Usury.
By Calvin Elliott.
Price $1.
Published by the Anti-Usury League,
Albany, Oregon.
It is safe to say that more sincere Christians have been gulled into submission to injustice and oppression by the Scriptural phrase, “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,” than by anything else. Therefore, Mr. Calvin’s careful analysis of the economical situation created by the custom of exacting usury is enormously strengthened by his clear conception of the true meaning of Bible sayings. He traces the history of interest through both Old and New Testaments down to the present time and shows beyond cavil the inquiry of a system which insures the perpetual enslavement of a debt-paying class for the benefit of a moneyed aristocracy.
There can be no freedom so long as usury endures. We may sometimes sigh for the power of a king—but what European monarch does not servilely bow to the will of the house of Rothschild? Until we have corrected the ability to extort taxes from generations yet unborn, we may expect neither liberty, nor justice nor equality.
EVOLUTION
By LANGDON SMITH
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish, In the Paleozoic time, And side by side on the ebbing tide, We sprawled through the ooze and slime, Or skittered with many a caudal flip, Through the depths of the Cambrian fen, My heart was rife with the joy of life, For I loved you even then.
Mindless we lived and mindless we loved, And mindless at last we died; And deep in a rift of the Caradoc drift We slumbered side by side. The world turned on in the lathe of time, The hot lands heaved amain, Till we caught our breath from the womb of death, And crept into light again.
We were amphibians, scaled and tailed, And drab as a dead man’s hand; We coiled at ease ’neath the dripping trees, Or trailed through the mud and sand, Croaking and blind, with our three-clawed feet Writing a language dumb, With never a spark in the empty dark To hint at a life to come.
Yet happy we lived, and happy we loved, And happy we died once more; Our forms were rolled in the clinging mold Of a Neocomian shore. The eons came, and the eons fled, And the sleep that wrapped us fast Was riven away in a newer day, And the night of death was past.
Then light and swift through the jungle trees We swung in our airy flights, Or breathed in the balms of the fronded palms, In the hush of the moonless nights. And oh! what beautiful years were these, When our hearts clung each to each; When life was filled, and our senses thrilled In the first faint dawn of speech.
Thus life by life, and love by love, We passed through the cycles strange, And breath by breath, and death by death, We followed the chain of change. Till there came a time in the law of life When over the nursing sod The shadows broke, and the soul awoke In a strange, dim dream of God.
I was thewed like an Auroch bull, And tusked like the great Cave Bear; And you, my sweet, from head to feet, Were gowned in your glorious hair. Deep in the gloom of a fireless cave, When the night fell o’er the plain, And the moon hung red o’er the river bed, We mumbled the bones of the slain.
I flaked a flint to a cutting edge, And shaped it with brutish craft; I broke a shank from the woodland dank. And fitted it, head and haft, Then I hid me close to the reedy tarn, Where the Mammoth came to drink— Through brawn and bone I drove the stone, And slew him upon the brink.
Loud I howled through the moonlit wastes, Loud answered our kith and kin; From west and east to the crimson feast, The clan came trooping in. O’er joint and gristle and padded hoof, We fought, and clawed and tore, And cheek by jowl, with many a growl, We talked the marvel o’er.
I carved the fight on a reindeer bone, With rude and hairy hand, I pictured his fall on the cavern wall That men might understand. For we lived by blood, and the right of might, Ere human laws were drawn, And the age of sin did not begin Till our brutal tusks were gone.
And that was a million years ago, In a time that no man knows; Yet here tonight in the mellow light, We sit at Delmonico’s; Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs, Your hair is dark as jet; Your years are few, your life is new, Your soul untried, and yet—
Our trail is on the Kimmeridge clay, And the scarp of the Purbeck flags, We have left our bones in the Bagshot stones, And deep in the Coraline crags; Our love is old, our lives are old, And death shall come amain; Should it come today, what man may say, We shall not live again?
God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds And furnished them wings to fly; He sowed our spawn in the world’s dim dawn, And I know that it shall not die. Though cities have sprung above the graves Where the crook-boned men made war, And the ox-wain creaks o’er the buried caves, Where the mummied mammoths are.
Then as we linger at luncheon here, O’er many a dainty dish, Let us drink anew to the time when you Were a tadpole and I was a fish.
Ed. Note: Above striking poem is reproduced at the special request of a friend.
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Transcriber’s Notes:
The cover image was created by the transcriber, and is in the public domain.
Antiquated spellings were preserved.
The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate.
Typographical errors have been silently corrected.
The Table of Contents was modified to make it agree with the page numbers.