the barren and the desolate -- the croaking raven and the
hooting owl -- tombstones, rather than statues.

     And yet, with a strange inconsistency, happiness was to be
enjoyed forever, in another world. There, pleasure, with all its
corrupting influences, was to be eternal. No one pretended that
heaven was to be filled with self-denial with fastings and
scourgings, with weepings and regrets: with solemn and emaciated
angels, with sad-eyed seraphim with lonely parsons, with mumbling
monks, with shriveled nuns, with days of penance and with nights of
prayer.

     Yet all this self-denial on the part of the saints was founded
in the purest selfishness. They were to be paid for all their
sufferings in another world. They were "laying up treasures in
heaven." They had made a bargain with God. He had offered eternal
joy to those who would make themselves miserable here. The saints
gladly and cheerfully accepted the terms. They expected pay for
every pang of hunger, for every groan, for every tear, for every
temptation resisted; and this pay was to be an eternity of joy. The
selfishness of the saints was equaled only by the stupidity of the
saints.

     It is not true that character is the aim of life. Happiness
should be the aim -- and as a matter of fact is and always has been
the aim, not only of sinners, but of saints. The saints seemed to
think that happiness was better in another world than here, and
they expected this happiness beyond the clouds. They looked upon
the sinner as foolish to enjoy himself for the moment here, and in
consequence thereof to suffer forever. Character is not an end, it
is a means to an end. The object of the saint is happiness
hereafter -- the means, to make himself miserable here. The object
of the philosopher is happiness here and now, and hereafter, -- if
there be another world.

     If struggle and temptation, misery and misfortune, are
essential to the formation of what you call character, how do you
account for the perfection of your angels, or for the goodness of
your God? Were the angels perfected through misfortune? If
happiness is the only good in heaven, why should it not be
considered the only good here?


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     In order to be happy, we must be in harmony with the
conditions of happiness. It cannot be obtained by prayer, -- it
does not come from heaven -- it must be found here, and nothing
should be done, or left undone, for the sake of any supernatural
being, but for the sake of ourselves and other natural beings.

     The early Christians were preparing for the end of the world.
In their view, life was of no importance except as it gave them
time to prepare for "The Second Coming." They were crazed by fear.
Since that time, the world not coming to the expected end, they
have been preparing for "The Day of judgment," and have, to the
extent of their ability, filled the world with horror. For
centuries, it was, and still is, their business to destroy the
pleasures of this life. In the midst of prosperity they have
prophesied disaster. At every feast they have spoken of famine, and
over the cradle they have talked of death. They have held skulls
before the faces of terrified babes. On the cheeks of health they
see the worms of the grave, and in their eyes the white breasts of
love are naught but corruption and decay.

                          ****     ****

     THE WASTE FORCES OF NATURE. -- For countless years the great
cataracts, as for instance, Niagara, have been singing their solemn
songs, filling the savage with terror, the civilized with awe;
recording its achievements in books of stone -- useless and
sublime; inspiring beholders with the majesty of purposeless force
and the wastefulness of nature.

     Force great enough to turn the wheels of the world, lost,
useless.

     So with the great tides that rise and fall on all the shores
of the world -- lost forces. And yet man is compelled to use to
exhaustion's point the little strength he has.

     This will be changed.

     The great cataracts and the great tides will submit to the
genius of man. They are to be for use. Niagara will not be allowed
to remain a barren roar. It must become the servant of man. It will
weave robes for men and women. It will fashion implements for the
farmer and the mechanic. It will propel coaches for rich and poor.
It will fill streets and homes with light, and the old barren roar
will be changed to songs of success, to the voices of love and
content and joy.

     Science at last has found that all forces are convertible into
each other, and that all are only different aspects of one fact.

     So the flood is still a terror, but, in my judgment, the time
will come when the floods will be controlled by the genius of man,
when the tributaries of the great rivers and their tributaries will
be dammed in such a way as to collect the waters of every flood and
give them out gradually through all the year, maintaining an equal
current at all times in the great rivers.



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     We have at last found that force occupies a circle, that
Niagara is a child of the Sun -- that the sun shines, the mist
rises, clouds form, the rain falls, the rivers flow to the lakes,
and Niagara fills the heavens with its song. Man will arrest the
falling flood; he will change its force to electricity; that is to
say, to light, and then force will have made the circuit from light
to light.

                          ****     ****

     ARE MEN'S characters fully determined at the age of thirty?

     It depends, first, on what their opportunities have been --
that is to say, on their surroundings, their education, their
advantages; second, on the shape, quality and quantity of brain
they happen to possess; third, on their mental and oral courage;
and, fourth, on the character of the people among whom they live.

     The natural man continues to grow. The longer he lives, the
more he ought to know, and the more he knows, the more he changes
the views and opinions held by him in his youth. Every new fact
results in a change of views more or less radical. This growth of
the mind may be hindered by the "tyrannous north wind" of public
opinion; by the bigotry of his associates; by the fear that he
cannot make a living if he becomes unpopular; and it is to some
extent affected by the ambition of the person, that is to say, if
he wishes to hold office the tendency is to agree with his
neighbor, or at least to round off and smooth the corners and
angles of difference. If a man wishes to ascertain the truth,
regardless of the opinions of his fellow-citizens, the probability
is that he will change from day to day and from year to year --
that is, his intellectual horizon ill widen -- and that what he
once deemed of great importance will be regarded as an exceedingly
small segment of a greater circle.

