 The Application of Thought to Textual Criticism by A. E. Houseman. In beginning to speak about the application of thought to textual criticism I do not intend to define the term thought because I hope that the sense which I attach to the word will emerge from what I say, but it is necessary at the outset to define textual criticism because many people and even some people who profess to teach it to others do not know what it is. One sees books calling themselves introductions to textual criticism which contain nothing about textual criticism from beginning to end, which are all about paleography and manuscripts and collation, and have no more to do with textual criticism than if they were all about accidents and syntax. Paleography is one of the things with which a textual critic needs to acquaint himself, but grammar is another and equally indispensable, and no amount either of grammar or of paleography will teach a man one scrap of textual criticism. Textual criticism is a science, and since it comprises recension and emendation it is also an art. It is the science of discovering error in texts, and the art of removing it. That is its definition, that is what the name denotes, but I must also say something about what it does and does not connote, what attributes it does and does not imply, because here also there are false impressions abroad. First then, it is not a sacred mystery. It is purely a matter of reason and of common sense. We exercise textual criticism whenever we notice and correct a misprint. A man who possesses common sense and the use of reason must not expect to learn from treatises or lectures on textual criticism anything that he could not with leisure and industry find out for himself. What the lectures and treatises can do for him is to save him time and trouble by presenting to him immediately considerations which would in any case occur to him sooner or later. And whatever he reads about textual criticism in books, or hears at lectures, he should test by reason and common sense, and reject everything which conflicts with either as mere hocus-pocus. Secondly, textual criticism is not a branch of mathematics, nor indeed an exact science at all. It deals with a matter not rigid and constant like lines and numbers, but fluid and variable. Namely, the frailties and aberrations of the human mind, and of its insubordinate servants, the human fingers. It, therefore, is not susceptible of hard and fast rules. It would be much easier if it were, and that is why people try to pretend that it is, or at least behave as if they thought so. Of course you can have hard and fast rules if you like, but then you will have false rules, and they will lead you wrong, because their simplicity will render them inapplicable to problems which are not simple, but complicated by the play of personality. A textual critic engaged upon his business is not at all like Newton investigating the motions of the planets. He is much more like a dog hunting for fleas. If a dog hunted for fleas on mathematical principles, basing his researches on statistics of area and population, he would never catch a flea except by accident. They required be treated as individuals, and every problem which presents itself to the textual critic must be regarded as possibly unique. Textual criticism, therefore, is neither mystery nor mathematics. It cannot be learned either like the catechism or like the multiplication table. This science and this art require more in the learner than a simply receptive mind, and indeed the truth is that they cannot be taught at all. Criticals naskitur nonfit. If a dog is to hunt for fleas successfully he must be quick, and he must be sensitive. It is no good for a rhinoceros to hunt for fleas. He does not know where they are, and could not catch them if he did. It has sometimes been said that textual criticism is the crown and summit of all scholarship. This is not evidently or necessarily true, but it is true that the qualities which make a critic, whether they are thus transcendent or no, are rare, and that a good critic is a much less common thing than, for instance, a good grammarian. I have in my mind a paper by a well-known scholar on a certain Latin writer, half of which was concerned with grammar, and half with criticism. The grammatical part was excellent. It showed wide reading and accurate observation, and contributed matter which was both new and valuable. In the textual part, the author was like nothing so much as an ill-bred child interrupting the conversation of grown men. If it was possible to mistake the question at issue, he mistook it. If an opponent's arguments were contained in some book which was not at hand, he did not try to find the book, but he tried to guess the arguments, and he never succeeded. If the book was at hand and he had read the arguments, he did not understand them, and he represented his opponents as saying the opposite of what they had said. If another scholar had already removed a corruption by slightly altering the text, he proposed to remove it by altering the text violently. So possible is it to be a learned man and admirable in other departments, and yet to have in you not even the makings of a critic. But the application of thought to textual criticism is an action which ought to be within the power of anyone who can apply thought to anything. It is not like the talent for textual criticism a gift of nature, but it is a habit, and like other habits it can be formed. And when formed, although it cannot fill the place of an absent talent, it can modify and minimise the ill effects of the talent's absence. Because a man is not a born critic, he need not therefore act like a born fool, but when he engages in textual criticism, he often does. There are reasons for everything, and there are reasons for this, and I will now set forth the chief of them. The fact that thought is not sufficiently applied to the subject I shall show hereafter by examples, but at present I consider the causes which bring that result about. First, then, not only is a natural aptitude for the study rare, but so also is a genuine interest in it. Most people and many scholars among them find it rather dry and rather dull. Now if a subject bores us we are apt to avoid the trouble of thinking about it, but if we do that we had better go further and avoid also the trouble of writing about it. And that is what English scholars often did in the middle of the nineteenth century, when nobody in England wanted to hear about textual criticism. This was not an ideal condition of affairs, but it had its compensation. The less one says about a subject which one does not understand, the less one will say about it which is foolish, and on this subject editors were allowed by public opinion to be silent if they chose. But public opinion is now aware that textual criticism, however repulsive, is nevertheless indispensable, and editors find that some pretense of dealing with the subject is obligatory, and in these circumstances they apply not thought, but words, to textual criticism. They get rules by rote without grasping the realities of which those rules are merely emblems, and recite them on inappropriate occasions, instead of seriously thinking out each problem as it arises. Secondly, it is only a minority of those who engage in this study who are sincerely bent upon the discovery of truth. We all know that the discovery of truth is seldom the sole object of political writers, and the world believes, justly or unjustly, that it is not always the sole object of theologians, but the amount of subconscious dishonesty which pervades the textual criticism of the Greek and Latin classics is little suspected, except by those who have had occasion to analyse it. People come upon this field, bringing with them prepossessions and preferences. They are not willing to look all facts in the face, nor to draw the most probable conclusion, unless it is also the most agreeable conclusion. Most men are rather stupid, and most of those who are not stupid are consequently rather vain, and it is hardly possible to step aside from the pursuit of truth without falling a victim, either to your stupidity or else to your vanity. Stupidity will then attach you to received opinions, and you will stick in the mud, or vanity will set you hunting for novelty, and you will find mare's nests. Added to these snares and hindrances, there are the various forms of partisanship, sectarianism which handcuffs you to your own school and teachers and associates, and patriotism which handcuffs you to your own country. Patriotism has a great name as a virtue, and in civic matters at the present stage of the world's history it possibly still does more good than harm, but in the sphere of intellect it is an unmitigated nuisance. I do not know which cuts the worst figure, a German scholar encouraging his countrymen to believe that via Deutsche have nothing to learn from foreigners, or an Englishman demonstrating the unity of Homer by sneers at Teutonic professors who are supposed by his audience to have goggle eyes behind large spectacles and ragged moustaches saturated in lager beer, and consequently to be incapable of forming literary judgments. Thirdly, these internal causes of error and folly are subject to very little counteraction or correction from outside. The average reader knows hardly anything about textual criticism, and therefore cannot exercise a vigilant control over the writer. The adalpate is at liberty to mourn her, and the imposter is at liberty to lie. And what is worse, the reader often shares the writer's prejudices, and is far too well pleased with his conclusions to examine either his premises or his reasoning. Stand on a barrel in the streets of Baghdad and say in a loud voice, twice two is four, and ginger is hot in the mouth, therefore Muhammad is the prophet of God, and your logic will probably escape criticism. Or, if anyone by chance should criticise