THE TORCH OF REASON, SILVERTON, OREGON, THURSDAY, JANUARY 2 1 , 1 8 9 7 .
GOLDEN
THRONE.
o b i c h u r c h . a m i I th in k
time or other one m ust
t h a t s o m e was the home of everything beauti- world would have
have been
[ a ROMANCE BY SAMVEL I*, f t TNAM.J
h a p p y in it h u t HOW it i>
“ Yes” said Paddie. “ I studied jejune. T h ad a ylight has killed it.”
for years, and what did it am ount
“ But how did you come to see
to when I came to the real tussle daylight? All your family are still
with life? I can’t earn m y bread of the church, and your nation
• • -
-■■■ ■
...
>
■■
. ever ”
and vet I doubt if I am worth as
“ Yes, Ireland clings to it as to a
m uch to th e world as thia butterfly; m other.
I don’t wonder. The
and I stand asham ed by the side ol church has been kind to my native
m any a rude
clod-hopper, and land, and really, if I were to go
wish ! could handle the pick as hack to C hristianity, I'd go hack to
well as he. The veriest savage can the old Catholic church. It. has no
beat me in the struggle for existence more superstitions than the rest of
W hy sh o u ldn’t I revolt against n ,(. churches, a i d it’s m uch more
everything, and go straig h t to comprehensive. It allow - play for
n atu re.”
hum an nature, ft tries to satisfy
“ I t’s the best thing you can do,” all wants. It is deeply poetical while
said Bill “ Stick to the butterfly, proiesiam ism is not. It is only
and let the name go. We can’t set dogmatic. W hy, I »hough« I could
things right in a m inute. Good- l>e free in the U nitarian church, but
night. I m ust h u rry to my ranch.” I couldn’t. If I didn’t say just
“ You have a palace to go to, such and such things, I had to take
com pared to our dens,’’ said C harlie, it. I got sick of addressing my
“and I don't wonder th at you arc in prayers every Sunday to the con-
a h u rry , so good-night.”
gregation, and wanted to d ro p o ff
occasionally for a rest, hut they
CIIAI TEII II.
w ouIJn’l :«■! me. 1 Imd Io keep
P a d d ie J o h n a n d C h a r lesaunter-
<)n T |„., (.l>uld ljBlen ,0 the
ed back to the settlem ent W hat un-
(
com placently, hut
fortunatee we are, lot 10 u . , io a»i
w ouldn’t lieteu Ib r a m om ent
been trained ae we h ave,— never to
(
o m itled . So 1 had to
be n atu ral, but alw ays artificial
)eave the chureh ..„tirely .”
said Charlie. "W h at a lu x u iy of
never LWll,| th in k ,lf being a
thought and feeling Bill has, ol
„ haiJ c h a r |ie
<.r d as
which
we can
. a cage. I hey
wiutuw®
a hardly j have a cone« r p- HOon he a p arro t in
tion for orthodoxy has rendered us
1
.
uou,
j
are slaves, the whole of ’em . I <1
incapable!
Even t oug 1 w< i
ra^ ,e r dig here, and live in a hole
free in thought, it still slicks to us,
„
in our very bones.
„
Up d ratlier study butterflies than
“ Yes we are m aim ed ch ild ren ,” tbeil. confol,nded theology. H o w l
said Jo h n . “ I don’t expect to be j hate the who|e th i„g! W hat a curse
perfectly well. We have lost our it hag been to my country! Ireland
fortune, and henceforth m ust be would be free to day, if she could
w anderers.”
have snapped her fingers at the
“ W hat a terrible process it is —this priest. There never can he liberty
un m ak in g of ourselves!”
with superstition.”
“ Yes, it leaves us lying round
T here’s nothing hut failure; for
about loose,v\ito h<ii<1 lv a n j consi. t Inen u jll alw ays he superstitious,
en t faculty; and the whole world
so
king and priest
priest will
seems to he in about the same alw ays reign. Come in.
W e’ll
condition.”
take a hit of drink together before
“ I wonder if any recovery is b e d tim e .”
possible, or if things have got to go
C harley live«! in a d u g out. It
to the devil anyw ay?”
was as comfortable as an y th in g , lie
“ 1 don’t bother myself. I leave it said, and w ouldn’t burn down. He
to evolution.
M eanwhile I am lighted the candle, and they sat by
going to study insects ami dig for
table on a couple of boxes.
■ ‘ a - t -----
..... do The dem ijohn ami pipes ami to­
gold. In th
way, I 1 - may
som ething for m yself.’
bacco were handy.
“ I don t like to leave things .-o,
They sipped a littb*. and dream ily
b u l l guess I ’ll have to, and take
care of num ber one.”
“ 1 am about as h ap p y here as any*
“ W hat success have you h ad ?”
where,” said J o h n . “ I like this old
“ Oh, not m uch. The veins seem h at ami hoots, and I like the tit of
to be worked out about here. Yet it my clothes, and I have plenty ot
looks rich; and I shouldn’t wonder ventilation. See what a hole I tore
if we struck som ething some time, to d ay .”
Really, I ’d like to be rich; I ’ve
“ W e have nothing to bother us
tum bled about the world a good deal, here,” said Charlie. “ W «• are kings,
and I find th at money is the chief because we don't care a snap for
blessing. It is a friend th a t never anybody. We can he as dirty and
failH •>
ragged as we please.”
“ 1 don’t care much about it. If
“ T h a t’s the luxury of it. I ’d not
1 could have a hottie of wine every care to exchange places with any
day. and a little bread and cheese, <me. A m illionaire couldn’t be
I ’d he happy.”
