Question. You have heretofore incidentally expressed yourself on the matter of local suffrage in the District of Columbia. Have you any objections to giving your present views of the question? ¶
Answer. I am still in favor of suffrage in the District. The real trouble is, that before any substantial relief can be reached, there must be a change in the Constitution of the United States. The mere right to elect aldermen and mayors and policemen is of no great importance. It is a mistake to take all political power from the citizens of the District. Americans want to help rule the country. The District ought to have at least one Representative in Congress, and should elect one presidential elector. The people here should have a voice. They should feel that they are a part of this country. They should have the right to sue in all Federal courts, precisely as though they were citizens of a State. This city ought to have half a million of inhabitants. Thousands would come here every year from every part of the Union, were it not for the fact that they do not wish to become political nothings. They think that citizenship is worth something, and they preserve it by staying away from Washington. This city is a “flag of truce” where wounded and dead politicians congregate; the Mecca of failures, the perdition of claimants, the purgatory of seekers after place, and the heaven only of those who neither want nor do anything. Nothing is manufactured, no solid business is done in this city, and there never will be until energetic, thrifty people wish to make it their home, and they will not wish that until the people of the District have something like the rights and political prospects of other citizens. It is hard to see why the right to representation should be taken from citizens living in the Capital of the Nation. The believers in free government should believe in a free capital. ¶
Question. Are there any valid reasons why the constitutional limitations to the elective franchise in the District of Columbia should not be removed by an amendment to that instrument? ¶
Answer. I cannot imagine one. If our Government is founded upon a correct principle there can be no objection urged against suffrage in the District that cannot, with equal force, be urged against every part of the country. If freedom is dangerous here, it is safe nowhere. If a man cannot be trusted in the District, he is dangerous in the State. We do not trust the place where the man happens to be; we trust the man. The people of this District cannot remain in their present condition without becoming dishonored. The idea of allowing themselves to be governed by commissioners, in whose selection they have no part, is monstrous. The people here beg, implore, request, ask, pray, beseech, intercede, crave, urge, entreat, supplicate, memorialize and most humbly petition, but they neither vote nor demand. They are not allowed to enter the Temple of Liberty; they stay in the lobby or sit on the steps. ¶
Question. They say Paris is France, because her electors or citizens control that municipality. Do you foresee any danger of centralization in the full enfranchisement of the citizens of Washington? ¶
Answer. There was a time when the intelligence of France was in Paris. The country was besotted, ignorant, Catholic; Paris was alive, educated, Infidel, full of new theories, of passion and heroism. For two hundred years Paris was an athlete chained to a corpse. The corpse was the rest of France. It is different now, and the whole country is at last filling with light. Besides, Paris has two millions of people. It is filled with factories. It is not only the intellectual center, but the center of money and business as well. Let the Corps Legislatif meet anywhere, and Paris will continue to be in a certain splendid sense—France. Nothing like that can ever happen here unless you expect Washington to outstrip New York, Philadelphia and Chicago. If allowing the people of the District of Columbia to vote was the only danger to the Republic, I should be politically the happiest of men. I think it somewhat dangerous to deprive even one American citizen of the right to govern himself. ¶
Question. Would you have Government clerks and officials appointed to office here given the franchise in the District? and should this, if given, include the women clerks? ¶
Answer. Citizenship should be determined here as in the States. Clerks should not be allowed to vote unless their intention is to make the District their home. When I make a government I shall give one vote to each family. The unmarried should not be represented except by parents. Let the family be the unit of representation. Give each hearthstone a vote. ¶
Question. How do you regard the opposition of the local clergy and of the Bourbon Democracy to enfranchising the citizens of the District? ¶
