A SEARCHLIGHT OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY.
But a little more than a century ago, the old world laughed at the new. Writers of the old world called our American eagle, "a paper bird, brooding over a barren waste;" yet in what they then called a barren waste, railroads now carry more of the products of the earth, than all the railroads of all the lands, of all the peoples on the face of the earth.
When New England people believed there would never be anything worth having west of the Connecticut River, what if some seer had prophesied that in nineteen hundred there would be a city on Manhattan Island named New York that would rival London, two southwest, Baltimore and Washington to equal Venice, Philadelphia to match Liverpool, Pittsburg and Buffalo to surpass Birmingham, and beyond these a city called Chicago, which in grit and growth would beat anything the old world ever dreamt of; while on still farther west, would be a State named Iowa, in which in nineteen hundred and fourteen, would be produced enough cattle to beef England, enough potatoes to feed Ireland and hogs to "beat the Jews."
What if he had continued; that in the libraries of the barren waste, there would be ten million more books, than in the combined libraries of Europe; that its college students would outnumber the college students of England, France and Germany combined; that its wealth would be great enough to purchase the empires of Russia and Turkey, the kingdoms of Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Switzerland, with South Africa and all her diamond mines thrown in, and then have enough left to buy a dozen archipelagoes at twenty millions each, and still have the wealth of the republic growing at the rate of five millions of dollars every twenty-four hours. What a land in which to live! Think of it; less than a century and a half ago, Liberty and England's runaway daughter, Columbia, took each other "for better or for worse, forever and for aye" and started down time's rugged stream of years. George Washington, then Chief Magistrate, performed the ceremony, and what he joined together time has not put asunder. It was not a wedding in high life, such as shakes the foundation of fashionable society today, but rather more like the swearing away of a verdant country couple, in some Gretna Green, with no other capital than youth, health and trusting confidence. We have had some domestic discords; once a very serious family row, but I of the South, join you of the North, in thanks to God, the application for divorce was not granted, and we are still a united republic.
The memories which followed that civil strife were so bitter, doubtless many of you northern brethren believed the men who surrendered at Appomattox were not any too sincere, and if we should ever have war with any foreign country, the north, east and west would have to furnish the patriotism, for the South would never again march under the stars and stripes. But when the Spanish-American war broke out, the first boy to pour out his heart's blood for his country's flag, was Ensign Bagley, of North Carolina. The young man who penetrated the Island of Cuba, 'mid Spanish bayonets and bullets, and searched out Cevera and his fleet in the harbor was Victor Blue, the son of a Confederate soldier. The young man who sank the Merrimac, Captain Richmond Pearson Hobson, was the son of another Confederate. Our Consul in Cuba, whose patriotism no one ever doubted, was General Fitzhugh Lee, and the old man who planted the flag in the tree-tops around Santiago, and led two negro regiments into the battle, was fighting Joe Wheeler of the Confederate army.
If I were to close here, what an optimistic picture would be left in the glow of the century's searchlight. But alas! we have unsolved problems of imperial moment, and my purpose is to throw the searchlight upon a few of these unsolved problems.
First, being a southern man, I shall turn it upon the Race Problem.
A century ago the Indian question was a perplexing problem, but it cuts but little figure now, for the Indian is nightly pitching his moving tepee a day's march nearer the sunset shore, where one more shove, and,
"Mad to life's history
Glad to death's mystery,"
the red race will go, to where the pale face will cease from troubling, and the weary spirit will find its rest at last.
The Chinese question is of equal insignificance, since our doors are closed and barred against the almond eyes of the Orient.
The Negro question seems to be the race riddle of our civilization and it will take much tact, patience and wisdom to solve the problem. It may be a revelation to some of you to know, that at the rate the negro race has grown since the Civil War, when the twentieth century goes out, there will be sixty millions of negroes in one black belt across the Southland. I say across the Southland because, the main body of the negro race will never leave the track of the southern sun. The South held the negro in slavery, the North set him free. We supposed at the close of the war, he would leave the South and go to live among his liberators. But after half a century, he is still clinging to the cotton and the cane, or sitting in his log house home, the "shadowed livery of the burning sun" upon his brow, the plantation song still lingering on his lips, the banjo tuned to memory's melodies on his knee, a clump of kinky-headed pickaninnies playing in the sand about his cabin door, and there he sits multiplying the Southland and problemizing the century.
I have not time to discuss at length the solution of the problems before us, but I hope to present them in such a manner as will help you to appreciate their importance and how they are linked with the destiny of the republic.