     Growth means change. If a man grows after thirty years he must
necessarily change. Many men probably reach their intellectual
height long before they have lived thirty years, and spend the
balance of their lives in defending the mistakes of their youth. A
great man continues to grow until his death, and growth -- as I
said before -- means change. Darwin was continually finding new
facts, and kept his mind as open to a new truth as the East is to
the rising of another sun. Humboldt at the age of ninety maintained
the attitude of a pupil, and was, until the moment of his death,
willing to learn.

     The more a man knows, the more willing he is to learn -- The
less a man knows, the more positive he is that he knows everything.

     The smallest minds mature the earliest. The less there is to
a man the quicker he attains his growth. I have known many people
who reached their intellectual height while in their mother's arms,
I have known people who were exceedingly smart babies to become
excessively stupid people. It is with men as with other things. The
mullein needs only a year, but the oak a century, and the greatest
men are those who have continued to grow as long as they have
lived. Small people delight in what they call consistency -- that 


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is, it gives them immense pleasure to say that they believe now
exactly as they did ten years ago. This simply amounts to a
certificate that they have not grown -- that they have not
developed -- and that they know just as little now as they ever
did. The highest possible conception of consistency is to be true
to the knowledge of to-day, without the slightest reference to what
your opinion was years ago.

     There is another view of this subject. Few men have settled
opinions before or at thirty. Of course, I do not include persons
of genius. At thirty the passions have, as a rule, too much
influence; the intellect is not the pilot. At thirty most men have
prejudices rather than opinions -- that is to say, rather than
judgments -- and few men have lived to be sixty without materially
modifying the opinions they held at thirty.

     As I said in the first place, much depends on the shape,
quality and quantity of brain; much depends on mental and moral
courage. There are many people with great physical courage who are
afraid to express their opinions; men who will meet death without
a tremor and will yet hesitate to express their views.

     So, much depends on the character of the people among whom we
live. A man in the old times living in New England thought several
times before he expressed any opinion contrary to the views of the
majority. But if the people have intellectual hospitality, then men
express their views -- and it may be that we change somewhat in
proportion to the decency of our neighbors. In the old times it was
thought that God was opposed to any change of opinion, and that
nothing so excited the anger of the deity as the expression of a
new thought. That idea is fading away.

     The real truth is that men change their opinions as long as
they grow, and only those remain of the same opinion still who have
reached the intellectual autumn of their lives; who have gone to
seed, and who are simply waiting for the winter of death. Now and
then there is a brain in which there is the climate of perpetual
spring -- men who never grow old -- and when such a one is found we
say, "Here is a genius."

     Talent has the four seasons: spring, that is to say, the
sowing of the seeds; summer, growth; autumn, the harvest; winter,
intellectual death. But there is now and then a genius who has no
winter, and, no matter how many years he may live, on the blossom
of his thought no snow falls. Genius has the climate of perpetual
growth.

                          ****     ****

     THE MOIETY SYSTEM. -- The Secretary of the Treasury recommends
a revival of the moiety system. Against this infamous step every
honest citizen ought to protest.

     In this country, taxes cannot be collected through such
Instrumentalities. An informer is not indigenous to our soil. He
always has been and always will be held in merited contempt.



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     Every inducement, by this system, is held out to the informer
to become a liar. The spy becomes an officer of the Government. He
soon becomes the terror of his superior. He is a sword without a
hilt and without a scabbard, Every taxpayer becomes the lawful prey
of a detective whose property depends upon the destruction of his
prey.

     These informers and spies are corrupters of public morals.
They resort to all known dishonest means for the accomplishment of
what they pretend to be an honest object. With them perjury becomes
a fine art. Their words are a commodity bought and sold in courts
of justice.

     This is the first phase. In a little while juries will refuse
to believe them, and every suit in which they are introduced will
be lost by the Government. Of this the real thieves will be quick
to take advantage. So many honest men will nave been falsely
charged by perjured informers and moiety miscreants, that to
convict the guilty will become impossible. If the Government wishes
to collect the taxes it must set an honorable example. It must deal
kindly and honestly with the people. It must not inaugurate a
vampire system of espionage. It must not take it for granted that
every manufacturer and importer is a thief, and that all spies and
informers are honest men.

     The revenues of this country are as honestly paid as they are
expended. There has been as much fair dealing outside as inside of
the Treasury Department.

     But, however that may be, the informer system will not make
them honest men, but will in all probability produce exactly the
opposite result. If our system of taxation is so unpopular that the
revenues cannot be collected without bribing men to tell the truth;
if our officers must be offered rewards beyond their salaries to
state the facts; if it is impossible to employ men to discharge
their duties honestly, then let us change the system. The moiety
system makes the Treasury Department a vast vampire sucking the
blood of the people upon shares. Americans detest informers, spies,
detectives, turners of State's evidence, eavesdroppers, paid
listeners, hypocrites, public smellers, trackers, human hounds and
ferrets. They despise men who "suspect" for a living; they hate
legal layers-in-wait and the highwaymen of the law. They abhor the
betrayers of friends and those who lead and tempt others to commit
a crime in order that they may detect it. In a monarchy, the
detective system is a necessity. The great thief has to be
sustained by smaller ones. -- December 4, 1877.

                          ****     ****

     LANGUAGE. -- Most people imagine that men have always talked;
that language is as old as the race; and it is supposed that some
language was taught by some mythological god to the first pair. But
we now know, if we know anything, that language is a growth; that
every word had to be created by man, and that back of every word is
some want, some wish, some necessity of the body or mind, and also
a genius to embody that want or that wish, to express that thought
in some sound that we call a word.


