Sez I: “Don’t you spoze the Lord would let him see what a great light his death has lit up in the werld. In my opinion he wuz right there to-day lookin’ at it.”
“That is impossible,” sez she. “If he wuz there we should have seen him.”
Sez I: “You don’t see the x-rays that are all about you this very minute; but they are there. You can’t see the great force Marconi uses to talk with, but it walks the earth, goes right through mountains, which you and I can’t do, Miss Meechim. It is stronger than the solid earth or rock. That shows the power of the invisible, that what we call the real is the transitory and weak, the invisible is the lasting and eternal. What we have seen to-day is sorrow chrystalized into grand shapes. A noble young heart’s ideal and asperations wrought out by loveng memory in brick and 71 mortar. The invisible guiding the eye, holding the hand of the visible building for time and eternity.”
Miss Meechim’s nose turned up and she sniffed some. She wuz a foreigner, how could she know what I said? But Dorothy and Robert seemed to understand my language, though they couldn’t speak it yet. And good land! I hain’t learnt its A B C’s yet, and don’t spoze I shall till I git promoted to a higher school.
Well, it wuz on a lovely afternoon that we all went out to the City of Justice, and there I see agin what great wealth might do in lightening the burdens of a sad world. Robert Strong might have spent his money jest as that old man did whose place I have described, and live in still better style, for Robert Strong wuz worth millions. But he felt different; he felt as if he wanted his capital to lighten the burden on the aching back of bowed down and tired out Labor, and let it stand up freer and straighter for a spell. He felt that he could enjoy his wealth more if it wuz shared accordin’ to the Bible, that sez if you have two coats give to him that hasn’t any, and from the needy turn not thou away.
That big building, or ruther that cluster and village of buildings, didn’t need any steeples to tell its mission to the world. Lots of our biggest meetin’ houses need ’em bad to tell folks what they stand for. If it wuzn’t for them steeples poor folks who wander into ’em out of their stifling alleys and dark courts wouldn’t mistrust what they wuz for. They would see the elegantly dressed throng enter and pass over carpeted aisles into their luxuriously cushioned pews, and kneel down on soft hassocks and pray: “Thy kingdom come,” and “Give us this day our daily bread,” and “give us what we give others.” These poor folks can’t go nigh ’em, for the usher won’t let ’em, but they meet ’em through the week, or hear of ’em, and know that they do all in their power to keep his kingdom of Love and Justice away from the world. They herd in their dark, filthy, death-cursed 72 tenements, not fit for beasts, owned by the deacon of that church, and all the week run the gauntlet of those drink hells, open to catch all their hard-earned pennies, owned by the warden and vestrymen and upheld by the clergymen and them high in authority, and extolled as the Poor Man’s Club. Wimmen who see their husbands enticed to spend all their money there and leave them and their children starving and naked; mothers who see their young boys in whom they tried to save a spark of their childish innocence ground over in these mills of the devil into brutal ruffians who strike down the care-worn form of the one that bore them in agony, and bent over their cradle with a mother’s love and hope. As they see all this, and know that this is the true meaning of the prayers put up in them elegant churches, don’t they need steeples to tell that they’re built to show Christ’s love and justice to the world? Yes, indeed; they need steeples and high ones, too.
But this city of Robert Strong’s didn’t need steeples, as I say. It wuz Christianity built in bricks and mortar, practical religion lived right before ’em from day to day, comfortable houses for workmen, which they could hope to earn and call their own. Pleasant homes where happy love could dwell in content, because no danger stood round, hid in saloons to ruin husband, son and father; comfortable houses where health and happiness could dwell. Good wages, stiddy work, and a share in all the profits made there; good hard work whilst they did work, ensurin’ success and prosperity; but short hours, ensurin’ sunthin’ beyond wages.
A big house, called a Pleasure House, stood in the centre of the broad, handsome streets, a sort of a centrepiece from which streams of happiness and health flowed through the hull city, some as them little rills of pure snow water flowed through the streets of Salt Lake and Denver. Where all sorts of innocent recreation could be found to suit all minds and ages. A big library full of books. A museum full of the riches of science and art. A big music hall where lovers 73 of music could find pleasure at any time, and where weekly concerts was given, most of the performers being of the musically inclined amongst the young people in the City of Justice. A pretty little theatre where they could act out little plays and dramas of a helpful, inspirin’ sort. A big gymnasium full of the best appliances and latest helps to physical culture. A large bathing tank where the white marble steps led down to cool, sweet waters flowing through the crystal pool, free to all who wanted to use it. A free telephone linking the hull place together. I roamed along through the beautiful streets and looked on the happy, cheerful-faced workmen, who thronged them now, for their short day’s work wuz ended and they wuz goin’ home. My heart swelled almost to bustin’ and I sez almost unbeknown to myself, to Robert Strong who wuz walkin’ by my side: “We read about the New Jerusalem comin’ down to earth, and if I didn’t know, Robert Strong, that you had founded this city yourself, I should think that this wuz it.”
He laughed his boyish laugh, but I see the deep meanin’ in his clear, gray eyes and knew what he felt, though his words wuz light.
“Oh no,” sez he, “we read that those gates are pearl; these are just common wood, turned out by my workmen.”