Answer. I did not know that the clergy did oppose it. If, as you say, they do oppose it because they fear it will extend the liquor traffic, I think their reason exceedingly stupid. You cannot make men temperate by shutting up a few of the saloons and leaving others wide open. Intemperance must be met with other weapons. The church ought not to appeal to force. What would the clergy of Washington think should the miracle of Cana be repeated in their day? Had they been in that country, with their present ideas, what would they have said? After all there is a great deal of philosophy in the following: “Better have the whole world voluntarily drunk then sober on compulsion.” Of course the Bourbons object. Objecting is the business of a Bourbon. He always objects. If he does not understand the question he objects because he does not, and if he does understand he objects because he does. With him the reason for objecting is the fact that he does. ¶
Question. What effect, if any, would the complete franchise to our citizens have upon real estate and business in Washington? ¶
Answer. If the people here had representation according to numbers—if the avenues to political preferment were open—if men here could take part in the real government of the country, if they could bring with them all their rights, this would be a great and splendid Capital. We ought to have here a University, the best in the world, a library second to none, and here should be gathered the treasures of American art. The Federal Government has been infinitely economical in the direction of information. I hope the time will come when our Government will give as much to educate two men as to kill one. ¶
—The Capital, Washington, D. C., December 18, 1881. ¶
FUNERAL OF JOHN G. MILLS AND IMMORTALITY.* ¶
[* Robert G. Ingersoll rarely takes the trouble to answer critics. His recent address over the dead body of his friend John G. Mills has called forth a storm of denunciation from nearly every pulpit in the country. The writer called at the Colonel’s office in New York Avenue yesterday and asked him to reply to some of the points made against him. Reluctantly he assented.] ¶
Question. Have you seen the recent clerical strictures upon your doctrines? ¶
Answer. There are always people kind enough to send me anything they have the slightest reason to think I do not care to read. They seem to be animated by a missionary spirit, and apparently want to be in a position when they see me in hell to exclaim: “You can’t blame me. I sent you all the impudent articles I saw, and if you died unconverted it was no fault of mine.” ¶
Question. Did you notice that a Washington clergyman said that the very fact that you were allowed to speak at the funeral was in itself a sacrilege, and that you ought to have been stopped? ¶
Answer. Yes, I saw some such story. Of course, the clergy regard marriages and funerals as the perquisites of the pulpit, and they resent any interference on the part of the pews. They look at these matters from a business point of view. They made the same cry against civil marriages. They denied that marriage was a contract, and insisted that it was a sacrament, and that it was hardly binding unless a priest had blessed it. They used to bury in consecrated ground, and had marks upon the graves, so that Gabriel might know the ones to waken. The clergy wish to make themselves essential. They must christen the babe—this gives them possession of the cradle. They must perform the ceremony of marriage —this gives them possession of the family. They must pronounce the funeral discourse—this gives them possession of the dead. Formerly they denied baptism to the children of the unbeliever, marriage to him who denied the dogmas of the church, and burial to honest men. The church wishes to control the world, and wishes to sacrifice this world for the next. Of course I am in favor of the utmost liberty upon all these questions. When a Presbyterian dies, let a follower of John Calvin console the living by setting forth the “Five Points.” When a Catholic becomes clay, let a priest perform such ceremonies as his creed demands, and let him picture the delights of purgatory for the gratification of the living. And when one dies who does not believe in any religion, having expressed a wish that somebody say a few words above his remains, I see no reason why such a proceeding should be stopped, and, for my part, I see no sacrilege in it. Why should the reputations of the dead, and the feelings of those who live, be placed at the mercy of the ministers? A man dies not having been a Christian, and who, according to the Christian doctrine, is doomed to eternal fire. How would an honest Christian minister console the widow and the fatherless children? How would he dare to tell what he claims to be truth in the presence of the living? The truth is, the Christian minister in the presence of death abandons his Christianity. He dare not say above the coffin, “the soul that once inhabited this body is now in hell.” He would be denounced as a brutal savage. Now and then a minister