It seems to me exaltation of character, dignification of labor, material prosperity, leaving social equality to take care of itself, makes up the best solution of the negro problem. Social equality does take care of itself even among the white races. Some of you may have a white servant who is a good woman, a Christian woman, you expect to meet her in heaven (if you get there), but she is not admitted to your social set.
There is a vast difference between social rights and civil rights. Near Lexington, Ky., where I claim my home, is the country residence of J.B. Haggin, the multi-millionaire horseman. Soon after the completion of his mansion home, he gave a reception which cost thousands of dollars. The "first cut" of society came from far and near, but I was not invited, nor did I feel slighted, for I had no claim upon the millionaire magnate socially. But when I meet the great turf-king on the turnpike, he in his limozine and I in my little runabout, I say, "Mr. Haggin, give me half the road, sir." Inside his gates I have no claim, but outside, the turnpike's free, and J.B. Haggin can't run over me. So the negro has no claim on the white man for social equality, but he has a right to the key of knowledge and a chance in the world.
Slavery was not an unmixed evil. Like the famed shield it had two sides. While it had its blighting effects it had its blessings. In bondage the negro was taught to speak the English language, and in childhood had the association of white children with their southern home training. They were taught two valuable lessons, industry and obedience, without which liberty means license. The negro was compelled to work and obey, two lessons the Indian never had and never respected. Beside these valuable lessons the negro was taught the fundamental principles of Christianity and at the opening of the war nearly every negro belonged to some church. Their preachers used to get their dictionary and Bible very amusingly mixed at times. Elder Barton exhorting his hearers said: "Paul may plant and Apolinarus water, but if you keeps on tradin' off your birthright for a pot of Messapotamia you'se gwine to git lost. You may go down into de water and come up out ob de water like dat Ethiopian Unitarium, but if you keeps on ossifyin' from one saloon to another; if you keeps on breakin' the ten commandments to satisfy your appetite for chicken; if you keeps on spendin' your time playing craps, the fourteenth amendment ain't gwine to save you. Seben come elebin never took a man to Heben. I want you to understand dat." Yet from such crudeness of expression has come preaching, remarkable for thought as well as scholarship and eloquence, while out of the suffering of slavery, through the law of compensation, we have matchless melodies in negro choirs and negro concert companies.
Leaders of thought may differ as to the methods of solution, but upon one thing all must agree. The net-work of our republic is such that if one suffers all suffer, and the negro is so interwoven with the various interests of our National life, we must level the race up or it will level the white race down. The lower classes must be lifted to the tableland of a better life, where they can breathe the pure air of intelligence and morality, or they will pollute the whole body politic. They must also acquire property. Economy is a lesson the negro race needs to learn. This lesson was well presented to a drunken white man by a sober old negro. The white man spent his money for liquor, and then started for home. Reaching a river he must cross by ferry, he found he had spent his last penny for drink. Seeing an old colored man seated at a cabin door near by, he turned toward the cabin. Nearing the old man he said:
"Uncle, would you loan me three cents to cross the ferry?"
"Boss, ain't you got three cents?"
"I ain't got one cent," replied the white man.
"Well, you can't git the three cents. Ef you ain't got three cents, you'se just as well off on one side de river as you is on de other."
I said we may differ as to methods for solving this race problem. Remembering as I do the days of slavery, how in Christian homes the most merciful masters and the most faithful slaves were found, I believe the best solution lies in the golden rule of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I now give the searchlight a swing and it falls upon the City Problem.
At the opening of the nineteenth century three per cent. of the people of this country lived in cities, ninety-seven per cent. in the country. At the rate migration is now going from country to city in twenty years there will be ten millions more people in the cities than in the country. This means a change of civilization, and new problems to solve. It means a day when cities will control in state and national elections, and if ignorance and vice control our cities, then virtue and intelligence as saving influences will not suffice to save us. The ignorance prominent in the machinery of large cities is illustrated by the police force of New York City. When applicants for positions on the police force were being tested a few years ago, the question was asked: "Name four of the six New England States." Several replied: "England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales." Another question was: "Who was Abraham Lincoln?" As many as ten answered: "He was a great general." One said: "He discovered America;" another said: "He was killed by a man name Garfield;" and another's answer was, "He was shot by Ballington Booth."
The growth of large cities means the growth of slum-life. Hear me, you who live out in the uncrowded part of the country. Maud Ballington Booth tells of finding five families, living in one attic room in New York City, with no partitions between. Here they "cook, eat, sleep, wash, live and die," in the one room. In our large cities are armies of children, whose shoulders "droop with parental vice," whose feet are fast in the mire of miserable conditions, whose hovel homes line the sewers of social life, and who are cursed and doomed by inheritance.