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     At first, the probability is that men uttered sounds of fear,
of content, of anger, or happiness. And the probability is that the
first sounds or cries expressed such feelings, and these sounds
were nouns, adjectives, and verbs.

     After a time, man began to give his ideas to others by rude
pictures, drawings of animals and trees and the various other
things with which he could give rude thoughts. At first he would
make a picture of the whole animal. Afterward some part of the
animal would stand for the whole, and in some of the old picture-
writings the curve of the nostril of a horse stands for the animal.
This was the shorthand of picture-writing. But it was a long
journey to where marks would stand, not for pictures, but for
sounds. And then think of the distance still to the alphabet. Then
to writing, so that marks took entirely the place of pictures. Then
the invention of movable type, and then the press, making it
possible to save the wealth of the brain; making it possible for a
man to leave not simply his property to his fellow-man, not houses
and lands and dollars, but his ideas, his thoughts, his theories,
his dreams, the poetry and pathos of his soul. Now each generation
is heir to all the past.

     If we had free thought, then we could collect the wealth of
the intellectual world. In the physical world, springs make the
creeks and brooks, and they the rivers, and the rivers empty into
the great sea. So each brain should add to the sum of human
knowledge. If we deny freedom of thought, the springs cease to
gurgle, the rivers to run, and the great ocean of knowledge becomes
a desert of barren ignorant sand.

                          ****     ****

     THIS IS AN AGE OF MONEY-GETTING, of materialism, of cold,
unfeeling science. The question arises, Is the world growing less
generous, less heroic, less chivalric?

     Let us answer this. The experience of the individual is much
like the experience of a generation, or of a race. An old man
imagines that everything was better when he was young; that the
weather could then be depended on; that sudden changes are recent
inventions. So he will tell you that people used to be honest; that
the grocers gave full weight and the merchants full measure, and
that the bank cashier did not spend the evening of his days in
Canada.

     He will also tell you that the women were handsome and
virtuous. There were no scandals then, no divorces, and that in
religion all were orthodox -- no Infidels. Before he gets through,
he will probably tell you that the art of cooking has been lost --
that nobody can make biscuit now, and that he never expects to eat
another slice of good bread.

     He mistakes the twilight of his own life for the coming of the
night of universal decay and death. He imagines that that has
happened to the world, which has only happened to him. It does not
occur to him that millions at the moment he is talking are
undergoing the experience of his youth, and that when they become 
old they will praise the very days that he denounces.

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     The Garden of Eden has always been behind us. The Golden Age,
after all, is the memory of youth -- it is the result of remembered
pleasure in the midst of present pain.

     To old age youth is divine, and the morning of life cloudless.

     So now thousands and millions of people suppose that the age
of true chivalry has gone by and that honesty has about concluded
to leave the world. As a matter of fact, the age known as the age
of chivalry was the age of tyranny, of arrogance and cowardice. Men
clad in complete armor cut down the peasants that were covered with
leather, and these soldiers of the chivalric age armored themselves
to that degree that if they fell in battle they could not rise,
held to the earth by the weight of iron that their bravery had got
itself entrenched within. Compare the difference in courage between
going to war in coats of mail against sword and spear, and charging
a battery of Krupp guns!

     The ideas of justice have grown larger and nobler. Charity now
does, without a thought, what the average man a few centuries ago
was incapable of imagining. In the old times slavery was upheld,
and imprisonment for debt. Hundreds of crimes -- or rather
misdemeanors -- were punishable by death. Prisons were loathsome
beyond description. Thousands and thousands died in chains. The
insane were treated like wild beasts; no respect was paid to sex or
age. Women were burned and beheaded and torn asunder as though they
had been hyenas, and children were butchered with the greatest
possible cheerfulness.

     So it seems to me that the world is more chivalric, more
generous, nearer just and fair, more charitable, than ever before.

                          ****     ****

     THE COLORED MAN IS DOING WELL. He is hungry for knowledge.
Their children are going to school. Colored boys are taking prizes
in the colleges. A colored man was the orator of Harvard. They are
industrious, and in the South many are becoming rich. As the
people, black and white, become educated they become better
friends. The old prejudice is the child of ignorance. The colored
man will succeed if the South succeeds. The South is richer to-day
than ever before, more prosperous, and both races are really
improving. The greatest danger in the South, and for that matter
all over the country, is the mob. It is the duty of every good
citizen to denounce the mob. Down with the mob.

                          ****     ****

     FREEDOM of religion is the destruction of religion. In Rome,
after people were allowed to worship their own gods, all gods fell
into disrepute. It will be so in America. Here is freedom of
religion, and all devotees find that the gods of other devotees are
just as good as theirs. They find that the prayers of others are
answered precisely as their prayers are answered.

     The Protestant God is no better than the Catholic, and the
Catholic is no better than the Mormon, and the Mormon is no better
than Nature for answering prayers. In other words, all prayers die 

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in the air which they uselessly agitate. There is undoubtedly a
tendency among the Protestant denominations to unite. This tendency
is born of weakness, not of strength. In a few years, if all should
unite, they would hardly have power enough to obstruct, for any
considerable time, the march of the intellectual host destined to
conquer the world. But let us all be good natured; let us give to
others all the rights that we claim for ourselves. The future, I
believe, has both hands full of blessings for the human race.

                          ****     ****

     THE DEISTS AND NATURE. -- We who deny the supernatural origin
of the Bible, must admit not only that it exists, but that it was
naturally produced. If it is not supernatural, it is natural. It
will hardly do for the worshipers of Nature to hold the Bible in
contempt, simply because it is not a supernatural book,

     The Deists of the last century made a mistake. They proceeded
to show that the Bible is immoral, untrue, cruel and absurd, and
therefore came to the conclusion that it could not have been
written by a being of infinite wisdom and goodness, -- the being
whom they believed to be the author of Nature. Could not infinite
wisdom and goodness just as easily command crime as to permit it?
Is it really any worse to order the strong to slay the weak, than
to stand by and refuse to protect the weak?