it, you could easily silence him by calling him a Christian dog. Fourthly, the things which the textual critic has to talk about are not things which present themselves clearly and sharply to the mind, and it is easy to say, and to fancy that you think, what you really do not think, and even what if you seriously tried to think it, you would find to be unthinkable. Mistakes are therefore made which could not be made if the matter under discussion were any corporeal object having qualities perceptible to the senses. The human senses have had a much longer history than the human intellect, and have been brought much nearer to perfection. They are far more acute, far less easy to deceive. The difference between an icicle and a red-hot poker is really much slighter than the difference between truth and falsehood or sense and nonsense, yet it is much more immediately noticeable and much more universally noticed, because the body is more sensitive than the mind. I find therefore that a good way of exposing the falsehood of a statement, or the absurdity of an argument in textual criticism, is to transpose it into sensuous terms and see what it looks like then. If the nouns which we use are the names of things which can be handled or tasted, differing from one another in being hot or cold, sweet or sour, then we realize what we are saying and take care what we say. But the terms of textual criticism are deplorably intellectual and probably in no other field do men tell so many falsehoods in the idle hope that they are telling the truth, or talk so much nonsense in the vague belief that they are talking sense. This is particularly unfortunate and particularly reprehensible because there is no science in which it is more necessary to take precautions against error arising from internal causes. Those who follow the physical sciences enjoy the great advantage that they can constantly bring their opinions to the test of fact, and verify or falsify their theories by experiment. When a chemist has mixed sulfur and salt-peter and charcoal in certain proportions, and wishes to ascertain if the mixture is explosive, he need only apply a match. When a doctor has compounded a new drug and desires to find out what diseases, if any it is good for, he has only to give it to his patients all round and notice which die and which recover. Our conclusions regarding the truth or falsehood of a manuscript reading can never be confirmed or corrected by an equally decisive test, for the only equally decisive test would be the production of the author's autograph. The discovery merely of better and older manuscripts than were previously known to us is not equally decisive, and even this inadequate verification is not to be expected often or on a large scale. It is therefore a matter of common prudence and common decency that we should neglect no safeguard lying within our reach, that we should look sharp after ourselves, that we should narrowly scrutinize our own proceedings and rigorously analyze our springs of action. How far these elementary requirements are satisfied we will now learn from examples. At the very beginning to see what pure irrelevancy, what almost incredible foolishness finds its way into print, take this instance. It had been supposed for several centuries that Plautus's name was M. Achaeus Plautus, when Richel in 1845 pointed out that in the Ambrosian palimpsest discovered by Mai in 1815, written in the fourth or fifth century and much the oldest of Plautus's manuscripts, the name appears in the genitive as T. Machi Plauti, so that he was really called Titus Machius or Machus Plautus. An Italian scholar, one Valari, objected to this innovation, on the ground that in all printed editions from the 16th to the 19th century the name was M. Achaeus. He went to Milan to look at the palimpsest, and there to be sure he found T. Machi quite legibly written. But he observed that many other pages of the manuscript were quite illegible, and that the whole book was very much tattered and battered, whereupon he said that he could not sufficiently wonder at anyone attaching any weight to a manuscript which was in such a condition. Is there any other science, anything calling itself a science, into which such intellects intrude and conduct such operations in public? But you may think that Mr. Valari is a unique phenomenon. No, if you engage in textual criticism you may come upon a second Mr. Valari at any turn. The manuscripts of Catullus, none of them older than the 14th century, present at 6423 the verse Heroes saluete deum genus o bona mater. The veronies Scolia on Virgil, a palimpsest of the 5th or 6th century, at Ineid 580, Salue Sancte Parins, have the note Catullus saluete deum genus o bona matrum progenies saluete iterum, giving genus fo genus matrum formater, and adding a half verse absent from Catullus's manuscripts, and scholars have naturally preferred an authority so much more ancient. But one editor is found to object. The weight of the veronies Scolia, imperfect and full of lacunae as they are, is not to be set against our manuscripts. There is Mr. Valari over again. Because the palimpsest has large holes elsewhere, and because much of it has perished, therefore what remains, though written as early as the 6th century, has less authority than manuscripts written in the 14th. If, however, anyone gets hold of these 14th century manuscripts, destroys pages of them, and tears holes in the pages he does not destroy, the authority of those parts which he allows to survive will presumably deteriorate, and may even sink as low as that of the palimpsest. Again, there are two manuscripts of a certain author, which we will call A and B. Of these two it is recognised that A is the more correct but the less sincere, and that B is the more corrupt but the less interpolated. It is desired to know which manuscript if either is better than the other, or whether both are equal. One scholar tries to determine this question by the collection and comparison of examples, but another thinks he knows a shorter way than that, and it consists in saying, the more sincere manuscript is and must be for any critic who understands his business, the better manuscript. This I cite as a specimen of the things which people may say if they do not think about the meaning of what they are saying, and especially as an example of the danger of dealing in generalisations. The best way to treat such pretentious inanities is to transfer them from the sphere of textual criticism, where the difference between truth and falsehood, or between sense and nonsense is little regarded and seldom even perceived, into some sphere where men are obliged to use concrete and sensuous terms, which force them however reluctantly to think. I ask this scholar, this critic who knows his business, and who says that the more sincere of two manuscripts is and must be the better, I ask him to tell me which way is most, a tall man, or a fat man? He cannot answer, nobody can. Everybody sees in a moment that the question is absurd, tall, and fat, are adjectives which transport even a textual critic from the world of humbug into the world of reality, a world inhabited by comparatively thoughtful people such as butchers and grocers, who depend upon their brain for their bread. There he begins to understand that to such general questions any answer must be false, that judgment can only be pronounced on individual specimens, that everything depends on the degree of tallness and the degree of fatness. It may well be that an inch of girth adds more weight than an inch of height or vice versa, but that altitude is incomparably more ponderous than obesity, or obesity than altitude, and that an inch of one depresses the scale more than a yard of the other has never been maintained. The way to find out whether this tall man weighs more or less than that fat man is to weigh them, and the way to find out whether this corrupt manuscript is better or worse than that interpolated manuscript is to collect and compare their readings, not to ride easily off on the false and ridiculous generalisation that the more sincere manuscript is and must be the better. When you call a manuscript sincere you instantly engage on its behalf the moral sympathy of the thoughtless. Moral sympathy is a line in which they are very strong. I do not desire to exclude morality from textual criticism. I wish indeed that some moral qualities were commoner in textual criticism than they are, but let us not indulge our moral emotions out of season. It may be that a scribe who interpolates, who makes changes deliberately, is guilty of wickedness, while a scribe who makes changes accidentally because he is sleepy or illiterate or drunk is guilty of none, but that is a question which will be determined by a competent authority at the day of judgment and is no concern of ours. Our concern is not with the eternal destiny of the scribe, but with the temporal utility of the manuscript, and a manuscript is useful or the reverse in proportion to the amount of truth which it discloses or conceals, no matter what may be the causes of the disclosure or concealment. It is a mistake to suppose that deliberate change is always or necessarily more destructive of truth than accidental change, and even if it were, the main question, as I have said already, is one of degree. A manuscript in which one percent of the words have been viciously and intentionally altered, and ninety-nine percent are right, is not so bad as a manuscript in which only one percent are right and ninety-nine percent have been altered virtuously and unintentionally. And if you go to a critic with any such vague inquiry as to the question whether the more sincere or the more correct of two manuscripts is the better, he will reply, if I am to answer that question, you must show me the two manuscripts first, for all that I know at present, from the terms of your query, either may be better than the other or both may