Some twenty or more years ago, a Chicago paper that had money behind it, and could have been sued for damages said: "The man who controls the purse strings of this city, the school board and board of public works, is the vilest product of the slums, a saloon keeper, a gambler, a man a leading citizen of this city would not invite into his home." That man then controlled the purse strings of the great city of Chicago. I am glad to say a better man holds the place today. Hannibal could not save Carthage; Demosthenes could not save Greece; Jesus himself could not save Jerusalem. Can we save the cities of this republic?
Yet our lads and lassies are eager to leave the country and go to large cities, where gas-lit streets are thronged with humanity and entertainments provided every hour.
A country boy said to me: "Mr. Bain, you go everywhere; you see everything; I live out here in the country and see nothing." I have tried it all. For about twenty-eight years I lived in the country. Since then my life has been in cities and on railroad trains between the oceans. My experience is, there is no life that keeps the heart so pure and the mind so contented as life in the country.
Some years ago I gave two addresses at Ocean Grove, New Jersey, on Saturday evening a popular lecture, and on Sunday an address to young men. I had the popular lecture made but not the Sunday talk. For three months I promised myself to get that lecture but kept on delaying. As I neared the time I hoped something would prevent my going. The time came, I was at Ocean Grove, knew I would have a great audience, for the day was ideal, and still I did not have the lecture except in skeleton form. After breakfast Sunday I began to walk the floor, working out clothing for that skeleton and racking my brain for climaxes. My wife was with me and she never would worry over my having nothing to say. Into every sentence I would weave she would inject a piece of her mind about home or children or some woman's dress or bonnet. I said: "This is a trying time with me, won't you take a stroll along the beach and let me be alone today?" Like a good wife she gratified my request, and left me to work and worry over that lecture. At four o'clock p.m., I could not see daylight, and in the darkness cried out: "O Lord, if you will help me this time I won't ask you again for awhile." The Lord did help me. My friends said I never did so well as that evening. At the close of the lecture the audience arose and handkerchiefs, like so many white doves, fluttered in the air. In the midst of that scene, an old superannuated minister of the New York Methodist Conference planted a kiss on my cheek, and I have wondered often, why a man should have thought of that instead of a woman.
At the close of the service a friend said: "That must have been the proudest moment of your life, for surely I never witnessed such a scene."
I said: "No, I can recall one that was greater than the white lilies."
Away back in Bourbon county, Kentucky, when I was not quite twenty I was married to a girl of nineteen. Soon after, we went to housekeeping in a country home. It was supper time. I had fed the chickens and horses, and washed my face in a tin pan on the kitchen steps, when a sweet voice said: "Come, supper's ready." As I entered the dining room my young wife came through the kitchen door, the coffee pot in her hand, her cheeks the ruddier from the glow of the cook stove, her face all lit up with expectancy as to what her young husband would think of his first meal prepared by his wife. All the operas I have heard since, and all the cities I have seen, dwindle into insignificance compared with that pure, peaceful home in the country.
Another sweep of the searchlight brings us to the Immigration Problem. We are today the most cosmopolitan country of the world. At the rate of a million a year immigrants are pouring in upon us, and no wonder they come, when they read of the marvelous fortunes made in the new world; of Mackay a penniless boy in the old world, worth fifty millions at middle life in America; A.T. Stewart peddling lace at twenty, a merchant prince at fifty; Carnegie a poor Scotch lad at eighteen, a half billionaire at seventy. These with many more such results on a smaller scale, rainbow the sky that spans the sea, and from the other end, this end is seen pouring its gold and greatness into the lap of the land of the free. So they come, and though they do not find all they expected, they do find far more here than they left behind, and writing letters back over the ocean, they set others wild with a desire to live in America. Many of them are excellent people; their children go into our public schools and come out with ours, one in thought, one in purpose, one in feeling. A little boy in Chicago said:
"Papa, you were born in England?"
"Yes."
"And mama was born in Scotland?"
"Yes."
"And you had a king at the head of your armies?"
"Yes."
"Well! we licked you all the same."
The children of our foreign born citizens in our public schools are intensely American. A boy who was born in this country but whose parents were foreign born, was for some misdemeanor chastised by his father. When his playmates teased him he said: "Oh, the whipping didn't count for much, but I don't like being licked by a foreigner."
