Authors, journalists, artists, members of the thinking world of New York may be met at the Colonel's charming Sunday evenings. About eleven at night, when all but the intimate friends of the family have left, these latter draw around their host, and entice him to talk upon one of his favourite subjects: poetry, music, or maybe the "mistakes of Moses," while they listen with avidity. He knows his Shakespeare as thoroughly as the Bible, only he speaks of him with far more respect and admiration. He adores Wagner, whom he sets even above Beethoven. I mention this to prove once more that we all have our little faults, and that Mr. Ingersoll, in common with his fellow-mortals, is not perfect. Between midnight and one in the morning, the last visitors reluctantly depart. On the way home you think of all the witty things that have been said; the arrows of satire that have been shot at hypocrisy and humbug; the ennobling humanitarian opinions that have been advanced; and though you may not feel converted, or diverted, or perverted to Ingersollism, you are sure to leave that house feeling fuller of goodwill towards all men, and saying to yourself, "What a delightful evening I have passed!"
I was present one evening at a meeting of the XIXth Century Club, to hear a discussion on "The poetry of the future." Colonel Ingersoll was to have taken part in it, but, being retained professionally at Washington, he was obliged to excuse himself at the eleventh hour. The President immediately telegraphed to a well-known minister, asking him to take the Colonel's place.
"I distinctly decline to take Colonel Ingersoll's place in this world or the next," exclaimed the recipient of the telegram, as soon as he had read it. The reverend gentleman nevertheless took part in the evening's debate, and when he repeated his repartee to the audience, was greeted with hearty laughter and applause.
Now, the lot of Colonel Ingersoll in this world is very enviable, for his profession brings him in a most handsome income. As to refusing his place in the next, what an absurdity!
When Robert Ingersoll presents himself at the gates of Paradise, and St. Peter sees that good, open face, radiant with happiness, the doors will be thrown wide to let him pass, and the saint will say:
"Come, Robert, come in. Thy happy face pleases me. We have just let in a cargo of long-faced folk—Presbyterians, I'll be bound—and it does one good to look at thee. Thou hast done thy utmost to stifle the hydra-headed monster, Superstition, and to destroy the infamous calumnies which are in circulation on the subject of the Lord. Come in, friend; thou hast loved, thou hast been beloved; thou hast preached concord, mercy, love, happiness: come take thy place amongst the benefactors of the human race."
CHAPTER XXV.
Justice.—Comparison Favourable to America.—Judicial Procedure.—The Accused was Paid Cash.—A Criminal Hunt.—The Juries and their Powers.—Slow Dealings of American Justice.—False Philanthropy.—Twelve or Sixteen Minutes at the Wrong End of a Rope.—A Savage Club Anecdote.