be equal. But that is what the incompetent intruders into criticism can never admit. They must have a better manuscript, whether it exists or no, because they could never get along without one. If Providence permitted two manuscripts to be equal, the editor would have to choose between their readings by considerations of intrinsic merit, and in order to do that he would need to inquire intelligence and impartiality and willingness to take pains and all sorts of things which he neither has nor wishes for, and he feels sure that God, who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, can never have meant to lay upon his shoulders such a burden as this. This is thoughtlessness in the sphere of recension. Come now to the sphere of amendation. There is one foolish sort of conjecture which seems to be commoner in the British Isles than anywhere else, though it is also practice abroad, and of late years especially at Munich. The practice is, if you have persuaded yourself that a text is corrupt, to alter a letter or two and see what happens. If what happens is anything which the warmest good will can mistake for sense and grammar, you call it an emendation, and you call this silly game the Paleographical Method. The Paleographical Method has always been the delight of Tyros and the scorn of critics. Haupt, for example, used to warn his pupils against mistaking this sort of thing for amendation. The prime requisite of a good amendation, said he, is that it should start from the thought. It is only afterwards that other considerations, such as those of meter or possibilities, such as the interchange of letters, are taken into account. And again, if the sense requires it, I am prepared to write Constantinopolitanus, where the manuscripts have the monosyllabic interjection O. And again, from the requirement that one should always begin with the thought, the results, as is self-evident, the negative aspect of the case, that one should not at the outset consider what exchange of letters may possibly have brought about the corruption of the passage one is dealing with. And further, in his aeration on Lachman as a critic. Some people, if they see that anything in an ancient text once correcting, immediately but take themselves to the art of paleography, investigate the shapes of letters and the forms of abbreviation, and try one dodge after another as if it were a game, until they hit upon something which they think can substitute for the corruption. As if forsooth, truth were generally discovered by shots of that sort, or as if amendation could take its rise from anything but a careful consideration of the thought. But even when paleography is kept in her proper place, as handmaid, and not allowed to give herself the heirs of mistresses, she is apt to be overworked. There is a preference for conjectures, which call in the aid of paleography, and which we assume, as the cause of error, the accidental interchange of similar letters or similar words, although other causes of error are known to exist. One is presented, for instance, with the following maxim. Interpolation is, speaking generally, comparatively an uncommon source of alteration, and we should therefore be loathed to assume it in a given case. Every case is a given case. So what this maxim really means is that we should always be loathed to assume interpolation as a source of alteration. But it is certain and admitted by this writer when he uses the phrase comparatively uncommon that interpolation does occur. So he is telling us that we should be loathed to assume interpolation, even when that assumption is true. And the reason why we are to behave in this ridiculous manner is that interpolation is, speaking generally, comparatively an uncommon source of alteration. Now, to detect a non-sequitur, unless it leads to an unwelcome conclusion, is as much beyond the power of the average reader as it is beyond the power of the average writer to attach ideas to his own words when those words are terms of textual criticism. I will therefore substitute other terms, terms to which ideas must be attached, and I invite consideration of this maxim and this ratiosination. A bullet wound is, speaking generally, comparatively an uncommon cause of death, and we should therefore be loathed to assume it in a given case. Should we? Should we be loathed to assume a bullet wound as the cause of death if the given case were death on a battlefield? And should we be loathed to do so for the reason alleged that a bullet wound is, speaking generally, comparatively an uncommon cause of death? Or to be to assume instead the commonest cause of death and assign death on a battlefield to tuberculosis? What would be thought of a counsellor who enjoined that method of procedure? Well, it would probably be thought that he was a textual critic strayed from home. Why is interpolation comparatively uncommon? For the same reason that bullet wounds are, because the opportunity for it is comparatively uncommon. Interpolation is provoked by real or supposed difficulties and is not frequently volunteered where all is plain sailing. Whereas accidental alteration may happen anywhere. Every letter of every word lies exposed to it, and that is the sole reason why accidental alteration is more common. In a given case where either assumption is possible, the assumption of interpolation is equally probable, named more probable because action with a motive is more probable than action without a motive. The truth therefore is that in such a case we should be loathed to assume accident and should rather assume interpolation, and the circumstance that such cases are comparatively uncommon is no reason for behaving irrationally when they occur. There is one special province of textual criticism, a large and important province, which is concerned with the establishment of rules of grammar and of meter. Those rules are in part traditional and given us by the ancient grammarians, but in part they are formed by our own induction from what we find in the manuscripts of Greek and Latin authors, and even the traditional rules must of course be tested by comparison with the witness of the manuscripts. But every rule, whether traditional or framed from induction, is sometimes broken by the manuscripts. It may be by few, it may be by many, it may be seldom, it may be often, and critics may then say that the manuscripts are wrong and may correct them in accordance with the rule. This state of affairs is apparently, evidently, paradoxical. The manuscripts are the material upon which we base our rule, and then when we have got our rule we turn round upon the manuscripts and say that the rule based upon them convicts them of error. We are thus working in a circle, that is a fact which there is no denying. But, Atalachman says, the task of the critic is just this, to tread that circle deftly and warily, and that is precisely what elevates the critic's business above mere mechanical labour. The difficulty is one which lies in the nature of the case and is inevitable, and the only way to surmount it is just to be a critic. The paradox is more formidable in appearance than in reality, and has plenty of analogies in daily life. In a trial or lawsuit, the jury's verdict is mainly based upon the evidence of the witnesses, but that does not prevent the jury from making up its mind from the evidence in general, that one or more witnesses have been guilty of perjury and that their evidence is to be disregarded. It is quite possible to elicit from the general testimony of manuscripts a rule of sufficient certainty to convict of falsehood their exceptional testimony, or of sufficient probability to throw doubt upon it. But that exceptional testimony must in each case be considered. It must be recognised that there are two hypotheses between which we have to decide. The question is whether the exceptions come from the author and so break down the rule, or whether they come from the scribe and are to be corrected by it. And in order to decide this we must keep our eyes open for any peculiarity which may happen to characterise them. One of the forms which lack of thought has assumed in textual criticism is the tendency now prevailing, especially among some continental scholars, to try to break down accepted rules of grammar or meter by the mere collection and enumeration of exceptions presented by the manuscripts. Now that can never break down a rule, the mere number of exceptions is nothing, what matters is their weight, and that can only be ascertained by classification and scrutiny. If I had noted down every example which I have met, I should now have a large collection of places in Latin manuscripts where the substantive Orbis, which our grammars and dictionaries declare to be masculine, has a feminine adjective attached to it. But I do not therefore propose to revise that rule of syntax, for examination would show that these examples, though numerous, have no force. Most of them are places where the sense and context show that Orbis, in whatever case or number it may be, is merely a corruption of the corresponding case or number of orbs, and in the remaining places it is natural to suppose that the scribe has been influenced and confused by the great likeness of the one word to the other. Or, again, read Madvig, adu-crit, Vol. 1, Book 1, Chapter 4, where he sifts the evidence for the opinion that the heiress infinitive can be used in Greek after verbs of saying and thinking in the sense of the future infinitive, or of the heirest infinitive with an. The list of examples in the manuscripts is very long indeed, but the moment you begin to sort them and examine them, you are less struck by their number than by the restriction of their extent. Almost all of them are such as dexasthai used for dexasthai, where the two forms differ by one letter only. A smaller number are such as poesai for poesain, where the difference though greater is still slight. Others are examples like