There is another class coming to our country not only injurious but dangerous. They bring with them the heresies of the lands they hail from. They do not come to be American citizens. There is not an American hair in their heads, or an American thought in their minds. Every drop of blood in their veins, beats to the music of continental customs, and they come prepared to sow and grow the seeds of anarchy. Many come with tags on their backs giving their destination; not to build American homes; not to learn our language; not to obey our laws, or honor our institutions, but to undermine the honest laboring classes who toil to build homes and educate and clothe their children. I say, take off their tags and let them tag back home. Out of this class came the men who cheered to the echo a speaker in Chicago when he said: "I am in favor of dynamiting every bank vault in this city and taking the money we are entitled to." Out of such schools of anarchy, came the man who crossed the sea from Patterson, New Jersey, to send a bullet through the heart of King Humbert, and out of this class came the teachers, who shrouded our land with shame and sorrow in Buffalo, New York.
Just here, I congratulate the spirit of William McKinley upon its auspicious flight to the spirit world. There is no better time and place for one to die, than at the summit of true greatness, "enshrined in the hearts of his countrymen, at peace with his God," the sun of his life going down, "before eye has grown dim or natural force has abated." Take him from the time he entered the army, where his commanding general said: "A night was never so dark, storm never so wild, weather never so cold as to interfere with his discharge of every duty." From this time on, as lawyer, commonwealth's attorney, congressman, governor, and president, he was a Jonathan to his friends, a Ruth to his kindred, a Jacob to his family, a Gideon to his country. Take him in private life where an intimate friend said: "I never heard him utter a word his wife or mother might not have heard; I never heard him speak evil of any man." Take him when stricken down by an assassin, hear him say: "Let no man harm him; let the law take its course; good-bye to all; God's will be done," and in his last conscious moments chanting "Nearer my God to Thee," and you have one of the most touching stories of this old world. All honor to our martyred president, William McKinley.
What a shame that in a land whose constitution guarantees life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness to the humblest citizen, the life of its chief executive is not safe, though guarded by detectives and surrounded by devoted friends. Until the country is rid of organized anarchy it would be well to abandon free-for-all hand-shaking.
When Senator Hoar made his speech in the United States Senate against anarchy he said: "It would be well if the nations of the earth would combine together, purchase an island in the sea, place all anarchists on that island, and let them run a government of their own." An Irishman said: "I'm not in favor of any sich thing; I am in favor of gathering thim up all right, takin' thim out in the middle of the ocean, dumpin' them out, and letin' thim find their own island."
Out of the personal liberty league, which is but another form of anarchy, came the man who in an address a few years ago said: "This republic is our hunting ground and the American Sabbath shall be our hunting day. Down with the American Sabbath!"
It has been well said: "The Sabbath is the window of our week, the sky-light of our souls, opened by divine law and love, up through the murk and cloud and turmoil of earthly life to the divine life above." Whoever would destroy the Sabbath day is undermining the republic, and any man who does not like the restrictions of our Sabbath, can find a vessel leaving our ports about every day in the year. He can take passage any day he chooses, and as the vessel steams out we can afford to sing, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow."
Another move of the searchlight and we have The Expansion Problem.
Yonder in the Philippine Islands are seventy different tribes, speaking many languages. How to mold them into one common whole, loyal to one flag is a mighty problem; and yet I am one of those who believe God intends this American republic shall be a standard-bearer of civilization to the darkest corners of the earth. I do not mean by this that I advocate imperialism from the standpoint of wider domain. Indeed I am disposed to dodge the question of imperialism, as I dodged the money question in Colorado when the question was the issue in politics. I gave three addresses for the Boulder, Colorado, Chautauqua when the money question was the all-absorbing one in the west. At the close of my second address I was introduced to the superintendent of the railroad that runs over the Switzerland trail. He said: "I understand your wife is here, and I will be pleased to have you and Mrs. Bain as my guests tomorrow." I knew that meant a free ride and I accepted. The next morning we were at the station at the appointed hour and after a wonderful ride mid scenic grandeur up to where eagles nest, and blizzards hatch out their young, our host said: "I want you to have the most thrilling ride you ever had, and at the next station be ready to leave the train." As the brakes gripped the wheels, and the train rested on the eye-brow of the mountain height, we stepped off. A hand car was taken from the baggage car and the train moved on up the trail. While Mrs. Bain was captivated by the mountains, I was looking at that hand car, without any handles on it, a flat truck with four wheels. The superintendent said: "Will you help me lift this on to the track?" I said: "Yes, but what are you going to do with it?" When he said: "Going down the mountain to where we came from," I said, "What will we hold to?" "To each other," he replied, and I could see he was enjoying Mrs. Bain's placidness and my apprehension of trouble ahead.
Determined to sustain Kentucky's reputation for courage I said no more, but hoped Mrs. Bain would come to my relief since she knew her husband was given to dizziness when riding backwards or swinging round sudden curves. She said: "Isn't this a grand sight?" I said: "Yes, it's grand, but we are going down the mountain on this hand car." "That will be fine," was all the comfort she gave me.
