hen a prominent member of Congress, of slightly convivial turn, went to sleep on the floor of the House of Representatives and suddenly awakening, convulsed the assemblage by demanding in a loud voice, "Where am I at?" he propounded an inquiry that is indisputably a classic.
With the very first glimmering of intelligence, and as far back as history goes, man has always asked that question, also three others:
Where am I?
Who am I?
What am I here for?
Where am I going?
A question implies an answer and so, coeval with the questioner, we find a class of Volunteers springing into being, who have taken upon themselves the business of answering the interrogations.
And as partial payment for answering these questions, the man who answered has exacted a living from the man who asked, also titles, honors, gauds, jewels and obsequies.
Further than this, the Volunteer who answered has declared himself exempt from all useful labor. This Volunteer is our theologian.