hekista anankasthenai for hekist anankasthenai, where again the difference is next to nothing. Now, if the manuscripts are right in these cases, and the Greek authors did use this construction, how are we to explain this extraordinary limitation of the use? There is no syntactical difference between the first and second heirest, why then did they use the first heirest so often for the future, and the second heirest so seldom? Why did they say dexasthai for dexasthai dozens of times, and laben for lepsestai never? The mere asking of the question is enough to show the true state of the case. The bare fact that the heirests thus used in the manuscripts are heirests of similar form to the future, while heirests of dissimilar form are not thus used, proves that the phenomenon has its cause in the copyist's eye and not in the author's mind, that it is not a variation in gerantical usage, but an error in transcription. The number of examples is nothing, all depends upon their character, and a single example of laben in a future sense would have more weight than a hundred of dexasthai. In particular, scribes will alter a less familiar form to a more familiar, if they see nothing to prevent them. If Mita allows, or if they do not know that Mita forbids, they will alter eleinos to eleinos, oistos to oistos, nil to nihil deprendo to deprehendo. Since Mita convicts them of infidelity in some places, they forfeit the right to be trusted in any place. If we choose to trust them, we are credulous, and if we build structures on our trust, we are no critics. Even if Mita does not convict them, reason sometimes can. Take the statement repeatedly made in grammars and editions, that the latins sometimes used the plu perfect for the imperfect and the perfect. They did use it for the imperfect, they used it also for the pretorite or past heirest, but for the perfect they did not use it, and that is proved by the very examples of its use as perfect which are found in manuscripts. All those examples are of the third person plural. Why? We must choose between the two following hypotheses, a. that the latins used the plu perfect for the perfect in the third person plural only, b. that they did not use the plu perfect for the perfect, and that these examples are corrupt. If anyone adopted the former he would have to explain what syntactical property inviting the author to use plu perfect for perfect is possessed by the third person plural, and not by the two other plural or the three singular persons, and I should like to see someone said about it. If we adopt the latter we must show what external feature inviting the scribe to write plu perfect for perfect is possessed by the third person plural exclusively, and that is quite easy. The third person plural is the only person in which the perfect and the plu perfect differ merely by one letter. Moreover, in verse the perfect termination erunt, being comparatively unfamiliar to scribes, is altered by them to the nearest familiar form with the same scansion, sometimes erint, sometimes errant. In Ovid's heroities there are four places where the best manuscript gives praebuerunt, steterunt, exkiderunt, exbulerunt, and the other manuscripts give errant or erint or both. Accordingly when the much inferior manuscripts of propersious present plu perfect for perfect in four places, fuerant once, steterant once, exkiderant twice, scaliger corrects to fuerunt, steterunt, exkiderunt. Thereupon an editor of this enlightened age takes up his pen and writes as follows. It is quite erroneous to remove the plu perfects where it can be done without great expenditure of conjectural sagacity, steterunt for steterant and the like, and not to trouble oneself about the phenomenon elsewhere. I ask how is it possible to trouble oneself about the phenomenon elsewhere? It does not exist elsewhere. There is no place where the manuscripts give steteram in the sense of the perfect steti, nor steteras in the sense of the perfect stettisti. Wherever they give examples of the plu perfect which cannot be removed by the change of one letter such as pararat in 1.8.36 or fueram in 1.12.11, those are examples where it has sometimes the sense of the imperfect, sometimes of the preterite, but never of the perfect. And the inference is plain, the latins did not use the plu perfect for the perfect. Scaliger knew that in the 16th century. Mr Rothstein in the 19th and 20th does not know it. He has found a form of words to prevent him from knowing it, and he thinks himself in advance of Scaliger. It is supposed that there has been progress in the science of textual criticism, and the most frivolous pretender has learnt to talk supercellously about the old unscientific days. The old unscientific days are everlasting. They are here and now, they are renewed perennially by the ear which takes formulas in, and the tongue which gives them out again, and the mind which meanwhile is empty of reflection and stuffed with self complacency. Progress there has been, but where? In superior intellects, the rabble do not share it. Such a man as Scaliger living in our time would be a better critic than Scaliger was, but we shall not be better critics than Scaliger by the simple act of living in our own time. Textual criticism, like most other sciences, is an aristocratic affair, not communicable to all men, nor to most men. Not to be a textual critic is no reproach to anyone, unless he pretends to be what he is not. To be a textual critic requires aptitude for thinking and willingness to think, and though it also requires other things, those things are supplements and cannot be substitutes. Knowledge is good, method is good, but one thing beyond all others is necessary, and that is to have a head, not a pumpkin, on your shoulders and brains, not pudding, in your head. End of the application of thought to textual criticism by A. E. Hausman. Most serene emperor and you illustrious princes and gracious lords, I this day appear before you in all humility, according to your command, and I employ your majesty and your august highnesses, by the mercies of God, to listen with favor to the defense of a cause which I am well assured is just and right. I ask pardon if by reason of my ignorance I am wanting in the manners that befit a court, for I have not been brought up in kings palaces, but in the seclusion of a cloister. Two questions were yesterday put to me by this imperial majesty. The first, whether I was the author of the books whose titles were read. The second, whether I wish to revoke or defend the doctrine I have taught. I answer the first, and I adhere to that answer. As to the second, I have composed writings on very different subjects, and some I have discussed faith and good works, and a spirit at once so pure, clear and Christian, that even my adversaries themselves, far from finding anything to censure, confess these writings are profitable, and deserve to be perused by devout persons. The Pope's bull, violent as it is, acknowledges this. What then shall I do if I were to retract these writings? Wretched man, I alone of all men living, should be abandoning truths approved by the unanimous voice of friends and enemies, and opposing doctrines that the whole world glories in confessing. I have composed, secondly, certain works against popery, wherein I have attacked such as by false doctrines, irregular lives and scandalous examples, afflict the Christian world, and ruin the bodies and souls of men. And is not this confirmed by the grief of all who fear God? Is it not manifest that the laws and human doctrines of the Popes entangle, vex and distress the consciences of the faithful, while the crying and endless extortions of Rome engulfed the property, and wealth of Christendom, and more particularly of this illustrious nation? If I were to revoke what I have written on that subject, what should I do, but strengthen this tyranny, and open a wider door to so many inflagrant impieties? Bearing down all resistance with fresh fury, we should behold these proud men swell, foam, and rage more than ever. And not merely would the yoke, which now weighs down Christians, be made more grinding by my retraction, it would thereby become, so to speak, lawful. For by my retraction, it would receive confirmation from your most serene majesty and all the states of the empire. Great God, I should be liked to an infamous cloak used to hide and cover over every kind of malice and tyranny. In the third and last place, I have written some books against private individuals who had undertaken to defend the tyranny of Rome by destroying the faith. I freely confess that I may have attacked such persons with more violence than was consistent with my profession as an ecclesiastic. I do not think of myself as a saint, but neither can I retract these books, because I should, by doing so, sanction the impieties of my opponents, and they would thence take occasion to crush God's people with still more cruelty. Yet, as I am a mere man and not God, I will defend myself after the example of Jesus Christ who said, If I have spoken evil, bear witness against me. John chapter 18 verse 23 How much more should I, who imbite dust and ashes, and so prone to error, desire that everyone should bring forward what he can against my doctrine? Therefore, most serene emperor and you illustrious princes, in all, whether high or low, who hear me, I implore you by the mercies of God to prove to me by the writings of the prophets and apostles that I am in error. As soon as I shall be convinced, I will instantly retract all my errors, and will myself be the first to seize my writings and commit them to the flames. What I have just said I think will clearly show that I have well considered and weighed the dangers to which I am exposing myself, but far from being dismayed by them, I rejoice exceedingly to see the gospel this day, as of old, a cause of disturbance and disagreement. It is the character and destiny of God's word. I