     After all, is Nature, taken together, any better than the
Bible? If God did not command the Jews to murder the Canaanites,
Nature, to say the least, did not prevent it. If God did not uphold
the practice of polygamy, Nature did. The moment we deny the
supernatural origin of the Bible, we declare that Nature wrote its
every word, commanded all its cruelties, told all its falsehoods.
The Bible is, like Nature, a mixture of what we call "good" and
"bad," --  of what appears, and of what in reality is.

     The Bible must have been a perfectly natural production not
only, but a necessary one. There was, and is, no power in the
universe that could have changed one word. All the mistakes in
translation were necessarily made, and not one, by any possibility,
could have been avoided. That book, like all other facts in Nature,
could not have been otherwise than it is. The fact being that
Nature has produced all superstitions, all persecution, all
slavery, and every crime, ought to be sufficient to deter the
average man from imagining that this power, whatever it may be, is
worthy of worship.

     There is good in Nature. It is the nature in us that perceives
the evil, that pursues the right. In man, Nature not only
contemplates herself, but approves or condemns her actions. Of
course, "good and bad" are relative terms, and things are "good" or
"bad" as they affect man well or ill.

     Infidels, skeptics, -- that is to say, Freethinkers, have
opposed the Bible on account of the bad things in it, and
Christians have upheld it, not on account of the bad, but on
account of the good. Throw away the doctrine of inspiration, and
the Bible will be more powerful for good and far less for evil. 


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Only a few years ago, Christians looked upon the Bible as the
bulwark of human slavery. It was the word of God, and for that
reason was superior to the reason of uninspired man. Had it been
considered simply as the work of man, it would not have been quoted
to establish that which the man of this age condemns. Throw away
the idea of inspiration, and all passages in conflict with liberty,
with science, with the experience of the intelligent part of the
human race, instantly become harmless. They are no longer guides
for man. They are simply the opinions of dead barbarians. The good
passages not only remain, but their influence is increased, because
they are relieved of a burden.

     No one cares whether the truth is inspired or not. The truth
is independent of man, not only, but of God. And by truth I do not
mean the absolute, I mean this: Truth is the relation between
things and thoughts, and between thoughts and thoughts. The
perception of this relation bears the same relation to the logical
faculty in man, that music does to some portion of the brain --
that is to say, it is a mental melody. This sublime strain has been
heard by a few, and I am enthusiastic enough to believe that it
will be the music of the future.

     For the good and for the true in the Old and New Testaments I
have the same regard that I have for the good and true, no matter
where they may be found. We who know how false the history of to-
day is; we who know the almost numberless mistakes that men make
who are endeavoring to tell the truth; we who know how hard it is,
with all the facilities we now have -- with the daily press, the
telegraph, the fact that nearly all can read and write -- to get a
truthful report of the simplest occurrence, must see that nothing
short of inspiration (admitting for the moment the possibility of
such a thing,) could have prevented the Scriptures from being
filled with error.

                          ****     ****

     AT LAST, the schoolhouse is larger than the church. The common
people have, through education, become uncommon. They now know how
little is really known by kings, presidents, legislators, and
professors. At last, they are capable of not only understanding a
few questions, but they have acquired the art of discussing those
that no one understands. With the facility of the cultured, they
can now hide behind phrases and make barricades of statistics. They
understand the sophistries of the upper classes; and while the
cultured have been turning their attention to the classics, to the
dead languages, and the dead ideas that they contain, -- while they
have been giving their attention to ceramics, artistic decorations,
and compulsory prayers, the common people have been compelled to
learn the practical things. They are acquainted with facts, because
they have done the work of the world.

                          ****     ****

     CRUELTY. -- Sometimes it has seemed to me that cruelty is the
eliminate of crime, and that generosity is the spring, Summer and
Autumn of virtue. Every form of wickedness, of meanness, springs
from selfishness, that is to say, from cruelty. Every good man 


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hates and despises the wretch who abuses wife and child -- who
rules by curses and blows and makes his home a kind of hell, So, no
generous man wishes to associate with one who overworks his horse
and feeds the lean and fainting beast with blows.

     The barbarian delights in inflicting pain. He loves to see his
victim bleed, -- but the civilized man stanches blood, binds up
wounds and decreases pain. He pities the suffering animal as well
as the suffering man.

     He would no more inflict wanton wounds upon a dog than on a
man. The heart of the civilized man speaks for the dumb and
helpless.

     A good man would no more think of flaying a living animal than
of murdering his mother. The man who cuts a hoof from the leg of a
horse is capable of committing any crime that does not require
courage. Such an experiment can be of no use. Under no
circumstances are hoofs taken from horses for the good of the
horses any more than their heads would be cut off.

     Think of the pain inflicted by separating the hoof of a living
horse from the flesh! If the poor beast could speak what would he
say? The same knowledge could be obtained by cutting away the hoof
of a dead horse. Knowledge of every bone, ligament, artery and
vein, of every cartilage and joint can be obtained by the
dissection of the dead. "But," says the biologist, "we must dissect
the living."