at a funeral has been brave enough and unmannerly enough to express his doctrine in all its hideousness of hate. I was told that in Chicago, many years ago, a young man, member of a volunteer fire company, was killed by the falling of a wall, and at the very moment the wall struck him he was uttering a curse. He was a brave and splendid man. An orthodox minister said above his coffin, in the presence of his mother and mourning friends, that he saw no hope for the soul of that young man. The mother, who was also orthodox, refused to have her boy buried with such a sermon—stopped the funeral, took the corpse home, engaged a Universalist preacher, and, on the next day having heard this man say that there was no place in the wide universe of God without hope, and that her son would finally stand among the redeemed, this mother laid her son away, put flowers upon his grave, and was satisfied. ¶
Question. What have you to say to the charge that you are preaching the doctrine of despair and hopelessness, when they have the comforting assurances of the Christian religion to offer? ¶
Answer. All I have to say is this: If the Christian religion is true, as commonly preached—and when I speak of Christianity, I speak of the orthodox Christianity of the day—if that be true, those whom I have loved the best are now in torment. Those to whom I am most deeply indebted are now suffering the vengeance of God. If this religion be true, the future is of no value to me. I care nothing about heaven, unless the ones I love and have loved are there. I know nothing about the angels. I might not like them, and they might not like me. I would rather meet there the ones who have loved me here—the ones who would have died for me, and for whom I would have died; and if we are to be eternally divided —not because we differed in our views of justice, not because we differed about friendship or love or candor, or the nobility of human action, but because we differed in belief about the atonement or baptism or the inspiration of the Scriptures—and if some of us are to be in heaven, and some in hell, then, for my part, I prefer eternal sleep. To me the doctrine of annihilation is infinitely more consoling, than the probable separation preached by the orthodox clergy of our time. Of course, even if there be a God, I like persons that I know, better than I can like him—we have more in common—I know more about them; and how is it possible for me to love the infinite and unknown better than the ones I know? Why not have the courage to say that if there be a God, all I know about him I know by knowing myself and my friends—by knowing others? And, after all, is not a noble man, is not a pure woman, the finest revelation we have of God—if there be one? Of what use is it to be false to ourselves? What moral quality is there in theological pretence? Why should a man say that he loves God better than he does his wife or his children or his brother or his sister or his warm, true friend? Several ministers have objected to what I said about my friend Mr. Mills, on the ground that it was not calculated to console the living. Mr. Mills was not a Christian. He denied the inspiration of the Scriptures. He believed that restitution was the best repentance, and that, after all, sin is a mistake. He was not a believer in total depravity, or in the atonement. He denied these things. He was an unbeliever. Now, let me ask, what consolation could a Christian minister have given to his family? He could have said to the widow and the orphans, to the brother and sister: “Your husband, your father, your brother, is now in hell; dry your tears; weep not for him, but try and save yourselves. He has been damned as a warning to you, care no more for him, why should you weep over the grave of a man whom God thinks fit only to be eternally tormented? Why should you love the memory of one whom God hates?” The minister could have said: “He had an opportunity—he did not take it. The life-boat was lowered—he would not get in—he has been drowned, and the waves of God’s wrath will sweep over him forever.” This is the consolation of Christianity and the only honest consolation that Christianity can have for the widow and orphans of an unbeliever. Suppose, however, that the Christian minister has too tender a heart to tell what he believes to be the truth—then he can say to the sorrowing friends: “Perhaps the man repented before he died; perhaps he is not in hell, perhaps you may meet him in heaven;” and this “perhaps” is a consolation not growing out of Christianity, but out of the politeness of the preacher—out of paganism. ¶
Question. Do you not think that the Bible has consolation for those who have lost their friends? ¶