come not to send peace into the world, but a sword, said Jesus Christ. God is wonderful and awful in his counsels. Let us have a care, less than our endeavors to arrest discords. We be bound to fight against the holy word of God, and bring down upon our heads a frightful deluge of inextricable dangers, present disaster, and everlasting desolations. Let us have a care, less the reign of the young and noble prince, the emperor Charles, on whom, next to God, we build so many hopes, should not only commence but continue and terminate its course under the most fatal auspices. I might cite examples drawn from the oracles of God. I might speak of pharaohs, of kings of Babylon or of Israel, who are never more contributing to their own ruin than when, by measuring appearances most prudent, they thought to establish their authority. God removeeth the mountains, and they know not. Job chapter 9 verse 5. In speaking thus, I do not suppose that such noble princes have need of my poor judgment. But I wish to equip myself of a duty that Germany has a right to expect from her children. And so, commending myself to your august majesty, and your most serene hynuses, I beseech you in all humility, not to permit the hatred of my enemies to reign upon me, an indignation I have not deserved. Since your most serene majesty, and your high mightinesses require of me a simple, clear, and direct answer, I will give you one. And it is this. I cannot submit my faith, either to the pope or to the council, because it is as clear as noonday that they have fallen into error, and even into glaring inconsistency with themselves. If then, I am not convinced by proof from holy scripture, or by cogent reasons. If I am not satisfied by the very text I have cited, and if my judgment is not in this way brought into subjection to God's word, I neither can nor will retract anything, for it cannot be right for a Christian to speak against his country. I stand here, and can say no more. God help me. Amen. End of Before the Diet of Worms by Martin Luther. This is in the Public Domain. The Book of Accidents Designed for Young Children Author Unknown This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Peter Eastman In presenting to his little readers the Book of Accidents, the author conceives that he cannot render a more important service to the rising generation and to parents than by furnishing them with an account of the accidents to which children from their inexperience or carelessness are liable. If generally studied it will save the lives of thousands and relieve many families from the long and unavailing misery attendant on such occurrences. The Book of Accidents Playing with Horses Horses are very dangerous but most useful animals. To be kicked by them is almost certain death, and children often play about them and go near their heels without being sensible of their danger. In the engraving we see a little innocent who had been engaged in gathering locks of fresh grass and giving them to her papa's horse. After employing herself in this way for some time she carelessly took hold of his tail unconscious of the danger that she was in until the horse by a kick of one leg laid her lifeless on the ground crossing streets. Careless children in spite of warning often run across the street when carts and carriages are near and are knocked down and run over. Children have been so very careless at times that it appeared as if they wanted to see how near they could get to carriages and not be run over. Here is a miserable little girl who attempted to cross the street as a cartman was passing with a heavy load. The horse has knocked her down and she now lies under the wheel where she will be crushed to death in spite of the efforts of the man to stop his horse. Children should be particularly careful when crossing the streets in winter as sleighs are then running to and fro with great rapidity and sometimes being without jingles the little boys and girls know not their approach until their danger stares them in the face and escape is impossible. Children should always cross the streets after the carriages have passed. Worrying dogs. Many children delight in teasing dogs and without caution go to near them by which they get miserably torn and mangled. Wicked boys sometimes hold a piece of meat towards the dogs and as they approach with demonstrations of joy in hope of receiving it they suddenly take it away. By repeating this the dogs become enraged and often severely repay them for their trickishness. What these boys had been doing to enrage the dog we cannot tell but suspect they had been tormenting him in some way thinking that as he was chained he could not injure them. But they were mistaken in this and one of them is likely to be bitten very severely. Dogs are celebrated for their sagacity and their attachment to man and many instances are recorded of their having saved the lives of their masters. But all dogs are not of this description. Some are cross and ferocious barking at and biting all who come near them. Playing with candles. Here we see the danger of playing with lighted candles. One little girl has set the bed curtains on fire and the other her hair and both are in great danger of being burnt to death unless someone grants them speedy assistance. Learn from this never to play with candles. Perhaps the little girl who has set the curtains on fire was reading in a book after she had retired to rest. The practice of doing this ought to be forbidden by every parent. It has occasioned the destruction of many nice houses and the loss of many precious lives. The other little girl was probably walking across the room in a rapid manner and the light coming in contact with her curly hair it blazed up like a flash of powder. Unless she is possessed of great presence of mind it will communicate to her ruffles and then to her lower clothes. I hope she will not attempt to run for that would make it blaze still more furiously. Scalded at the table. Little children who can just reach to the top of a table often endeavor to drink from the spout of a teapot and in consequence scald their mouths and throats and die miserable deaths in a few hours. Some have even been so thoughtless as to drink out of the spout of a tea kettle and have instantly been scalded to death in great torments. Here in the picture are two little girls around a tea table. Children as young as these appear to be should never come to the table unless attended by some older persons to wait upon them. Very likely these two little girls thought they would have a fine time all by themselves but only see how badly they perform the honors of the table. They are both standing up and one of them is using her little patty to obtain a lump of sugar when she should make use of the tongs that are in the bowl. The other in attempting to pour out a cup of tea poured it upon her little bosom and scalded herself very severely tossed by a bowl. The bowl is a noble looking but ferocious and terrible creature and when provoked he assumes the air of sullen majesty and often tears up the ground with his feet and horns. They should be carefully avoided and never be teased by children. These two boys here seen had been taking a short walk and were crossing the fields together when they were pursued and one of them overtaken by the ferocious animal. After taking the poor boy on his horns he tossed him high into the air and catching him as he fell tossed him up again and thus continued to do until left for dead. The other boy fortunately escaped from the enraged animal and arrived home very late in the evening panting and almost exhausted. He had a doleful story indeed to relate to his parents and often would he assemble together his young friends and companions and entertain them in giving an account of the ill fate of his comrade and of his own narrow escape riding a wild horse. Many little boys lose their lives by getting on their papa's horses. Their lightweight encourages the animal to frisk and gallop and the child becoming terrified falls off his feet drag in the stirrups and he is kicked or otherwise dashed to pieces. In the picture before us we have a lad who set out on horseback in company with a number of others to attend a military parade. As he drew near the troops the splendor of their equipments and the sound of the drums and fives so alarmed his horse that he commenced prancing and galloping about so furiously that his young master soon lost all command over him. When the horse perceived this he by one desperate spring threw the boy from his back and bent his way homeward with the fleetness of a deer. Horses are very useful to man as beasts of burden and sometimes become so attached to an affectionate master that they will come at his call and follow him wherever he wishes playing with knives. Nothing is so foolish and dangerous as to play with knives, scissors, and forks. Bad wounds are often the consequence and many children have thus lost their lives. Here is a little boy who has had his hand half cut off by the carelessness of his little sister. They went forth into the fields with very sharp knives to gather flowers and to cut boughs for the purpose of decorating their rooms. As they were cutting down a very large one the little girl's knife slipped, struck her brother's hand, and made an incision to the bone. The blood flowed copiously, the boy cried heartily, and all this happened for want of proper care on the part of the little girl. Children sometimes procure very sharp knives, which they carry about with them in their pockets, and to test the sharpness of them they are often cutting chairs, desks, and tables and whittling about the house, much against their parents' wishes, to their own danger, and to the annoyance of the housemaid playing with firearms. No child should touch a gun or pistol or on any account present one at another person. We behold a little boy shooting his sister dead, an accident that too often occurs