T H E TORCH OF REASON, SIL V E R T O N , OREGON, OCTOBER 4, E. M. 300 (1900.)
6
Song of the Webfoot Land.
A u n t F ran ces an d E stelle.
BY W. P. SCLLIVAN.
by m . m . t .
I sing of a land and a golden stra n d ,
T hat lies on P acific’s shore,
W here tall firs stan d in p h alan x grand,
K eeping tim e w ith th e o cean’s roar.
T here peaks of snow , w ith lordly brow,
W atch o’er th e valleys wide.
T he to rren ts flow, and ice stream s plow
T h eir way dow n th e m o u n tain side.
These steeps sublim e, g reat oak and pine
Have graced for years u n to ld .
The elk and deer roam blithesom e here,
F earing n a u g h t b u t h u n te rs bold.
H ere big, black bear in hidden lair
Chews lam b and y o u th fu l sw ine.
H is toothsom e fare, sleek coyotes sh are,
And all have a lovely tim e.
T here
m any a stre am , like a h appy
dream ,
G lides down th e vale so fair;
W illam ette ’s sheen, in th e su n lig h t’s
gleam ,
M akes a crown of jew els rare.
On h er b an k s we sta n d ; on e ith e r h an d
Are plains and w oodland shade.
T he landscape scan n ed , sa y : “ H e re ’s
th e land
T he gods’ own h an d s have m a d e .”
To tell th e tale of h ill, and dale,
And stre am , all tim e and space
W ould surely fail, nor words avail
T h at my poor pen could trace.
For field and m ine, w ith woods com
bine
Its tim b er, gold and w heat,
To show, in fine, a land d iv in e;
All th in g s on earth com plete.
H ere luscious pear, and peach com pare
T h eir cheeks w ith th e beautioua rose;
W ith p ru n es of blue and silver hue
T he big red apple grow s;
And ch erries fair, w ith grapes so rare,
T he touch and taste invite.
A ll th a t trees bear ‘‘F ru it Palace” th ere
P resen ts a royal sig h t.
T he a ir so still, sweet blossom s fill
W ith scents from tree and vine,
And zephyrs trill o’er wooded h ill.
W ith sniff of o cean’s b rin e.
T hough th e r e ’s no fear of cyclones h e re
To strew you o ’er th e plain.
S hould one ap p ear, from far and near
T h e y ’d pick you up again.
W hen breezes blow, d o n ’t look for snow,
W ith blizzard in its tra in .
The “ Oregon m is t” will never d e sist,
Till sum m er resum es h e r re ig n ;
W hen its gentle fall drops over all
A veil of glistening rain ,
“ S p u d s” n o t sm all, and tu rn ip s tall,
Rise up to grow ag ain .
W ith “ m ossy” back, th e y say ’tie fact
T he m ud th e g ran g er plods
A nd w here th e re ’s lack, th e grass on
th e ir back
Grow s in to v e rd a n t sods.
H is “ donation claim ” is a k in g ’s dom ain ;
W ith gold his purse is filled.
If ’tw ill bu t rain w ith m ight and m ain,
AU care in his b reast is stilled.
H is spouse so good, a likely brood
Of “ native so n s” has reared ;
S hould W illa m e tte ’s flood subm erge Mt.
Hood,
No danger need lie feared ;
For one and all, both g reat and sm all,
W ould paddie them selves to land ;
For betw een th e ir toes a tough skin
grows
K ind N a tu re ’s “ Webfoot** b rand.
Nor is h e r son th e only one
To sound fair O regon’s fam e;
For those who come from th e rising sun
W ill honor, too, h e r nam e.
T hen from Scappoose to Siskiyous,
We sh o u t on every h a n d ;
T he Cascades blue, will echo, too,
H u rra h , for th e W ebfoot land !
(Suggested by the editorial com
m ent in the Torch of Reason on an
article in the Y o u th ’s Companion
for April, 1900, E. M. 300.)
A unt Frances. I speak passion
ately Estelle, for once I lost
hope.
Estelle.
I enjoy life so much
th a t I don’t seem to hope for any
thing, it is so beautiful to see the
flowers growing, so deeply in terest
ing to see the birds and their ways;
even the m aking of bread is a poem
to me, with its memories of broad
3unny fields, m an’s out door indus
try , then the m ixing and m ingling
and the silent work of th ey east, all
controled by the changeless laws of
nature, the realization of which
brings an ever growing feeling of
delight.
I am very sorry you studied the
“ old philosophy” A unt Frances, no
wonder you felt learned and a s
tute and so much above your com
panions th a t you became “ lone
some.”
It seems to me th a t the
more one lives with nature, under
stan d s and loves her laws, the more
hum ble and n atural they become,
the more sym pathy and kinship
they feel with their brother man.
You say you once lost hope? Hope
of w hat?
A unt Frances. Hope of bliss
and peace beyond the grave.
A
hope I never could have had but
for this day of resurrection.
visited
on
those
who were not him, and in the friendly
particcps criminis ?
I cannot ac- he seems to wish :—
cept injustice as love.
spirit
Mr. Bland’s Last.
A unt France«.
My dear, you
m ust have faith.
M artin L uther
said “ The highest perfection of
faith is to believe th a t God is just
though he necessarily causes our
dam nation and eeemeth to enjoy
the sufferings of the sinful.”