     Well, millions of living animals have been cut in pieces;
millions of experiments have been tried; all the nerves have been
touched; every possible agony has been inflicted that ingenuity
could invent and cruelty accomplish. Many volumes have been
published filled with accounts of these experiments, giving all the
details and the results. People who are curious about such things
can read these reports. There is no need of repeating these savage
experiments, It is now known how long a dog can live with all the
pores of his skin closed, how long he can survive the loss of his
skin, or one lobe of his brain, or both of his kidneys, or part of
his intestines, or without his liver, and there is no necessity of
mutilating and mangling thousands of other dogs to substantiate
what is already known.

     Of what possible use is it to know just how long an animal can
live without water -- at what time he becomes insane from thirst,
or blind or deaf?

                          ****     ****

     THE WORLD'S FAIR Will do great good. A great many thousand
people of the Old World will for the first time understand the new;
will for the first time appreciate what a free people can do. For
the first time they will know the value of free institutions, of
individual independence, of a country where people express their
thoughts, are not afraid of each other, not afraid to try -- a
people so accustomed to success that disaster is not taken into
calculation. Of course, we have great advantages. We have a new 


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half of the world. We have soil better than is found in other
countries, and the soil is new and generous and anxious to be
cultivated. So we have everything in hill and mountain that man can
need -- silver, and gold, and iron beyond computation -- and, in
addition to all that, our people are the most inventive. We sustain
about the same relation to invention that Italy in her palmy days
did to art, or that Spain did to superstition.

     And right here it may be well enough to say that I think it
was exceedingly unfortunate that this country was discovered under
the auspices of Spain. Ferdinand and Isabella were a couple of
wretches. The same year that Columbus discovered America, these
sovereigns expelled the Jews from Spain, and the expulsion was
accompanied by every outrage, by every atrocity to which man --
that is to say, savage man -- that is to say, the superstitious
savage -- is capable of inflicting.

     The Spaniards came to America and destroyed two civilizations
far better than their own. They were natural robbers, buccaneers,
and thought nothing of murdering thousands for gold. I am perfectly
willing to celebrate the fact of discovery, but for the sovereigns
of Spain I am not willing to celebrate, except, perhaps their
deaths. There is at least some joy to be extracted from that.

     In spite of the untoward circumstances under which the
continent was discovered and settled, there is one thing that
counteracted to a certain degree the influence of the Old World in
the New. Possibly we owe our liberty to the Indians. If there had
been no hostile savages on this continent, the kings and princes of
the Old World would have taken possession and would have divided it
out among their favorites. They tried to do that, but their
favorites could not take possession. They had to fight for the soil
and in the conflict of centuries they found that a good fighter was
a good citizen, and the ideas of caste were slowly lost.

     Then another thing was of benefit to us. The settlers felt
that they had earned the soil; that they had fought for it, gained
it by their sufferings, their courage, their self-denial, and their
labor; and the idea crept into their heads that the kings in
Europe, who had done nothing, had no right to dictate to them.

     Thus at first the spirit of caste was destroyed by
respectability resting on usefulness. The spirit of subserviency to
the Old World also died, and the people who had rescued the land
made up their minds not only to own it, but to control it. They
were also firmly convinced that the profits belonged to them. ln
this way manhood was recognized in the New World. In this way grew
up the feeling of nationality here.

     What I wish to see celebrated in this great exposition are the
triumphs that have been achieved in this New World. These I wish to
see above all. At the same time I want the best that labor and
thought have produced in all countries. It seems to me that in the
presence of the wonderful machines, of those marvelous mechanical
contrivances by which we take advantage of the forces of nature, by
which we make servants of the elemental powers -- in the presence,
I say, of these, it seems to me respect for labor must be born. We 


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shall begin to appreciate the men of use instead of those who have
posed as decorations. All the beautiful things, all the useful
things, come from labor, and it is labor that has made the world a
fit habitation for the human race.

     Take from the World's Fair what labor has produced -- the work
of the great artists -- and nothing will be left. What have the
great conquerors to show in this great exhibition? What shall we
get from the Caesars and the Napoleons? What shall we get from
popes and cardinals? What shall we get from the nobility? From
princes and lords and dukes? What excuse have they for having
existence and for having lived on the bread earned by honest men?
They stand in the show-windows of history, lay figures, on which
fine goods are shown, but inside the raiment there is nothing, and
never was. This exposition will be the apotheosis of labor. No man
can attend it without losing, if he has any sense at all, the
spirit of caste; or, if he still maintains it, he will put the
useful in the highest class, and the useless, whether carrying
scepters or dishes for alms, in the lowest.

                                              October, 1892.

                          ****     ****

     THE SAVAGE made of the river, the tree, the mountain, a
fetich. He put within, or behind these things, a spirit - according
to Mr. Spencer, the spirit of a dead ancestor, This is considered
by the modern Christian, and in fact by the modern philosopher, as
the lowest possible phase of the religious idea. To put behind the
river or the tree, or within them, a spirit, a something, is
considered the religion of savagery; but to put behind the
universe, or within it, the same kind of fetich, is considered the
height of philosophy.

     For my part, I see no possible distinction in these systems,
except that the view of the savage is altogether the more poetic.
The fetich of the savage is the noumenon of the Greek, the God of
the theologian, the First Cause of the metaphysician. the
Unknowable of Spencer.