for want of warning. Guns and pistols of every description are very dangerous, especially in the hands of young persons. Children often get their little heads together, procure a small cannon and some powder, and go forth to some unfrequented place and spend hours in firing it off. This is a very dangerous amusement, and we would recommend them to pursue such as are attended with less danger. For it often happens that the powder explodes in their hands, the cannon bursts or goes off when they do not expect it, and they thus have their faces, hands, and clothes burnt in a most shocking manner. Parents should dissuade their children from such dangerous amusements, furnish them with books that will give a taste for learning, and encourage them in virtuous habits, playing with fire. In the absence of parents, giddy children often light paper in the fire and play with it, and here we behold a little girl burning a large sheet. By her thoughtlessness in doing this, and by approaching to near the great, her clothes have taken fire. From the attention which she is paying to the burning paper, she does not see that her apron is fast burning up, although her sister is calling loudly to her and endeavouring to warn her of her danger. But poor girl, she heeds it not. Some parents who have left their children alone in the house while they went on a visit have had their ears assailed by the cry of fire, and on returning home, arrived only in time, to see their house in flames, and hear the shrieks of their children without being able to grant them relief. When children's clothes take fire, they should not run about, but should immediately lay down on the floor and roll, and thus extinguish the flames. Throwing Stones Wicked and malicious boys often throw stones, by which they not only hurt and maim one another, but often knock out an eye and are disfigured for life. What a sight is this! We see that one has already received a severe bruise on the face, and is crying in a most dullful manner, as the blood gushes from the wound. What delight they appear to take in hurling the rocky missiles at the wounded boy! What a sight it will be to his parents, to see their son come crying home, with his face covered with clotted blood. If such conduct is so wicked in the sight of men, how much more so must it be in the sight of him who seeth not as man seeth? In winter the children of one school sometimes challenge those of another to combat. Having provided themselves with an abundance of snow and ice balls, and arrayed themselves in order for battle, the contest is commenced and carried on with great desperation, each one aiming to injure his antagonist, falling out of a coach. Here we see an accident of a serious nature, a little girl falling out of the door of a coach. This little girl is truly in a most dangerous situation, although the horses are going at a very moderate pace. Should the driver happen to hear her cries, she may yet be saved. But, if he does not, what a terrible death it may be her unfortunate lot to encounter. The fastenings of coach doors are never to be depended upon, and children should never lean upon them or against them. The door flies open, they tumble out, the wheels go over them, and they are often killed on the spot. It is a great source of gratification to children to attend their parents when going to ride in a coach. As they leave the bustling scenes of the city and approach the neat residences of country people, all things appear new to them. They inhale the pure air, gather the sweet flowers, and if no accident occurs, they return highly elated with their visit. A boy drowning. Hundreds of poor boys are drowned every year from not being sensible of the danger of water. They go into pondes and rivers without knowing their depth, and by one fatal step they sink, never to rise again. Boys should never bathe, but in baths made for the purpose, or should be attended by those who can help them if necessary. Here we have a picture of two little boys who went out one afternoon to bathe. One of them ventured out too far, and we see him on the point of sinking, extending his arms toward his brother in hopes of being rescued from a watery grave. What sorrow rests upon his countenance as he thinks of loving parents, kind friends, and affectionate brothers and sisters. But we hope he will be saved, and prove a useful member of society. Ah, a helping hand is near! The strange position of his brother attracted the notice of a benevolent stranger who rushed into the water and saved the drowning boy at the imminent risk of his own life, climbing on chairs. When little children first commence creeping or walking about the room they are continually contriving some new means of diversion. And one which they early discover is that of playing about chairs, and a great number of accidents happen to them by getting up onto the back of chairs in which persons are sitting. The person gets up and the chair falls back on the poor child who gets sadly hurt. An accident of this kind is here represented, where the mother is seen just rising from a chair on which was standing her little daughter. How alarmed appears the parent as she beholds the situation of the child the next moment to have her pretty little head bruised against the fender. Children should not climb about or stand in chairs they were made to sit in. Little children have sometimes had made for them small chairs prettily painted in which they take great delight to sit and rock. These are much better for them than the large ones as they are not so libel to fall from them. Boys fighting. Wicked boys fight like dogs and other brutes by which they not only do each other great injury but by such conduct they disgrace the human form and Christian character. Here are seen two boys thus shamefully engaged. What a sight they present. Boys endowed with faculties capable of serving their creator and of planning means for each other's happiness are here seen wallowing in the mud and dirt and striving to do each other harm. Perhaps one of these boys has for an excuse that the other abused him and provoked him to such a degree that he could not endure it. Good children who happen to fall into the society of bad boys should immediately avoid their company suffer abuse rather than resent it render good for evil and by so doing they will put to shame their enemies and gain the victory. Bears and lions we know sometimes growl and fight. But children you should never let such angry passions rise. Your little hands were never made to tear each other's eyes. Falling out of a window. How important that those who have the charge of children should be constant in their attendance on them and ever on the alert lest some accident befall them. They always have a great desire to get upon the window seats and look out and hundreds of children are killed every year by leaning out of windows. They overbalance themselves and then all the world cannot save them. What feelings of pity run through us as we behold the situation of this poor girl. In another moment she may be dashed upon the rocky pavement below to be picked up by her parents a mangled course. What horror is depicted on her countenance as she looks forward to the impending ruin. But we hope that the calamity may be averted by the fortunate appearance of the chambermaid in whose care she was left and who criminally neglected her charge. Troubling the cook. This little girl here is seen rushing forward to tell some idle tale perhaps to the cook. Unless she is very careful she may stumble over the pot of water which is standing on the floor or be scalded by the water running from the dish which the cook is carrying to the table. Children should beware of scalding water. They often run about a kitchen when the cook is preparing the dinner and gets sadly burnt or scalded. And sometimes they play with the tea kettle or tea urn in the parlor and repent their folly by getting sadly scalded. The writer knows of a little boy who was very fond of being in the kitchen that he might see how Johnny cakes and pies and all such things were made, and from his talkativeness occasioned considerable trouble. In the absence of the cook for a short time what should he do but go and sit himself down into a kettle of boiling hot water. His screams soon brought his mother, and with difficulty his life was saved. Tumbling Downstairs Among the many accidents to which children are liable perhaps few are more common or more alarming than tumbling downstairs. An accident of this kind is here represented. The little girl was playing about at the head of the stairs, and though frequently cautioned by her mother of the danger and carelessness of so doing, yet she heedlessly neglected the charge. And the consequence was that one of her feet slipped off the first step, and down she came headlong, crying and bawling in the most dreadful manner, and alarming all the inmates of the house. She was picked up, terribly bruised, and conveyed to bed where she remained many days in a suffering condition. At length she recovered, and never after was she known to neglect the prudent caution of her parents, but became a pattern of obedience to all the children in the neighborhood. Climbing Trees Never climb trees for any purpose whatever. The boughs often break, or boys miss their hold when down they come and often break their bones or necks. Many boys do it to steal fruit or cruelly to take the nests of poor birds, and are generally punished severely for their malicious crime. These boys had ascended this tree for the purpose of robbing a nest of its young, and one of them is seen falling headlong to the ground, ere he had accomplished his wicked purpose. Children live long and happy who take warning, and obey the cautious instructions of their experienced and affectionate parents, who are constantly devising means conducive to the happiness of their children. End of The Book of Accidents, recorded by Peter