Answer. There is about the Old Testament this strange fact—I find in it no burial service. There is in it, I believe, from the first mistake in Genesis to the last curse in Malachi, not one word said over the dead as to their place and state. When Abraham died, nobody said: “He is still alive—he is in another world.” When the prophets passed away, not one word was said as to the heaven to which they had gone. In the Old Testament, Saul inquired of the witch, and Samuel rose. Samuel did not pretend that he had been living, or that he was alive, but asked: “Why hast thou disquieted me?” He did not pretend to have come from another world. And when David speaks of his son, saying that he could not come back to him, but that he, David, could go to his son, that is but saying that he, too, must die. There is not in the Old Testament one hope of immortality. It is expressly asserted that there is no difference between the man and beast—that as the one dieth so dieth the other. There is one little passage in Job which commentators have endeavored to twist into a hope of immortality. Here is a book of hundreds and hundreds of pages, and hundreds and hundreds of chapters—a revelation from God—and in it one little passage, which, by a mistranslation, is tortured into saying something about another life. And this is the Old Testament. I have sometimes thought that the Jews, when slaves in Egypt, were mostly occupied in building tombs for mummies, and that they became so utterly disgusted with that kind of work, that the moment they founded a nation for themselves they went out of the tomb business. The Egyptians were believers in immortality, and spent almost their entire substance upon the dead. The living were impoverished to enrich the dead. The grave absorbed the wealth of Egypt. The industry of a nation was buried. Certainly the Old Testament has nothing clearly in favor of immortality. In the New Testament we are told about the “kingdom of heaven,”—that it is at hand—and about who shall be worthy, but it is hard to tell what is meant by the kingdom of heaven. The kingdom of heaven was apparently to be in this world, and it was about to commence. The Devil was to be chained for a thousand years, the wicked were to be burned up, and Christ and his followers were to enjoy the earth. This certainly was the doctrine of Paul when he says: “Behold, I show you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump; for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.” According to this doctrine, those who were alive were to be changed, and those who had died were to be raised from the dead. Paul certainly did not refer to any other world beyond this. All these things were to happen here. The New Testament is made up of the fragments of many religions. It is utterly inconsistent with itself; and there is not a particle of evidence of the resurrection and ascension of Christ—neither in the nature of things could there be. It is a thousand times more probable that people were mistaken than that such things occurred. If Christ really rose from the dead, he should have shown himself, not simply to his disciples, but to the very men who crucified him—to Herod, to the high priest, to Pilate. He should have made a triumphal entry into Jerusalem after his resurrection, instead of before. He should have shown himself to the Sadducees,—to those who denied the existence of spirit. Take from the New Testament its doctrine of eternal pain—the idea that we can please God by acts of self-denial that can do no good to others—take away all its miracles, and I have no objection to all the good things in it—no objection to the hope of a future life, if such a hope is expressed—not the slightest. And I would not for the world say anything to take from any mind a hope in which dwells the least comfort, but a doctrine that dooms a large majority of mankind to eternal flames ought not to be called a consolation. What I say is, that the writers of the New Testament knew no more about the future state than I do, and no less. The horizon of life has never been pierced. The veil between time and what is called eternity, has never been raised, so far as I know; and I say of the dead what all others must say if they say only what they know. There is no particular consolation in a guess. Not knowing what the future has in store for the human race, it is far better to prophesy good than evil. It is better to hope that the night has a dawn, that the sky has a star, than to build a heaven for the few, and a hell for the many. It is better to leave your dead in doubt than in fire—better that they should sleep in shadow than in the lurid flames of perdition. And so I say, and always have said, let us hope for the best. The minister asks: “What right have you to hope? It is sacrilegious in you!” But, whether the clergy like it or not, I shall always express my real opinion, and shall always be glad to say to those who mourn: “There is in death, as I believe, nothing worse than sleep. Hope for as much better as you can. Under the seven-hued arch let the dead rest.” Throw away the Bible, and you throw away the fear of hell, but the hope of another life remains, because the hope does