______
tQ nQW get g( th(, very
hearl o( thie whole D)al(eri , he
fu n d a n ie n ta| queetion underlying
a |, intel|igeI)t diecusBion of 't h i s
eubject 6jlI,ply Jg. Ig (hj8 p ower
which (he univer9e everyw here
Estelle.
I cannot have such
faith, it is horrid.
I cannot be
afraid of a god any more th an I
am of my dear fath er.
I will not
accept the redem ption secured by
the shedding of the blood of an in
nocent victim.
m anifests, and of whose m anifesta-
tions ail th in g s are but the expres-
siou, a self-conscious Power, or is it
not? Or, p u t in cu rren t philosoph-
ic phrase, is th a t system of efficient
causes, which everyw here we see
in operation, w ithin the guiding
grasp of a conscient and foreseeing
F irst Cause? And to th a t question
it is perfectly evident th a t no pos
itive answ er can possibly he given,
as, to the knowing, it is equally
certain th a t the very d ata which
might m ake such answ er possible
is not even conceivable.
W hile if
any one would realize how im pos
sible such an answ er is, and how
even inconceivable is the d ata th at
m ight furnish it; let us tu rn to
Spencer’s “ F irst Principles,” and
read its opening chapters on “ The
U nknow able.”
Such, then, our friend’s depict-
ment of the w riter m ight have been,
had he my “ G ospel” read with care
and with carefulness represented;
W hile if the reader would perceive
what his portrayal is, let him turn
to your issue.
Now one word more, friend
W akem an! and this the last, the
last th at on our issue 1 sh all ever
pen. Though here I some u n g ra
cious things have said, yet it is all
over now, and in me there will no
ungraciousness rem ain.
Not, my
brother! upon these sm all m atters
on which we differ let us dwell;
but ra th e r, upon those su rp assin g
ly great ones on which we do not
differ, upon the priceless worth of
liberty, the deathless glory
of
tru th , the suprem e desirability of
happiness; never forgetting the
wise old proverb, th a t while “ o p in
ions are m any, tru th is one, and
we are brothers.”
How The Rev. J. P. Bland
Closes Out.
BY T. B. W.
In the Boston Investigator of
Septem ber 22, Rev. Mr. Bland
prints over four colum ns of reply
to Mr. W akem an's review of his “ de
ity and im m o rtality .” resulting
from his “ Gospel of E v o lu tio n ” and
then “cries enough,” for he says he
will not add another word.
Those who read the articles under
“ Ignorabim us” in the Torch of Sep
tem ber 6, may read this reply, but
it is too long to rep rin t in the
Torch, and does not m ake any new
point.
Much of the reply is taken
up in disparagem ent of Mr. W ake
man and calling him offensive
nam es, which seems to us a waste
of tem per and print. I t then tries
to show th a t Mr. W akeman did
not understand or else m isrepre
sented his position to be th a t of an
“ affirm ant” of God and Im m o rtali
ty, when he was sim ply an “ Ag
nostic” about them .
But w hat we insisted was th at
th e words Power, E nergy and Force
etc., m ust no longer be used in the
old m etaphysical sense as m eaning
en tity , thing, and so a God of some
kind, but in the m odern Scientific
sense as changes in m atter and
ether, which being correlative,
equivalent and endless in tim e and
space, m ake the end of this whole
God and “ Agnostic” business. T h at
leaves usno th in g to sta n d upon but
H eckels’ last expression, “ God and
AND
the world areo n e” . T hat his position
was not m istated at all is proved
conclusively by his final words in
S ilv e r to n , O re
this very reply, which repeats the M a in S t r e e t
very sam e un-Scientific fog and
CARRY A COMPLETE STOCK OF
dubious agnostic* “ know nothing-
ism, which is the basis and cause
School
of all “ nothingarian, do-nothing
and good-for-nothingism ;”— all of
Supplies
which is now out of Science and out
of date; and which we held, and
Books and
still hold up to Liberals, as the very
th in g to get out of, if an y th in g
ionery.
realy good is to be done in and for
this world: he ends it all up thus,
and bv this quotation we leave, in Dealers in Fruits, Vegetables
Estelle.
I should think th at
hoping for som ething better than
this life and beyond it, would take
the interest and joy out of it, in
ducing one to be a stone, and lead a
life of stern, false virtue. I cannot
understand why, though practicing
this stern virtue, you could not
love your relations and your friends,
unless they cast you off because
you d id n ’t th in k as they did.
You say th a t the “ philosophy of
C hrist is love.”
It seems to me
th a t this philosophy, until Science
had won her victories over theolo
gy, strewed the path of life with
blood and agony.
The different
construction of this philosophy d i
vides com m unities into factions,
disuniting and dem oralizing. Now
after 2000 years, all but a few
m onths, the professors of this p h il
osophy are killing off the weaker
races and taking possession of their
lands.
A unt Frances. Think E stelle of
the love of your heavenly father,
who gave his only son, “ begotten
before all worlds” to be crucified
for our salvation.
Estelle. Did not God of his own
will make A dam ’s unborn descen
d an t participate in Adam’s sin?
H ad not an om nipotent God a b» t-
ter way th an to m ake an innnocent
one bear the penalty of this curse every sense, the “ last w ord” with
KINNEV
PORTER
and Confectionery.