Eastman. The Gorgeous Imagery, with which this sermon invests a subject of surpassing interest, passes before the mind of the reader like a splendid pangent. Though the preacher's fancy may not in every instance conform to the strictest rules of rhetoric, yet what cares either preacher or hearer, so long as those grand realities which inspire Christian hope are pictured before the mind in all the hues of living light. This is a fit companion of the discourse on the resurrection. Christ Triumphant was delivered in Surrey Music Hall, September 4th, 1859. And having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a show of them openly, triumphing over them in it. Colossians 2, verse 15. To the eye of reason, the cross is the centre of sorrow, and the lowest depth of shame. Jesus dies a malefactor's death. He hangs upon the gibbet of a felon, and pours out his blood upon the common mount of doom, with thieves for his companions. In the midst of mockery, and jest, and scorn, and ribaldry, and blasphemy, he gives up the ghost. Earth rejects him, and lifts him from her surface, and heaven affords him no light, but darkens the midday sun in the hour of his extremity. Deeper in woe than the Saviour died, imagination cannot descend. A blacker calamity then was cast on him Satanic malice itself could not invent. He hid not his face from shame and spitting, and what shame and spitting it was, to the world the cross must ever be an emblem of shame, to the Jew a stumbling block, and to the Greek foolishness. How different, however, is the view which presents itself to the eye of faith. Faith knows no shame in the cross, except the shame of those who nailed the Saviour there. It sees no ground for scorn, but it hurls indignant scorn at sin, the enemy which pierced the Lord. Faith sees woe indeed, but from this woe it marks a fount of mercy springing. It is true it mourns a dying Saviour, but it beholds him bringing life and immortality to light at the very moment when his soul was eclipsed in the shadow of death. Faith regards the cross not as the emblem of shame, but as the token of glory. The sons of Belial lay the cross in the dust, but the Christian makes a constellation of it, and sees it glittering in the seventh heaven. Man spits upon it, but believers, having angels for their companions, bow down and worship him who ever liveth, though once he was crucified. My brethren, our text presents us with a view which faith is certain to discover when its eyes are anointed with the eye-solve of the spirit. It tells us that the cross was Jesus Christ's field of triumph. There he fought, and there he conquered, too. As a victor on the cross he divided the spoil. Now, more than this, in our text the cross is spoken of as being Christ's triumphal chariot, in which he rode when he led captivity captive and received gifts for men. Calvin thus admirably expounds the last sentence of our text. The expression in the Greek allows, it is true of our reading, in himself. The connection of the passage, however, requires that we read it otherwise. For what would be meager as applied to Christ suits admirably well as applied to the cross. For as he had previously compared the cross to a signal trophy, or show of triumph, in which Christ led about his enemies, so he now also compares it to a triumphal car, in which he showed himself in great magnificence. For there is no tribunal so magnificent, no throne so stately, no show of triumph so distinguished, no chariot so elevated, as is the gibbet on which Christ has subdued death and the devil, the prince of death, nay more has utterly trodden them under his feet. I shall, this morning, by God's help, address you upon the two portions of the text. First I shall endeavour to describe Christ is spoiling his enemies on the cross, and having done that I shall lead your imagination and your faith further on to see the Saviour in triumphal procession upon his cross, leading his enemies captive and making a show of them openly before the eyes of the astonished universe. 1. Christ making a spoil of principalities and powers. 2. Satan, leaked with sin and death, had made this world the home of woe. The prince of the powers of the air fell, usurper. Not content with his dominions in hell, must need invade this fair earth. 3. He found our first parents in the midst of Eden. He tempted them to forego their allegiance to the king of heaven, and they became at once his bondslaves. Bondslaves forever if the Lord of heaven had not interposed to ransom them. The voice of mercy was heard while the fetters were being riveted upon their feet, crying, Ye shall yet be free. In the fullness of time there shall come one who shall bruise the serpent's head and shall deliver his prisoners from the house of their bondage. Long did the promise tarry, the earth groaned and travailed in its bondage. Man was Satan's slave, and heavy were the clanking chains which were upon his soul. 4. At last in the fullness of time the deliverer came forth, born of a woman. He lay in the manger, he who was one day to bind the old dragon and cast him into the bottomless pit, and set a seal upon him. When the old serpent knew that his enemy was born, he conspired to put him to death. He leaked with Herod to seek the young child that he might destroy him, but the providence of God preserved the future conqueror. He went down into Egypt, and there was he hidden for a little season. Anon, when he had come to the fullness of years, he made his public advent and began to preach liberty to the captives and the opening of the prison to them that were bound. Then Satan again shot forth his arrows and sought to end the existence of the woman's seed. By diverse means he sought to slay him before his time. Once the Jews took up stones to stone him, nor did they fail to repeat the attempt. They sought to cast him down the brow of a hill headlong. By all manner of devices they laboured to take away his life, but his hour was not yet. Dangers might surround him, but he was invulnerable. At last the tremendous day arrived. Foot to foot the conqueror must fight with the dread tyrant. A voice was heard in heaven. This is your hour and the power of darkness, and Christ himself exclaimed, Now is the crisis of this world. Now must the Prince of Darkness be cast out. From the table of communion the Redeemer arose at midnight, and marched forth to the battle. How dreadful was the contest. In the very first onset the mighty conqueror seemed himself to be vanquished. Beaten to the earth at the first assault he fell upon his knees and cried, My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me. Revived in strength, made strong by heaven he no longer quailed, and from this hour never did he utter a word which looked like renouncing the fight. From the terrible skirmish all red with bloody sweat he dashed into the thick of the battle. The kiss of Judas was, as it were, the first sounding of the trumpet. Pilots' bar was the glittering of the spear. The cruel lash was the crossing of the swords. But the cross was the centre of the conflict. There, on the top of Calvary must the dread fight of eternity be fought. Now must the Son of God arise and gird his sword upon his thigh. Dread defeat or glorious conquest awaits the champion of the church. Which shall it be? We hold our breath with anxious suspense while the storm is raging. I hear the trumpet sound. The howlings of hell rise in awful clamour. The pit is emptying out its legions. Terrible as lions, hungry as wolves, and black as night the demons rush on in myriads. Satan's reserved forces, those who had long been kept against this day of terrible battle, are roaring from their dens. See how countless are their armies, and how fierce their countenances. Brandishing his sword, the archfiend leads the van, bidding his followers fight neither with small nor great, save only with the king of Israel. Terrible are the leaders of the battle. Sin is there and all its innumerable offspring, spitting forth the venom of asps, and infixing their poison fangs in the saviour's flesh. Death is there upon his pale horse, and his cruel dart tears its way through the body of Jesus, even to his inmost heart. He is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death. Hell comes with all its coals of juniper and fiery darts, but chief and head among them is Satan, remembering well the ancient day when Christ hurled him from the battlements of heaven. He rushes with all his malice to the attack. The darts shot into the air are so many that they blind the sun. Darkness covers the battlefield, and like that of Egypt, it was a darkness which might be felt. Long does the battle seem to waver, for there is but one against many. One man, nay tell it, lest any should misunderstand me. One God stands in battle array against ten thousands of principalities and powers. On, on they come, and he receives them all. Silently at first he permits their ranks to break upon him. Too terribly enduring hardness to spare a thought for shouting. But at last the battle cry is heard. He who is fighting for his people begins to shout, but it is a shout that makes the church tremble. He cries, I thirst. The battle is so hot upon him, and the dust so thick that he is choked with thirst. Surely now he is about to be defeated. Wait a while. See ye, yon heaps. All those that have fallen beneath his arm, and as for the rest fear not the issue. The enemy is but rushing to his own destruction. In vain his fury and his rage. For see, the last rank is charging. The battle of ages is almost over. At last the darkness is dispersed. Hark how the conqueror rises. It is finished. And where are now his enemies? They are all dead. There lies the king of terrors pierced through with one of his own darts. There lies Satan with his head all bleeding, broken. Yonder crawls the broken back serpent writhing in ghastly misery. As for sin it is cut in pieces, and scattered to the winds of heaven. It is