not depend upon a book—it depends upon the heart—upon human affection. The fear, so far as this generation is concerned, is born of the book, and that part of the book was born of savagery. Whatever of hope is in the book is born, as I said before, of human affection, and the higher our civilization the greater the affection. I had rather rest my hope of something beyond the grave upon the human heart, than upon what they call the Scriptures, because there I find mingled with the hope of something good the threat of infinite evil. Among the thistles, thorns and briers of the Bible is one pale and sickly flower of hope. Among all its wild beasts and fowls, only one bird flies heavenward. I prefer the hope without the thorns, without the briers, thistles, hyenas, and serpents. ¶
Question. Do you not know that it is claimed that immortality was brought to light in the New Testament, that that, in fact, was the principal mission of Christ? ¶
Answer. I know that Christians claim that the doctrine of immortality was first taught in the New Testament. They also claim that the highest morality was found there. Both these claims are utterly without foundation. Thousands of years before Christ was born—thousands of years before Moses saw the light—the doctrine of immortality was preached by the priests of Osiris and Isis. Funeral discourses were pronounced over the dead, ages before Abraham existed. When a man died in Egypt, before he was taken across the sacred lake, he had a trial. Witnesses appeared, and if he had done anything wrong, for which he had not done restitution, he was not taken across the lake. The living friends, in disgrace, carried the body back, and it was buried outside of what might be called consecrated ground, while the ghost was supposed to wander for a hundred years. Often the children of the dead would endeavor to redeem the poor ghost by acts of love and kindness. When he came to the spirit world there was the god Anubis, who weighed his heart in the scales of eternal justice, and if the good deed preponderated he entered the gates of Paradise; if the evil, he had to go back to the world, and be born in the bodies of animals for the purpose of final purification. At last, the good deeds would outweigh the evil, and, according to the religion of Egypt, the latch-string of heaven would never be drawn in until the last wanderer got home. Immortality was also taught in India, and, in fact, in all the countries of antiquity. Wherever men have loved, wherever they have dreamed, wherever hope has spread its wings, the idea of immortality has existed. But nothing could be worse than the immortality promised in the New Testament—admitting that it is so promised—eternal joy side by side with eternal pain. Think of living forever, knowing that countless millions are suffering eternal pain! How much better it would be for God to commit suicide and let all life and motion cease! Christianity has no consolation except for the Christian, and if a Christian minister endeavors to console the widow of an unbeliever he must resort, not to his religion, but to his sympathy—to the natural promptings of the heart. He is compelled to say: “After all, may be God is not so bad as we think,” or, “May be your husband was better than he appeared; perhaps somehow, in some way, the dear man has squeezed in; he was a good husband, he was a kind father, and even if he is in hell, may be he is in the temperate zone, where they have occasional showers, and where, if the days are hot, the nights are reasonably cool.” All I ask of Christian ministers is to tell what they believe to be the truth—not to borrow ideas from the pagans—not to preach the mercy born of unregenerate sympathy. Let them tell their real doctrines. If they will do that, they will not have much influence. If orthodox Christianity is true, a large majority of the man who have made this world fit to live in are now in perdition. A majority of the Revolutionary soldiers have been damned. A majority of the man who fought for the integrity of this Union—a majority who were starved at Libby and Andersonville are now in hell. ¶
Question. Do you deny the immortality of the soul? ¶
Answer. I have never denied the immortality of the soul. I have simply been honest. I have said: “I do not know.” Long ago, in my lecture on “The Ghosts,” I used the following language: “The idea of immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of hope and fear beating against the shores and rocks of time and fate, was not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor of any religion. It was born of human affection, and it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death. It is the rainbow Hope, shining upon the tears of grief.” ¶
—The Post, Washington, D. C., April 30, 1883. ¶
STAR ROUTE AND POLITICS.* ¶
