Ingersoll is an authority on the grave questions with which he is pleased to deal, but are these teachings truth? "There's the rub." If we are wise we shall judge the teachings rather than the teacher.
Affrighted orthodox Christians are perpetually warning their young friends against Mr. Ingersoll. He is portrayed as a very terrible personage, going up and down to work sad havoc amongst the unsuspecting youth of the Time. Orthodoxy would prove itself wiser, it would be bolder, and it would give some slight guarantee for honesty, if it left the man alone, and addressed itself seriously to the grave questions at issue. Colonel Ingersoll shares with Huxley, Darwin and Herbert Spencer the high distinction of being criticized most vehemently by those who have never heard his voice, and have never carefully read a page of his published works; and as is always the case in such circumstances, the most absurd and exaggerated statements of what Mr. Ingersoll never said have become current, and the speaker has been transformed into a very Gorgon of horror!
But this is nothing new, this is one of the many tolls that every man must be willing to pay who marches on the grand highway of freedom.
The pages of this book deserve a careful study, and if it be true that "out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh," we may judge from what sort of a heart-fountain these streams have flowed.
One purpose steadily kept in view in the editing of these pages has been to present in compact and reasonable space, a thoroughly representative consensus of the opinions and beliefs of Mr. Ingersoll. Ha has been known chiefly by his severe attacks on theological orthodoxy; but there are a thousand other questions on which he has spoken wise and impressive words. There are few things in heaven and earth that his "philosophy" has not embraced, The quiet life of the farm; the romance and sanctity of home; the charm of childhood; the profound secrets of philosophy; the horrors of slavery; the dreadful scourge of war; the patriotism and valor of the soldiers of the Republic; the high calling of statesmanship, churches and priests; infidels and christians; gods and devils; orthodox and hetrodox; heaven and hell;—these, and a thousand other questions have been discussed with wit, and wisdom and matchless eloquence. This volume might have been increased to twice or thrice its present size, and then there would have been material to spare. But in these busy days economy of time is of great importance. This is a book for busy men in a very busy generation.
It is matter of some little surprise that Mr. Ingersoll should have yielded—without protest—to the conventional use of the term "Infidel." The general sense in which the word is used is a gross misrepresentation of its accurate meaning. "Infidel," is the last word that ought to be applied to any man who is loyal to his mind; whether that mind summer in the light of steadfast belief, or wander through the mazy fields of doubt. "What is Infidelity?" There is no man more able, none more suitable than Col. Robert Ingersoll to rise and explain.
Mr. Ingersoll has been called the Apostle of Unbelief. But the title is a misnomer. His mouth is full to the lips of positive statements of strong conviction. His creed has a thousand articles. He is above all things the Apostle of Freedom. Freedom for Nations, for Communities, for Men. Freedom everywhere! Freedom always! the zeal with which he blows the trumpet of Liberty, the enthusiasm with which he waves the banner of Freedom, reminds one of Tennyson's fine words:—
Of old stood Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet,
Above her shook the starry lights;
She heard the torrents meet.
Then stepped she down thro' town and field
To mingle with the human race,
And part by part to men revealed
The fullness of her face—
Her open eyes desire the truth,
The wisdom of a thousand years
Is in them. May perpetual youth
Keep dry their light from tears;
That her fair form may stand and shine:
Make bright our days and light our dreams,
Tuning to scorn with lips divine
The falsehood of extremes!
THE ROMANCE OF FARM LIFE
1. Ingersoll as a Farmer
When I was a farmer they used to haul wheat two hundred miles in wagons and sell it for thirty-five cents a bushel. They would bring home about three hundred feet of lumber, two bunches of shingles, a barrel of salt, and a cook-stove that never would draw and never did bake.
In those blessed days the people lived on corn and bacon. Cooking was an unknown art. Eating was a necessity, not a pleasure. It was hard work for the cook to keep on good terms even with hunger. We had poor houses. The rain held the roofs in perfect contempt, and the snow drifted joyfully on the floors and beds. They had no barns. The horses were kept in rail pens surrounded with straw. Long before spring the sides would be eaten away and nothing but roofs would be left. Food is fuel. When the cattle were exposed to all the blasts of winter, it took all the corn and oats that could be stuffed into them to prevent actual starvation. In those times farmers thought the best place for the pig-pen was immediately in front of the house. There is nothing like sociability. Women were supposed to know the art of making fires without fuel. The wood-pile consisted, as a general thing, of one log, upon which an axe or two had been worn out in vain. There was nothing to kindle a fire with. Pickets were pulled from the garden fence, clap-boards taken from the house, and every stray plank was seized upon for kindling. Everything was done in the hardest way. Everything about the farm was disagreeable.
2. The Happy Life of the Farm
There is a quiet about the life of a farmer, and the hope of a serene old age, that no other business or profession can promise. A professional man is doomed some time to find that his powers are wanting. He is doomed to see younger and stronger men pass him in the race of life. He looks forward to an old age of intellectual mediocrity. He will be last where once he was the first. But the farmer goes as it were into partnership, with nature—he lives with trees and flowers—he breathes the sweet air of the fields. There is no constant and frightful strain upon his mind. His nights are filled with sleep and rest. He watches his flocks and herds as they feed upon the green and sunny slopes. He hears the pleasant rain falling upon the waving corn, and the trees he planted in youth rustle above him as he plants others for the children yet to be.
3. The Ambitious Farmer's Boy
Nearly every farmer's boy took an oath that he would never cultivate the soil. The moment