                          ****     ****

     THE UNTHINKABLE. -- It is admitted by all who have thought
upon the question that a First Cause is unthinkable -- that a
creative power is beyond the reach of human thought. It therefore
follows that the miraculous is unthinkable. There is no possible
way in which the human mind can even think of a miracle. It is
infinitely beyond our power of conception. We can conceive of the
statement, but not of the thing. It is impossible for the intellect
to conceive of a clay pot producing oil. It is impossible to
conceive even, of human life being perpetuated in the midst of
fire. This is just as unthinkable as that twice two are twenty-
seven. A man can say that three times three are two, but it is
impossible to think of any such thing -- that is, to think of such
a statement as true. A man may say that he heard a stone sing a
song and heard it afterward repeat a part of Milton's "Paradise
Lost." Now, I can conceive of a man telling such a falsehood, but 
I cannot conceive of the thing having happened.

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                          ****     ****

     CAN HUMAN TESTIMONY OVERCOME THE APPARENTLY IMPOSSIBLE WITHOUT
EXPLANATION? -- It can only be believed by a philosophic mind when
explained -- that is to say, by being destroyed as a miracle, and
persisting simply as a fact.

     Now, I say that a miracle is unthinkable because a power above
Nature, a power that created Nature, is unthinkable. And if a power
above Nature be unthinkable, the miracles claiming to be
supernatural are unthinkable. In other words, all consequences
flowing from a belief in an infinite Creator are necessarily
unthinkable.

                          ****     ****

     EDOUARD REMENYI. -- This week the great violinist, Edouard
Remenyi, as my guest, visited the Bass Rocks House, Cape Ann,
Mass., and for three days delighted and entranced the fortunate
idlers of the beach. He played nearly all the time, night and day,
seemingly carried away with his own music. Among the many
selections given, were the andante from the Tenth Sonata in E flat,
also from the Twelfth Sonata in G minor, by Mozart. Nothing could
exceed the wonderful playing of the selections from the Twelfth
Sonata. A hush as of death fell upon the audience, and when he
ceased, tears fell upon applauding hands. Then followed the Elegie
from Ernst; then "The Ideal Dance" composed by himself -- a fairy
piece, full of wings and glancing feet, moonlight, and melody,
where fountains fall in showers of pearl, and waves of music die on
sands of gold -- then came the "Barcarole" by Schubert, and he
played this with infinite spirit, in a kind of inspired frenzy, as
though music itself were mad with joy; then the grand Sonata in G,
in three movements, by Beethoven. -- 

                                                   August, 1880.

                          ****     ****

     REMENYI'S PLAYING. -- In my mind the old tones are still
rising and falling -- still throbbing, pleading, beseeching,
imploring, wailing like the lost -- rising winged and triumphant,
superb and victorious -- then caressing, whispering every thought
of love -- intoxicated, delirious with joy -- panting with passion
-- fading to silence as softly and imperceptibly as consciousness
is lost in steep.

                          ****     ****

     THE KINDERGARTEN is perfectly adapted to the natural needs and
desires of children. Most children dislike the old system and go
"unwillingly to school." They feel imprisoned and wait impatiently
for their liberty. They learn without understanding and take no
interest in their lessons. In the Kindergarten there is perfect
liberty, and study is transformed into play. To learn is a
pleasure. There are no wearisome tasks -- no mental drudgery -- 



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                  Box 926, Louisville, KY 40201
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                           FRAGMENTS.

nothing but enjoyment, -- the enjoyment of natural development in
natural ways. Children do not have to be driven to the
Kindergarten. To be kept away is a punishment.

     The experience in many towns and cities justifies our belief
that the Kindergarten is the only valuable school for little
children. They are brought in contact with actual things -- with
forms and colors -- things that can be seen and touched, and they
are taught to use their hands and senses -- to understand qualities
and relations, and all is done under the guise of play. We agree
with Froebel who said: "Let us live for our children."

                          ****     ****

     THE METHODIST CHURCH STATISTICS. -- First. In 1800, a
resolution in favor of gradual emancipation was defeated.

     Second. In 1804, resolutions passed requiring ministers to
exhort slaves to be obedient to their masters.

     Third. In 1808, everything about laymen owning slaves stricken
out.

     Fourth. In 1820, a resolution that ministers should not hold
slaves was defeated.

     Fifth. In 1836, a resolution passed that the Methodist Church
opposed abolition of slavery -- one hundred and twenty to fourteen.

     Sixth. In 1845-1846, the Methodist Church divided -- Bishop
Andrews owned slaves.

     Seventh. As late as 1860 there were over ten thousand
Methodists who were slave-holders in the M.E. Church, North.

                          ****     ****

     Response to an invitation to a dinner and a billiard
tournament at the Manhattan Athletic Club, New York City.


                                    117 East 21st Str., N. Y.

                                              Feby. 18, 1899.

My DEAR DR. RANNEY:

     I go to Boston to-morrow. So, you see it is impossible for me
to be with you on the 22d inst. I would like to make a few remarks
on "orthodox billiards." The fact is that the whole world is a
table, we are the balls and Fate plays the game. We are knocked and
whacked against each other, -- followed and drawn -- whirled and
twisted, pocketed and spotted, and all the time we think that we
are doing the playing. But no matter, we feel that we are in the
game, and a real good illusion is, after all, it may be, the only
reality that we know. At the same time, I feel that Fate is a
careless player -- that he is always a little nervous and generally


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                  Box 926, Louisville, KY 40201
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                           FRAGMENTS.

forgets to chalk his cue. I know that he has made lots of mistakes
with me -- lots of misses.

     With many thanks, I remain, yours always.

                                                   R.G. INGERSOLL.