[* Col. Ingersoll entertains very pronounced ideas concerning President Arthur, Attorney-General Brewster and divers other people, which will be found presented herewith in characteristically piquant style. With his family, the eloquent advocate has a cottage here, and finds brain and body rest and refreshment in the tumbling waves. This noon, in the height of a tremendous thunder storm, I bumped against his burly figure in the roaring crest, and, after the first shock had passed, determined to utilize the providential coincidence. The water was warm, our clothes were in the bathing houses, and comfort was more certain where we were than anywhere else. The Colonel is an expert swimmer and as a floater he cannot be beaten. He was floating when we bumped. Spouting a pint of salt water from his mouth, he nearly choked with laughter as in answer to my question he said:] ¶
No, I do not believe there will be any more Star Route trials. There is so much talk about the last one, there will not be time for another. ¶
Question. Did you anticipate a verdict? ¶
Answer. I did anticipate a verdict, and one of acquittal. I knew that the defendants were entitled to such a verdict. I knew that the Government had signally failed to prove a case. There was nothing but suspicion, from which malice was inferred. The direct proof was utterly unworthy of belief. The direct witness was caught with letters he had forged. This one fact was enough to cover the prosecution with confusion. The fact that Rerdell sat with the other defendants and reported to the Government from day to day satisfied the jury as to the value of his testimony, and the animus of the Department of Justice. Besides, Rerdell had offered to challenge such jurors as the Government might select. He handed counsel for defendants a list of four names that he wanted challenged. At that time it was supposed that each defendant would be allowed to challenge four jurors. Afterward the Court decided that all the defendants must be considered as one party and had the right to challenge four and no more. Of the four names on Rerdell’s list the Government challenged three and Rerdell tried to challenge the other. This was what is called a coincidence. Another thing had great influence with the jury—the evidence of the defendants was upon all material points so candid and so natural, so devoid of all coloring, that the jury could not help believing. If the people knew the evidence they would agree with the jury. When we remember that there were over ten thousand star routes, it is not to be wondered at that some mistakes were made—that in some instances too much was paid and in others too little. ¶
Question. What has been the attitude of President Arthur? ¶
Answer. We asked nothing from the President. We wanted no help from him. We expected that he would take no part—that he would simply allow the matter to be settled by the court in the usual way. I think that he made one very serious mistake. He removed officers on false charges without giving them a hearing. He deposed Marshal Henry because somebody said that he was the friend of the defendants. Henry was a good officer and an honest man. The President removed Ainger for the same reason. This was a mistake. Ainger should have been heard. There is always time to do justice. No day is too short for justice, and eternity is not long enough to commit a wrong. It was thought that the community could be terrorized:— ¶
First. The President dismissed Henry and Ainger. ¶
Second. The Attorney-General wrote a letter denouncing the defendants as thieves and robbers. ¶
Third. Other letters from Bliss and MacVeagh were published. ¶
Fourth. Dixon, the foreman of the first jury, was indicted. ¶
Fifth. Members of the first jury voting “guilty” were in various ways rewarded. ¶
Sixth. Bargains were made with Boone and Rerdell. The cases against Boone were to be dismissed and Rerdell was promised immunity. Under these circumstances the second trial commenced. But of all the people in this country the citizens of Washington care least for Presidents and members of the Cabinets. They know what these officers are made of. They know that they are simply folks—that they do not hold office forever—that the Jupiters of to-day are often the pygmies of to-morrow. They have seen too many people come in with trumpets and flags and go out with hisses and rags to be overawed by the deities of a day. They have seen Lincoln and they are not to be frightened by his successors. Arthur took part to the extent of turning out men suspected of being friendly to the defence. Arthur was in a difficult place. He was understood to be the friend of Dorsey and, of course, had to do something. Nothing is more dangerous than a friend in power. He is obliged to show that he is impartial, and it always takes a good deal of injustice to establish a reputation for fairness. ¶
Question. Was there any ground to expect aid or any different action on Arthur’s part? ¶
Answer. All we expected was that Arthur would do as the soldier wanted the Lord to do at New Orleans—“Just take neither side.” ¶