Though I have traveled close to a million miles behind the iron horse I cannot ride backwards on a railroad train. In that respect I am like the husband who when about to die said to his wife: "I want to make a special request of you, and that is, see that I am buried face down; it always did make me sick to travel backwards." When a boy I could not swing as could other boys. My head is not level on my shoulders. I have never crossed the ocean and never will. I cannot ride the rolling waves. Some years ago when out on a little coast ride for pleasure, (if that's what you call it) I said to the captain: "How long till we reach the shore?" When he answered forty minutes, I felt I couldn't live that long. But I did, and when the boat touched the wharf I felt as the old lady did who landed from her first ocean trip saying: "Thank the Lord, I'm on vice-versa again."
When Mrs. Bain had seated herself on one side of that hand car I fixed myself on the other, gripping the edge of the car. Off went the brake and we started. In a few minutes I said to myself: "Farewell vain world, I'm going home." As we ran along the wrinkle of the mountain, and swung out toward the point of a crag with seemingly no way to dodge the mighty abyss below, I was reminded of the preacher's mistake, when in closing a meeting with the benediction he said: "To Thy name be ascribed all the praises in the world with the end out." Around frost-filed mountain crags, over spider bridges, through sunless gorges, we went down that mountain like an eagle swooping from a storm. When we reached Boulder, Mrs. Bain jumped from the car like a school-girl and while she was thanking our host, I was thanking kind Providence that we were back in Boulder. On our way to the hotel I said: "Were you not frightened when we started down that mountain?" "Why not at all," Mrs. Bain replied; "I knew the superintendent would not invite us to take the ride unless it was safe."
I said: "Well, you had more confidence in him than you have in me. When I call at the door with a new horse in the carriage or phaeton, you won't get in until you know all about the horse."
"Yes," she said, "but I know you."
I do not regret having had that thrilling experience, but I do feel by that hand car ride, as the Dutchman felt about his twin babies. He said: "I wouldn't take ten thousand dollars for dot pair of twins, and I wouldn't give ten cents for another pair."
That evening I gave my last lecture at Boulder and in closing said: "I suppose you who live mid these mines would like to know how I stand on the money question." They cheered, showing their desire to know my views on the then popular question, and I proceeded to dodge by saying: "Last evening I stood on yonder veranda watching the sun as it went down over the mountain's brow, leaving its golden slipper on Flag Staff Peak. Colorado clouds, shell-tinted by the golden glory of the setting sun, were hanging as rich embroideries upon the blue tapestry of the sky, and soon the full moon began to pour its silver on the scene. As I stood gazing at the picture painted by the gold of the sun, and silver of the moon, I felt whatever may have been my views on the money question, the sun's gold-standard glory, and the moon's free-silver coinage, as seen from these Colorado Chautauqua grounds make me henceforth a Boulder bi-metalist."
On leaving the platform an old miner said: "How do you stand on the money question? You got your views so mixed up with the sun and moon I couldn't understand you."
So if some one should say to me: "Do you believe in imperialism of humanity:" If asked: "Do you believe in expansion," my answer is; "I believe in the expansion of human brotherhood." "I believe there's a destiny that shapes our ends," and since the Philippine Islands were pitched into our lap in a night, it may be it was done that the home, the church and the school might have a chance under civil liberty in the Philippine Islands. With boundless resources and immense means, are linked great responsibilities, and we who live in freedom's land, and humanity's century, are under obligations to help carry the light of Christian civilization to the darkest corners of the earth.
Along with the Christian missionary goes that other "pathfinder of civilization," the commercial traveler, who is known as the "evangel of peaceful exchange" that makes the whole world kin. When the Filipinos are fit for self-government, let us do as we did Cuba, make them as free as the air they breathe, but keep the key to Manila Bay as our doorway to the Orient; for whatever may be said of the old "Joss House" kingdom with all her superstitions, she possesses today the "greatest combination of natural conditions for industrial activity of any undeveloped part of the globe." By building the Suez Canal England secured an advantage of three thousand miles, in her oriental trade over the United States. The Panama Canal wipes out this advantage and places the trade of New York a thousand miles nearer than that of Liverpool.