                          ****     ****

     THOUGHTS ON CHRISTMAS, 1891. -- It is beautiful to give one
day to the ideal -- to have one day apart; one day for generous
deeds, for good will, for gladness; one day to forget the shadows,
the rains, the storms of life; to remember the sunshine, the
happiness of youth and health; one day to forget the briers and
thorns of the winding path, to remember the fruits and flowers; one
day in which to feed the hungry, to salute the poor and lowly one
day to feel the brotherhood of man; one day to remember the heroic
and loving deeds of the dead; one day to get acquainted with
children, to remember the old, the unfortunate and the imprisoned;
one day in which to forget yourself and think lovingly of others;
one day for the family, for the fireside, for wife and children,
for the love and laughter, the joy and rapture, of home; one day in
which bonds and stocks and deeds and notes and interest and
mortgages and all kinds of business and trade are forgotten, and
all stores and shops and factories and offices and banks and
ledgers and accounts and lawsuits are cast aside, put away and
locked up, and the weary heart and brain are given a voyage to
fairyland.

     Let us hope that such a day is a prophecy of what all days
will be.

                          ****     ****

     THE ORTHODOX PREACHERS are several centuries in the rear. They
all love the absurd, and glory in believing the impossible. They
are also as conservative as though they were dead -- good people --
the leaders of those who are going backward.

                          ****     ****

     THE MAN who builds a home erects a temple. The flame upon the
hearth is the sacred fire.

     He who loves wife and children is the true worshiper.

     Forms and ceremonies, kneelings and fastings are born of
selfish fear,

     A good deed is the best prayer.

     A loving life is the best religion.

     No one knows whether the Unknown is worthy of worship or not.

                          ****     ****



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                  Box 926, Louisville, KY 40201
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                           FRAGMENTS.

     WE TWO, the doubting brain and hoping heart, with somber
thought and radiant wish, in dusk and dawn, in light and shade
'neath star and sun, together journeying toward the night. And then
the end, sighs the doubting brain -- but there is no end, says the
hoping heart. O Brain! if you knew, you would not doubt. O Heart!
if you knew, you would not hope.

                          ****     ****

     RIGHTS AND DUTIES spring from the same source. He who has no
rights has no duties. Without liberty there can be no
responsibility and no conscience. Man calls himself to an account
for the use of his power, and passes judgment upon himself. The
standard of such judgment we call conscience. In the proportion
that man uses his liberty, his power, for the good of all, he
advances, becomes civilized. Civilization does not consist merely
in invention, discovery, material advancement, but in doing
justice. By civilization is meant all discoveries, facts, theories,
agencies, that add to the happiness of man.

                          ****     ****

     AT BAY. -- Sometimes in the darkness of night I feel as though
surrounded by the great armies of effacement -- that the horizon is
growing smaller every moment -- that the final surrender is only
postponed -- that everything is taking something from me -- that
Nature robs me with her countless hands -- that my heart grows
weaker with every beat -- that even kisses wear me away, and that
every thought takes toll of my brief life.

                          ****     ****

     Written on the first anniversary of his grandchild, Eva
Ingersoll-Brown, August 27, 1892.

     THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY. -- One year of perfect health -- of
countless smiles -- of wonder and surprise -- of growing thought
And love -- was duly celebrated on this day, and all paid tribute
to the infant queen. There were whirling things that scattered
music as they turned -- and boxes filled with tunes -- and curious
animals of whittled wood -- and ivory rings with tinkling bells --
and little dishes for a fairy-feast -- horses that rocked, and
bleating sheep and monstrous elephants of painted tin. A baby-
tender, for a tender babe, garments of silk and cushions wrought
with flowers, and pictures of her mother when a babe -- and silver
dishes for another year -- and coach and four and train of cars --
and bric-a-brac for a baby's house -- and last of all, a pearl, to
mark her first round year of life and love.

                          ****     ****

     SHELLEY. -- The light of morn beyond the purple hills -- a
palm that lifts its coronet of leaves above the desert's sands --
an isle of green in some far sea -- a spring that waits for lips of
thirst -- a strain of music heard within some palace wrought of
dreams -- a cloud of gold above a setting sun -- a fragrance wafted
from some unseen shore.


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                  Box 926, Louisville, KY 40201
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                           FRAGMENTS.

                          ****     ****

     FATE. -- Never hurried, never delayed, passionless, pitiless,
patient, keeping the tryst -- neither early nor late -- there, on
the very stroke and center of the instant fixed.

                          ****     ****

     QUIET, and introspective calm come with the afternoon. Toward
evening the mind grows satisfied and still. The flare and flicker
of youth are gone, and the soul is like the flame of a lamp where
the air is at rest. Age discards the superfluous, the immaterial,
the straw and chaff, and hoards the golden grain. The highway is
known, and the paths no longer mislead. Clouds are not mistaken for
mountains.

                          ****     ****

THE OLD MAN has been long at the fair. He is acquainted with the
jugglers at the booths. His curiosity has been satisfied. He no
longer cares for the exceptional, the monstrous, the marvelous and
deformed. He looks through and beyond the gilding, the glitter and
gloss, not only of things, but of conduct, of manners, theories,
religions and philosophies. He sees clearer. The light no longer
shines in his eyes.

                          ****     ****

     THE TIME will come when even selfishness will be charitable
for its own sake, because at that time the man will have grown and
developed to that degree that selfishness demands generosity and
kindness and justice. The self becomes so noble that selfishness is
a virtue. The lowest form of selfishness is when one is willing to
be happy, or wishes to be happy, at the expense or the misery of
another. The highest form of selfishness is when a man becomes so
noble that he finds his happiness in making others so. This is the
nobility of selfishness.