Question. Why did not Brewster speak? ¶
Answer. The Court would not allow two closings. The Attorney- General did not care to speak in the “middle.” He wished to close, and as he could not do that without putting Mr. Merrick out, he concluded to remain silent. The defendants had no objection to his speaking, but they objected to two closing arguments for the Government, and the Court decided they were right. Of course, I understand nothing about the way in which the attorneys for the prosecution arranged their difficulties. That was nothing to me; neither do I care what money they received—all that is for the next Congress. It is not for me to speak of those questions. ¶
Question. Will there be other trials? ¶
Answer. I think not. It does not seem likely that other attorneys will want to try, and the old ones have. My opinion is that we have had the last of the Star Route trials. It was claimed that the one tried was the strongest. If this is so the rest had better be dismissed. I think the people are tired of the whole business. It now seems probable that all the time for the next few years will be taken up in telling about the case that was tried. I see that Cook is telling about MacVeagh and James and Brewster and Bliss; Walsh is giving his opinion of Kellogg and Foster; Bliss is saying a few words about Cook and Gibson; Brewster is telling what Bliss told him; Gibson will have his say about Garfield and MacVeagh, and it now seems probable that we shall get the bottom facts about the other jury—the actions of Messrs. Hoover, Bowen, Brewster Cameron and others. Personally I have no interest in the business. ¶
Question. How does the next campaign look? ¶
Answer. The Republicans are making all the mistakes they can, and the only question now is, Can the Democrats make more? The tariff will be one of the great questions, and may be the only one except success. The Democrats are on both sides of the question. They hate to give up the word “only.” Only for that word they might have succeeded in 1880. If they can let “only” alone, and say they want “a tariff for revenue” they will do better. The fact is the people are not in favor of free trade, neither do they want a tariff high enough to crush a class, but they do want a tariff to raise a revenue and to protect our industries. I am for protection because it diversifies industries and develops brain—allows us to utilize all the muscle and brain we have. A party attacking the manufacturing interests of this country will fail. There are too many millions of dollars invested and too many millions of people interested. The country is becoming alike interested in this question. We are no longer divided, as in slavery times, into manufacturing and agricultural districts or sections. Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, Louisiana and Texas have manufacturing interests. And the Western States believe in the protection of their industries. The American people have a genius for manufacturing, a genius for invention. We are not the greatest painters or sculptors or scientists, but we are without doubt the greatest inventors. If we were all engaged in one business we would become stupid. Agricultural countries produce great wealth, but are never rich. To get rich it is necessary to mix thought with labor. To raise the raw material is a question of strength; to manufacture, to put it in useful and beautiful forms, is a question of mind. There is a vast difference between the value of, say, a milestone and a statue, and yet the labor expended in getting the raw material is about the same. The point, after all, is this: First, we must have revenue; second, shall we get this by direct taxation or shall we tax imports and at the same time protect American labor? The party that advocates reasonable protection will succeed.* ¶
[* At this point, with far away peals of thunder, the storm ceased, the sun reappeared and a vault of heavenly blue swung overhead. “Let us get out,” said Colonel Ingersoll. Suiting the action to the word, the Colonel struck out lustily for the beach, on which, hard as a rock and firm as flint, he soon planted his sturdy form. And as he lumbered across the sand to the side door of his comfortable cottage, some three hundred feet from the surf, the necessarily suggested contrast between Ingersoll in court and Ingersoll in soaked flannels was illustrated with forcible comicality. Half an hour later he was found in the cozy library puffing a high flavored Havana, and listening to home-made music of delicious quality. Ingersoll at home is pleasant to contemplate. His sense of personal freedom is there aptly pictured. Loving wife and affectionate daughters form, with happy-faced and genial-hearted father, a model circle into which friends deem it a privilege to enter and a pleasure to remain. ¶
Continuing the conversation, ] ¶
Question. In view of all this, where do you think the presidential candidate will come from? ¶
Answer. From the West. ¶