Now let the United States build her own merchant marine, then with her own ships, loaded with her own goods, in her own harbor at Manila, she has easy access to the Orient, with its seven hundred and fifty millions of people, who purchased last year more than a billion and a half dollars worth of the kind of goods we have to sell, and much of it cotton goods, which means future employment for the growing millions of negroes in the South. While it may be best to confine our territorial domain within our ocean ditches, we must encourage commercial expansion, for we have already one hundred millions of people; soon we will have one hundred and fifty millions, and experts tell us when the present century closes there will be three hundred millions in this country. If this republic would build for the future she must strive to create a world-wide business fraternity, through which will go and grow the spirit of the noblest civilization of the world.
Another swing of the searchlight and it falls upon The Labor and Capital Question.
After all the years of education, agitation and legislation, we find capital combining in great corporations on one hand, and labor organizing in great trade unions on the other. Like two great armies they face each other, both determined to win. While capital is expanding on one side, the wants of the laboring classes are expanding on the other. They see excursion trains bound for world's fairs; they want to go. They see stores crowded with the necessaries and luxuries of life; they want a share. They live in days of startling pronouncements, they can read, they want the morning papers. They live in a larger world, and knowing their brains and brawn helped to create the larger world they feel they deserve a larger share in its fortunes. When they see avenues lined with the mansion homes of capital, and the toiling world crowded into tenement quarters, and these tenements owned by capital, not five in fifty of the country's wage-earners owning their homes, they naturally conclude there is something wrong somewhere.
Over an inn in Ireland hangs a picture representing the "FOUR ALLS;" a king with a scepter in his hand saying, "I rule all;" a soldier with a sword in his hand saying, "I fight for all;" a bishop with a Bible in his hand saying, "I pray for all," and a working man with a shovel in his hand saying, "I pay for all."
"God bless them, for their brawny hands
Have built the glory of all lands;
And richer are their drops of sweat,
Than diamonds in a coronet."
I must say, however, all the fault for present conditions must not be charged to capital. There are faults within I wish the laboring world would see and correct. I travel the country over and note the men who file in and out the saloons. Are they bankers or leading business men? No, they are laborers from factories, furnaces, fields and work-shops, spending their money for what is worse than nothing and giving it to a business that pays labor less and robs more than any other capitalization in the world.
The New York Sun says: "Every successful man in Wall Street is a total abstainer. He knows he must keep his brain free from alcohol when he enters the Stock Exchange, where his mind goes like a driving wheel from which the belt has slipped." The laboring man needs brain as clear and nerves as steady as the capitalist if he expects to win in this age of sharp competition.
What the laboring classes in this country spend for liquor in twelve months would purchase five hundred of the average manufactories of the land; what they spend in ten years would purchase five thousand, and what they spend in twenty years would control the entire manufacturing interests of the country.
A few years ago a strike occurred with the Pullman Palace Car Company. What the laboring classes spend for intoxicating liquors in three months would purchase the Pullman Palace Car Company and all its rolling stock. Instead of a strike, in which laboring men are out of work and families suffering for the necessaries of life, why not stop drinking beer and whiskey for ninety days, buy the whole business and let the Pullman Company do something else. How to husband the resources of the poor is far more important than the right use of the fortunes of the rich. There is less danger in the massing of money by the rich than there is in wasting the wages of the working world in saloons.
Now I have already thrown the searchlight upon enough problems for you to realize I have given you an incongruous picture. You must be impressed with the conflicting forces at work upon our republic. Never have we had so many advocates of peaceful arbitration for differences between nations and never such armament for war; never such an accumulation of comforts, never such a multiplication of wants; never so much done to make men honest, never so many thieves. In 1850 seven thousand in our penitentiaries; in 1860 twenty thousand; in 1870 thirty-two thousand; in 1880 fifty-eight thousand; in 1890 eighty-two thousand, and in 1900 one hundred thousand. In London, England, last year with over seven millions of people, twenty-four murders; in Chicago, one hundred and eighteen. There are more murders in this republic than in any civilized land beneath the sky. Yet in face of all these unsettled questions, with advancement along all social, moral, intellectual and religious lines I have faith to believe this twentieth century American citizenship will prove itself sufficiently thoughtful, testful and tactful to deal with all national issues as one by one they come within reach of practical politics, and that this country is big enough, brave enough, wise enough and just enough to solve every problem vexing us today.
Some have not this faith. They see an army of three hundred thousand tramps eating bread by the sweat of other men's brows; the slums of great cities, cradles of infamy where children are trained to sin; the "fire-damp of combination trusts" stifling the working world; gambling brokers cornering the markets in the necessaries of life; the wages of working girls being such as to lead many from life's Eden of purity; a great battle on between labor and capital and in this combination of threatening dangers they see the overthrow of free government.
If these pessimists would take a view from the nether standpoint and see what we have come through as a country their fears would be dispelled.