                          ****     ****

     CUBA fell upon her knees -- stretched her thin hands toward
the great Republic. We saw her tear-filled eyes -- her withered
breasts -- her dead babes -- her dying -- her buried and unburied
dead. We heard her voice, and pity, roused to action by her grief,
became as stern as justice, and the great Republic cried to Spain:
"Sheathe the dagger of assassination; take your bloody hand from
the throat of the helpless; and take your flag from the heaven of
the stem World."

                          ****     ****

     PERHAPS I have reached the years of discretion. But it may be
that discretion is the enemy of happiness. If the buds had
discretion there might be no fruit. So it may be that the follies
committed in the spring give autumn the harvest. -- 

                                                August 11, 1892.


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                  Box 926, Louisville, KY 40201
                               26

                           FRAGMENTS.

                          ****     ****

     DICKENS wrote for homes -- Thackdray for clubs. Byron did not
care for the fireside -- for the prattle of babes -- for the smiles
and tears of humble life. He was touched by grandeur rather than
goodness, -- loved storm and crag and the wild sea. But Burns lived
in the valley, touched by the joys and griefs of lowly lives.

                          ****     ****

     IMAGINE amethysts, rubies, diamonds, emeralds and opals
mingled as liquids -- then imagine these marvelous glories of light
and color changed to a tone, and you have the wondrous, the
incomparable voice of Scalchi.

                          ****     ****

     THE ORGAN. -- The beginnings -- the timidities -- the half
thoughts -- blushes -- suggestions -- a phrase of grace and feeling
-- a sustained note -- the wing on the wind -- confidence -- the
flight -- rising with many harmonies that unite in the voluptuous
swell -- in the passionate tremor -- rising still higher --
flooding the great dome with the soul of enraptured sound.

                          ****     ****

     NEW MEXICO is a most wonderful country. It is a ragged miser
with billions of buried treasure. It looks as if Nature had guarded
her silver and gold with enough desolation to deter all but the
brave.

                          ****     ****

     WHY should the Indian summer of a life be lost -- the long,
serene, and tender days when earth and sky are friends? The falling
leaves disclose the ripened fruit -- and so the flight of youth
with dreams and fancies should show the wealth of bending bough.

                          ****     ****

     [From a letter thanking a friend for a Christmas present of a
chest of tea.]

     GIVE milk to babes, and wine to youth. But for old age, when
ghosts of more than two-score years are wandering on the traveled
road, the fragrant tea, that loosens gossip's tongue, is best. -- 

                                              December 25, 1892.

                          ****     ****

     ON Memorial Day our hearts blossom in gratitude as we lovingly
remember the brave men upon whose brows Death, with fleshless
hands, placed the laurel wreath of fame.

                          ****     ****



                         Bank of Wisdom
                  Box 926, Louisville, KY 40201
                               27

                           FRAGMENTS.

     THE soul is an architect -- it builds a habitation for itself
-- and as the soul is, is the habitation. Some live in dens and
caves, and some in lowly homes made rich with love, and overrun
with vine and flower.

                          ****     ****

     SCIENCE at last holds with honest hand the scales wherein are
weighed the facts and fictions of the world. She neither kneels nor
prays, she stands erect and thinks. Her tongue is not a traitor to
her brain. Her thought and speech agree.

                          ****     ****

     THE NEGRO who can pass me in the race of life will receive my
admiration, and he can count on my friendship. No man ever lived
who proved his superiority by trampling on the weak.

     RELIGION is like a palm tree -- it grows at the top. The dead
leaves are all orthodox, while the new ones and the buds are all
heretics.
                          ****     ****

     MEMORY is the miser of the mind; forgetfulness the
spendthrift.

                          ****     ****

     HOPE is the only bee that makes honey without flowers.

                          ****     ****

     THE FIRES of the next world sustain the same relation to 
churches that those in this world sustain to insurance companies.

                          ****     ****

     NOW and then there arises a man who on peril's edge draws from
the scabbard of despair the sword of victory.

                          ****     ****

     THE FALLING leaf that tells of autumn's death is, in a subtler
sense, a prophecy of spring.

                          ****     ****

     VICE lives either before Love is born, or after Love is dead.

                          ****     ****

     INTELLECTUAL freedom is only the right to be honest.

                          ****     ****

     I BELIEVE that finally man will go through the phase of
religion before birth.


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                  Box 926, Louisville, KY 40201
                               28

                           FRAGMENTS.

                          ****     ****

     WHEN shrill chanticleer pierces the dull ear of mom.

                          ****     ****

     ORTHODOXY IS the refuge of mediocrity.

                          ****     ****

     THE ocean is the womb of all that will be, the tomb of all
that has been.

                          ****     ****

     JEALOUSY never knows the value of a fact.

                          ****     ****

     ENVY cannot reason. malice cannot prophesy.

                          ****     ****

     LOVE has a kind of second sight.

                          ****     ****

     I HAVE never given to any one a sketch of my life. According
to my idea a life should not be written until it has been lived. --

                                                    July, 1, 1888.



                          ****     ****





          Electronic Publishing can defeat censorship.

   The Bank of Wisdom Inc. is a collection of the most thoughtful,
scholarly and factual books. These computer books are reprints of
suppressed books and will cover American and world history; the
Biographies and writings of famous persons, and especially of our
nations Founding Fathers. They will include philosophy and
religion. all these subjects, and more, will be made available to
the public in electronic form, easily copied and distributed, so
that America can again become what its Founders intended --

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   The Bank of Wisdom is always looking for more of these old,
hidden, suppressed and forgotten books that contain needed facts
and information for today. If you have such books please contact
us, we need to give them back to America.


                         Bank of Wisdom
                  Box 926, Louisville, KY 40201
                               29