Question. Why so? ¶
Answer. The South and East must compromise. Both can trust the West. The West represents the whole country. There is no provincialism in the West. The West is not old enough to have the prejudice of section; it is too prosperous to have hatred, too great to feel envy. ¶
Question. You do not seem to think that Arthur has a chance? ¶
Answer. No Vice-President was ever made President by the people. It is natural to resent the accident that gave the Vice-President the place. They regard the Vice-President as children do a stepmother. He is looked upon as temporary—a device to save the election—a something to stop a gap—a lighter—a political raft. He holds the horse until another rider is found. People do not wish death to suggest nominees for the presidency. I do not believe it will be possible for Mr. Arthur, no matter how well he acts, to overcome this feeling. The people like a new man. There is some excitement in the campaign, and besides they can have the luxury of believing that the new man is a great man. ¶
Question. Do you not think Arthur has grown and is a greater man than when he was elected? ¶
Answer. Arthur was placed in very trying circumstances, and, I think, behaved with great discretion. But he was Vice-President, and that is a vice that people will not pardon. ¶
Question. How do you regard the situation in Ohio? ¶
Answer. I hear that the Republicans are attacking Hoadly, saying that he is an Infidel. I know nothing about Mr. Hoadly’s theological sentiments, but he certainly has the right to have and express his own views. If the Republicans of Ohio have made up their minds to disfranchise the Liberals, the sooner they are beaten the better. Why should the Republican party be so particular about religious belief? Was Lincoln an orthodox Christian? Were the founders of the party—the men who gave it heart and brain—conspicuous for piety? Were the abolitionists all believers in the inspiration of the Bible? Is Judge Hoadly to be attacked because he exercises the liberty that he gives to others? Has not the Republican party trouble enough with the spirituous to let the spiritual alone? If the religious issue is made, I hope that the party making it will be defeated. I know nothing about the effect of the recent decision of the Supreme Court of Ohio. It is a very curious decision and seems to avoid the Constitution with neatness and despatch. The decision seems to rest on the difference between the words tax and license—I. e., between allowing a man to sell whiskey for a tax of one hundred dollars or giving him a license to sell whiskey and charging him one hundred dollars. In this, the difference is in the law instead of the money. So far all the prohibitory legislation on the liquor question has been a failure. Beer is victorious, and Gambrinus now has Olympus all to himself. On his side is the “bail”— ¶
Question. But who will win? ¶
Answer. The present indications are favorable to Judge Hoadly. It is an off year. The Ohio leaders on one side are not in perfect harmony. The Germans are afraid, and they generally vote the Democratic ticket when in doubt. The effort to enforce the Sunday law, to close the gardens, to make one day in the week desolate and doleful, will give the Republicans a great deal of hard work. ¶
Question. How about Illinois? ¶
Answer. Republican always. The Supreme Court of Illinois has just made a good decision. That Court decided that a contract made on Sunday can be enforced. In other words, that Sunday is not holy enough to sanctify fraud. You can rely on a State with a Court like that. There is very little rivalry in Illinois. I think that General Oglesby will be the next Governor. He is one of the best men in that State or any other. ¶
Question. What about Indiana? ¶
Answer. In that State I think General Gresham is the coming man. He was a brave soldier, an able, honest judge, and he will fill with honor any position he may be placed in. He is an excellent lawyer, and has as much will as was ever put in one man. McDonald is the most available man for the Democrats. He is safe and in every respect reliable. He is without doubt the most popular man in his party. ¶
Question. Well, Colonel, what are you up to? ¶
Answer. Nothing. I am surrounded by sand, sea and sky. I listen to music, bathe in the surf and enjoy myself. I am wondering why people take interest in politics; why anybody cares about anything; why everybody is not contented; why people want to climb the greased pole of office and then dodge the brickbats of enemies and rivals; why any man wishes to be President, or a member of Congress, or in the Cabinet, or do anything except to live with the ones he loves, and enjoy twenty-four hours every day. I wonder why all New York does not come to Long Beach and hear Schreiner’s Band play the music of Wagner, the greatest of all composers. Finally, in the language of Walt Whitman, “I loaf and invite my soul.” ¶
—The Herald, New York, July 1, 1883. ¶