Look backward fifty years from today and see the republic wrapped in the throes of civil strife; the soil of our Southland soaked with blood and tears; the nation overwhelmed with debt; four million negroes turned loose penniless in the South to beg bread at the white man's door, and he already on "Poverty row;" Abraham Lincoln dead in the White House, shot down by an assassin; the Secretary of War bleeding from three stab wounds the same night; and Columbia reeling on her throne.
Now see the harmonious association of all sections; a firmer establishment of this "government of the people, by the people and for the people" than was ever known. Look over the ocean and see Turkey's massacre of the Armenians, Russia with her Siberian horrors, Spain with her cruelty to the Moors and Jews; or look closer home over the Mexican border and see the government torn to tatters and public men shot down like dogs. Then turn and note our country's magnanimous dealings with Cuba; her teachers schooling Filipinos into nobler life; our President leading the armies of Russia and Japan out of the rivers of blood; slavery gone, lottery gone, polygamy outlawed, the saloon iniquity tottering to its fall; hospitals nestled in shadows of bereavement, hungry children fed on their way to school, and men who know how to make money, giving it away for the relief of suffering and uplift of mankind as never before. Don't tell me the world is getting worse.
I was in New York City for two weeks at the time of the Titanic disaster. On Saturday evening before the ocean tragedy I stood on the elevated at the corner of Thirty-third and Broadway. The "Great White Way" was thronged with pleasure-seekers, crowding their way to theatres and picture shows. It seemed to me I never saw the great city so gay. But, on Monday morning after, there came on ether waves the appalling news that the finest ship in the world had gone down, and sixteen hundred human beings had gone with it. I never witnessed such a transformation. It seemed to me every woman had tears in her eyes, and every man a lump in his throat. Actors played to empty houses that evening; a pall hung over the great Metropolis. But when details came, with them came the triumph of humanity. The rich had died for the poor, the strong had died for the weak.
John Jacob Astor had turned away from his fine mansion on Fifth Avenue, his summer home at Newport, his hundred millions of dollars in wealth, and was found spending his last moments saving women and children. All honor to the brave young bridegroom who carried his bride to a life boat, said, "good-bye sweetheart," kissed her and stepping back went down with the ship. All hail to that loyal loving Hebrew wife and mother, Mrs. Straus, who holding to her husband's arm said: "I would rather die with you than live without you." Like Ruth of old, she said: "Where thou goest, I will go; where thou diest I will die, and there will I be buried." There side by side at the ocean gateway to eternity these old lovers went down together.
Ah! this republic will never perish while we have such manhood and womanhood to live and die for its honor.
It has been said: "We live in a materialistic age; that all human activities are born of selfishness; that manhood is dying out of the world." All over the land at midnight, men lean from the saddles of iron horses, peering down the railroad track, ready to die if need be for the safety of those entrusted to their care. Firemen will climb ladders tonight and their souls will go up in flames, like Jim Bludsoe's, to save the lives of imperiled women and children.
Look at the orchestra on board the Titanic. When the supreme moment of danger came, they rushed to the deck, not to put on life belts, not to get into lifeboats but to form in order, and send out over the icy ocean, the music of the sweet song, "Nearer, my God, to Thee." When the ship lifted at one end and started on its headlong dive of twenty-seven hundred fathoms to the depths of the salty sea, those brave men, without a discordant note, sent out the sweet refrain;
"Now let the way appear
Steps unto Heaven;
All that Thou sendest me,
In mercy given;
Angels to beckon me,
Nearer, my God to thee;
Near to Thee."
May we not hope those brave musicians and those who died that others might live, "On joyful wings cleaving the sky," ocean and icebergs forgot did upward fly, and on their flight to the spirit world continued the song, "Nearer, my God, to Thee."
Manhood is not dying out of the world.
Students of history are asking, "Will the fate of Rome be repeated in the history of this republic?" The answer is, we have saving influences in this republic Rome never knew. Rome never had an asylum for her blind or insane; she never had a home for widows and orphans; her "golden house" of Nero never had an equal, but nowhere in her dusty highways could be found footprints of mercy. In Rome the soldier was the cohesive power, while socially everything was isolated. In this republic there is an interlacing and binding together in bonds of human brotherhood. A Methodist here bound to Methodists everywhere, Presbyterian to Presbyterian, Baptist to Baptist, Disciple to Disciple, Lutheran to Lutheran, Catholic to Catholic, Masons, Odd Fellows, Knights of Pythias, Red Men, Maccabees, Woodmen, Christian Endeavor Societies, Epworth Leagues, Y.M.C.A.'s, W.C.T.U.'s, and many other fraternities, making up an interdependent, together-woven, God-allied and God-saving influence ancient empires never dreamt of. These are the moral lightning rods that avert from this republic the wrath of God.