,nore independent. However, I
« I see you are notan idealise”
never thought of this, when I was
“ la m . T h at is what made me an young. W hat dream s i used to
infidel. Of course I enjoyed the have when I believed th at the church
been, if it had
fnl, and just fitted to make the had only th e jioets to interpret the
world happy!”
universe! The curse came, when
“ Well, I never dream ed m uch,” theologians undertook to explain
said Charlie.
“ I always was a things. I t ’s a ll nonsense to try to
practical chap. I lived on a farm explain things. All we w ant are
in New’ E ngland, and we had to pictures. D am n th e o rie s.’’
:'h(»ut thp,
v ■..»•k« .ha.&J». V i--ui* w a s n ’t I'I-W m « * . ' 5 A VOU t!"
chance for poetry, and what poetry butterfly or the stone or the
there m ight have been was knocked flower? ”
out of us by our religion. I c a n ’t
“ No. I don’t. T hey are, and
say. on the whole, th a t I ’d choose that s sufficient.’
existence.”
“Science, tlmn, is folly?”
“Oh, I ’d choose it in a m inute,
“ It is, unless it stops w ith obser-
anywhere, under any form .” said vation. It can arrange things and
Jo h n , w i'h tru e Iri-h fervor. “ All I improve things, hut it can ’t explain
want is to live. W hy, I’d be happy ’em. Science and poetry are one.
even if I was only a worm of the Both depend on observation of
what actually is. Science makes
«lust.”
“ I’d hardly be happy, if I was a the enp, po' try furnishes th e wine.
king upon a th ro n e,” said Charlie. Both enable us to d rin k deep
“ Life is a grim sort of a thing d ra u g h ts of life.”
“ 1 see no speculation in your
under any circum stances.”
eyes.”
“ W hy don’t you die, th en ?”
“ I don’t w ant speculation.
I
“ Oh, I shall when the t ime comes,
and very gladly too. But fate has w’ant insight, vision. I don’t spec­
put me here, and fat'* m ust take me ulate about the butterfly. I sim ply
aw av. I have no right t in terfere see it. W hat more can any one do?
The trouble is th a t the vast m ajor­
with fate.”
ity of people don’t see the butterfly;
“ You believe in fate, then?
‘ Yes, I do, in a dark, ir«»n fate, in fact, they see h ard ly an y th in g .
th at holds me in its pitiless grasp They are blinded by speculation ’’
“ Well, one m ust be horn a poet
as if I were an insect.”
“ Well, I don’t believe in anything in older to sec; and, if not horn a
really. I don't think it pays to have poet, then he m ust speculate.”
“ We are all horn poets, I think.
any faith, not even in life itself.
We m ust sim ply enjoy it.
If a It is education th a t robs us of our
m an asked me if I believed in my b irth rig h t.”
There was a knock at the door.
own existence, I ’d say no. I don't
“Come in,” said Charlie.
know’ what the logical consequence
A singular sort of an individual
of such an assum ption w’ould bt
It would be safer to deny it. I don’t entered. He was not prepossessing
w ant an y th in g to do with logic only by any m eans. He had a hang-
w ith poetry. Now, poetry don’t dog look. H is h air was combed
need any premises.
Poetry only straig h t back from h ’s forehead,
deals in ideals, and Ih a v e plenty of H is eyes had hardly an y color, but
them .”
y°u m ight call them w atery blue.
“ I guess you have, and in th a t I hev did not look at you steadily,
have the advantage of me. You They were restless, serpent eyes,
see a world of beauty even in a His nose was crooked. His lips
b u tterfly ’s w ing.”
were th in , and behind them were a
“ Indeed 1 do,” cried J o h n ,e n th u - few sm all and gleam ing teeth. A
siasticallx ,“ and in a hit of stone or thin gray beard was scattered over
blade of grass. Just look at this his face. His gait was som ewhat
butterflv. Is an y th in g riclmr than sham bling, and he bent his head
th a t? W hat gorgeous colors! Silver with an air of hum ility. I here
ami gold is there more plentiful was no assertion ot m anhood about
th a n in any hank. W hat lady ever him. He looked likes a walking
dressed finer?
And there are apology.
m illions of just such beautiful
This was Gooch. “ The deacon”
things in nature.
Fake an y th in g was the nam e he went by. He was
th at you comeacr«>ss, the first pebble deacon, and a very good one he
that voucan lay your h a n d s o n .a n d m ade when at home. He had some
it’s a m arvel. It’s infinite in its faculty for praying. H e could
loveliness.”
talk glibly of the total depravity of
“ llo w I envy you! W hat a glory m an. He seemed to believe in it
it is to l»e a poet! E verything with his whole h eart. He could
th rills you. The sw aying of a discourse also of regeneration, hut
branch is music. I w’onder if you his faith in th at w as not so strong
see the reality,or are you cheated by as his faith in depravity. Above
your im agination?”
all, lie was em inently fitted for his
“ I th in k th at poetry and tru th office, from the fact th at no one
are one, and th a t poetry dwells in could look at him w ithout a most
tru th and can dw’ell nowhere else, solemn and awful feeling.
You
Yet w hat is tru th ?
We don’t . couldn’t laugh while in his pres-
know. For us, then, the beautiful ence. He m ade you feel the u tter
only is the true. Y et again, when worthlessness of hu m an life,
an y th in g eeases t<> be true to us, it
Like all deacons, he wanted
ceases to he beautiful. W hat is mom v. There was never a dea-
false is hideous. How happy the con yet who d id n ’t hunger for