But before God, I do believe that this selfish, this Mammon-serving and unpatriotic age will pass, as passed the age of brutish ignorance, as passed the age of tyranny. I believe the day will come—oh blessed dawn!—when we'll no longer place the badge of party servitude above the crown of American sovereignty, the ridiculous oriflamme of foolish division above Old Glory's star-gemmed promise of everlasting unity; when Americans will be in spirit and in truth a band of brothers, the wrongs of one the concern of all; when brains and patriotism will take precedence of boodle and partisanship in our national politics; when labor will no longer fear the cormorant nor capital the commune; when every worthy and industrious citizen may spend his declining days, not in some charity ward, but in the grateful shadow of his own vine and fig-tree, the loving lord of a little world hemmed in by the sacred circle of a home. There was a time, we're told, when to be a Roman was greater than to be a King; yet there came a time when to be a Roman was to be the vassal of a slave. Change is the order of the universe and nothing stands. We must go forward or we must go backward—we must press on to grander heights, to greater glories, or see the laurels already won turn to ashes on our brow. We may sometimes slip; shadows may obscure our path; the boulders may bruise our feet; there may be months of mourning and days of agony; but however dark the night, Hope, a poising eagle, will ever burn above the unrisen morrow. Trials we may have and tribulations sore; but I say unto you, oh brothers mine, that while God reigns and the human race endures, this nation, born of our father's blood and sanctified by our mother's tears, shall never pass away.
* * * THE LONE STAR.
These balmy days, I often recall my ideas of Texas before I had the pleasure of mingling with its people,—of becoming myself a Texan. I regret to say that I had accepted Phil Sheridan's estimate of the State—an opinion that still prevails in too many portions of our common country. After living in Texas for ten years I paid a visit to my people beyond the beautiful Ohio. The old gentlemen sized me up critically, evidently expecting to see me wearing war-paint and a brace of bowie-knives.
"So, young man, you're living in Texas?"
"Yes, paw."
"Fell kinder t'hum 'mong them centerpedes, cowboys 'n other varments, I s'pose?"
"Y-y-yes, paw."
"Well, Billy, you allers was a mighty bad boy. I kinder cackalated as how you'd go t'hell some day; but, praise God, I never thought y' was bound fer Texas!"
I assured him that were I certain hell were half as good as Texas, I wouldn't worry so much about my friends who were in politics for their health.
Texas could well afford to spend a million dollars a year for a decade to disabuse the minds of the Northern people—to work it through their hair that the southwest produces something besides hades and hoodlums, jack- rabbits and jays. Were it generally known exactly what Texas is,—what her people, climate and resources—there are not railroads enough running into the state to handle the men and money that would seek homes and investments here. The year 1900 would see ten million prosperous people between the Sabine and Rio Grande; and it would be a people to be proud of,—the young blood of America, the cream of Christendom, the brain and brawn of the Western World.