Am I putting too much stress upon the humanity side of national life? Do you tell me money is the great question of this country, tariff the great question? Bring me the Bible and what do I find? Only a very few pages given to the creation of the material universe, with all its gold and silver, suns and systems, but I find page after page, chapter after chapter, and book after book, given to the healing of the lame, the halt and the blind, teaching a kindred spirit of sympathy to meet the common woes of humanity.
What I am about to say may seem more like sermon than lecture, but I believe it will be the best thing I have said when the lecture closes. In the formula of human touch, laid down in the life of Jesus of Nazareth, there is more saving influence for national endurance than in all the wealth of our country's treasury.
From the time His beautiful mother wrapped Him in coarse linen, and cradled Him on cattle straw in that Bethlehem barn, on up to His death on the cross, He was ever touching the masses, healing their diseases, soothing their sorrows and teaching the lesson, "the more humanity you place at the bottom the better citizenship you will have at the top." In the golden rule of this human touch lies the hope of this home of the free.
A little boy boarded a car in New York City. A few feet from him sat a finely-dressed lady and as the boy stared at her, he moved nearer and nearer until he was close beside her.
"What do you mean by getting so close to me? Don't you see you have put mud on my dress from your shoes? Move away," said the lady.
The little urchin replied: "I'm so sorry I got mud on your dress; I didn't mean to do it."
"Where are you going, all by your little self, anyway?"
"I'm going to my aunt's where I live."
"Have you no mother?"
"No mam; she died four weeks ago. I ain't got any mother now, and that's why I was settin' up close to you to make believe you wuz my mother. I'm sorry 'bout the mud, you'll 'scuse me, won't you, good lady?"
The woman extending her hand said: "Yes I will; come here," and soon her arm was about him, and tears in her eyes, and the boy could have wiped his feet on any dress in that car without rebuke. We want more of human touch in national and individual life.
A tramp called at a fine home for his supper. The owner said: "You can have something to eat provided you do some work beforehand."
"What can I do," asked the "hobo."
A set of harness was given him to clean. The gentleman went to his supper, and soon after a blue-eyed, golden-haired girl of four years came out, and approaching the tramp, said: "Good evening, sir. Is you got a little girl like me?"
"No, I am all alone in the world."
"Ain't you got no mama and papa?"
"No, they died a long time ago," and the tramp wiped away a tear as memory came rolling up from out the hallowed past.
"Oh! I'm so sorry for you, 'cause I have a home and papa and mama."
The man of the house came out, and looking at the harness said: "That's a good job; you must have done that work before. Come in and you shall have a good supper."
The little tot ran around to the front gate, where a pair of horses, hitched to a carriage, waited to take the family on a drive. The tramp finished his supper and passing out, the little one in the carriage said: "Good-bye, mister. When you want supper again you come and see us, won't you;" and turning to the driver she said: "He ain't got no papa, nor mama, no little girl and no home."
The tramp, who heard these words taking off his old hat bowed low to the little one who had spoken the kind words.
A few minutes later while standing on a street corner, wondering where he could spend the night, some one shouted, "Horses running away!" The driver had left the team and the horses started with the little girl alone in the carriage, screaming for help. Men ran out but the mad horses cleared the track. The tramp fixed himself, and as the team swept by, he gave a bound and caught the bit of the nearest horse. The horses reared and plunged but the tramp held on, until he swerved them to the sidewalk. As the near horse struck the curb he fell and the tramp was crushed beneath the horse. A physician came and as he bent over to examine the heart, the tramp said: "Was the little one saved?"
The child was brought and as her sweet blue eyes tenderly looked at the face of the dying man he smiled, and then the spirit took its flight, to where He who died to save the world, looked with compassion upon the tramp who gave his life for "one of these little ones."
Oh, the beauty and power of human touch!
The Panama Canal is considered the glory crowning achievement of this century; but the building of a highway of sympathy over which to send help to the hopeless is a far greater achievement. If this republic is to endure with the stars; if it is to go down the ages like a broadening colonade of light, and stand in steady splendor at the height of the world's civilization; it will not be because of its money standard, its tariff or expansion policy, but because the heart-beat of human brotherhood sends the blood of a common father bounding through the veins of the concentrated whole of humanity, binding high and low, rich and poor, weak and strong together.
"Work brothers; sisters work; work hand and brain,
We'll win the golden age again;
And love's millennial morn shall rise
In happy hearts and blessed eyes.
We will, we will, brave champions be
In this the lordlier chivalry."