finished, cries the conqueror, as he came with dyed garments from Bosra. I have trodden the wine-press alone. I have trampled them in my fury, and their blood is sprinkled on my garments. And now he proceeds to divide the spoil. We pause here to remark that when the spoil is divided it is a short token that the battle is completely won. The enemy will never suffer the spoil to be divided among the conquerors, as long as he has any strength remaining. We may gather from our text of assurity that Jesus Christ has totally routed, thoroughly defeated, once for all, and put to retreat all his enemies, or else he would not have divided the spoil. And now what means this expression of Christ dividing the spoil? I take it that it means, first of all, that he disarmed all his enemies. Satan came against Christ, he had in his hand a sharp sword called the law, dipped in the poison of sin, so that every wound which the law inflicted was deadly. Christ dashed this sword out of Satan's hand, and there stood the Prince of Darkness unarmed. His helmet was cleft in twain, and his head was crushed as with a rod of iron. Death rose against Christ, the saviour snatched his quiver from him, emptied all his darts, cut them into and gave death back the feather end, but kept the poison barbs that he might never destroy the ransomed. Sin came against Christ, but sin was utterly cut in pieces. It had been Satan's armor bearer, but its shield was cast away, and it lay dead upon the plane. Is it not a noble picture to behold all the enemies of Christ? Nay, my brethren, all your enemies and mine totally disarmed. Satan has nothing left now wherewith he may attack us. He may attempt to injure us, but wound us he never can, for his sword and spear are utterly taken away. In the old battles, especially among the Romans, after the enemy had been overcome, it was the custom to take away all their weapons and ammunition. Afterwards they were stripped of their armor and their garments, their hands were tied behind their backs, and they were made to pass under the yoke. Even so hath Christ done with sin, death, and hell. He hath taken their armor, spoiled them of all their weapons, and made them all to pass under the yoke, so that now they are our slaves, and we in Christ are conquerors of them who were mightier than we. In the next place, when the victors divide the spoil, they carry not away only the weapons, but all the treasures which belong to their enemies. They dismantle their fortresses, and rifle all their stores, so that in future they may not be able to renew the attack. Christ hath done the like with all his enemies. Old Satan had taken away from us all our possessions. Paradise he had added to his territories. All the joy and happiness and peace of man he had taken. Not that he could enjoy them himself, but that he delighted to thrust us down into poverty and damnation. Now all our lost inheritance Christ hath gotten back. Paradise is ours, and more than all the joy and happiness that Adam had, Christ hath brought back to us. O robber of our race, how art thou spoiled and carried away captive? Didst thou despoil Adam of his riches? The second Adam hath despoiled thee. How is the hammer of the whole earth cut asunder and broken, and the waster is become desolate? Now shall the needy be remembered, and again shall the meek inherit the earth? Then is the prey of a great spoil divided, the lame take the prey. Moreover, when victors divide the spoil, it is usual to take away all the ornaments from the enemy, the crowns and the jewels. Christ on the cross did the like. Satan had a crown on his head, a haughty diadem of triumph. I fought the first Adam, he said, I overcame him, and he is my glittering diadem. Christ snatched it from his brow in the hour when he bruised the serpent's head, and now Satan cannot boast of a single victory. He is thoroughly defeated. In the first skirmish he vanquished manhood, but in the second battle manhood vanquished him. The crown is taken from him. He is no longer the prince of God's people. His reigning power is gone. He may tempt, but he cannot compel. He may threaten, but he cannot subdue, for the crown is taken from his head, and the mighty are brought low. O sing unto the Lord a new song, all ye his people, make a joyful noise unto him with psalms, all ye his redeemed, for he hath broken in sunder the gates of brass, and cut the bars of iron. He hath broken the bow, and cut the spear in sunder. He hath burned the chariots in the fire. He hath dashed in pieces our enemies, and divided the spoil with the strong. And now what says this to us? If Christ on the cross hath spoiled Satan, let us not be afraid to encounter the great enemy of our souls. My brethren, in all things we must be made like unto Christ. We must bear our cross, and on that cross we must fight as he did with sin and death and hell. Let us not fear. The result of the battle is certain, for as the Lord our Savior has overcome once, even so shall we most surely conquer in him. Be ye none of you afraid with sudden fear when the evil one cometh upon you. If he accuses you, reply to him in these words. Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect? If he condemn you, laugh him to scorn, crying, who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea, rather hath risen again. If he threatened to divide you from Christ's love, encounter him with confidence. I am persuaded that neither things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ, Jesus our Lord. And if he loose your sins upon you, dash the hell-dogs aside with this. If any man's sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. If death should threaten you, shout in his very face, O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? Hold up the cross before you. Let that be your shield and buckler, and rest assured that as your master not only routed the foe, but afterwards took the spoil, it shall be even so with you. Your battles with Satan shall turn to your advantage. You shall become all the richer for your antagonists. The more numerous they shall be, the greater shall be your share of the spoil. Your tribulation shall work patience, and your patience, experience, and your experience hope, a hope that maketh not ashamed. Through this much tribulation shall you inherit the kingdom, and by the very attacks of Satan shall you be helped the better to enjoy the rest which remaineth to the people of God. Put yourselves in array against sin and Satan. All ye that bend the bow, shoot at them, spare no arrows, for your enemies are rebels against God. Go ye up against them, put your feet upon their necks. Fear not, neither be ye dismayed, for the battle is the Lord's, and he will deliver them into your hands. Be ye very courageous, remembering that you have to fight with a stingless dragon. He may hiss, but his teeth are broken, and his poison fang extracted. You have to do battle with an enemy already scarred by your master's weapons. You have to fight with a naked foe. Every blow you give him tells upon him, for he has nothing to protect him. Christ hath stripped him naked, divided his armour, and left him defenseless before his people. Be not afraid. The lion may howl, but rend you in pieces he never can. The enemy may rush in upon you with hideous noise and terrible alarms, but there is no real cause for fear. Stand fast in the Lord. Ye war against a king who hath lost his crown. Ye fight against an enemy whose cheekbones have been smitten, and the joints of whose loins have been loosed. Rejoice, rejoice ye in the day of battle, for it is for you the beginning of an eternity of triumph. I have thus endeavoured to dwell upon the first part of the text. Christ on the cross divided the spoil, and he would have us do the same. 2. Christ in triumphal procession on the cross When a Roman general had performed great feats in a foreign country, his highest reward was that the Senate should declare him a triumph. Of course, there was a division of spoil made on the battlefield, and each soldier and each captain took his share, but every man looked forward rapturously to the day when they should enjoy the public triumph. On a set day the gates of Rome were thrown open, the houses were all decorated, the people climbed to the roofs, or stood in great crowds along the streets. The gates were opened, and by and by the first legion began to stream in with its banners flying, and its trumpets sounding. The people saw the stern warriors as they marched along the street, returning from their blood-red fields of battle. After one half of the army had thus defiled, your eye would rest upon one who was the centre of all attraction. Riding in a noble chariot drawn by milk-white horses, there came the conqueror himself, crowned with the laurel crown and standing erect. Chained to his chariot were the kings and mighty men of the regions which he had conquered. Immediately behind them came part of the booty. There were carried the ivory and the ebony and the beasts of the different countries which he had subdued. After these came the rest of the soldiery, a long, long stream of valiant men, all of them sharing the triumphs of their captain. Behind them came banners, the old flags which had floated aloft in the battle, the standards which had been taken from the enemy, and after these large, painted emblems of the great victories of the conqueror. Upon one there would be a huge map depicting the rivers which he had crossed, or the seas through which his navy had found their way. Everything was represented in a picture, and the populace gave a fresh shout as they saw the memorial of each triumph. And behind, with the trophies would come the prisoners of less eminent rank. Then the rear would be closed with the sound of trumpet, adding to the acclamation of the throng. It was a noble day for old Rome. Children would never forget those triumphs. They would reckon their years from the time of one triumph to another. High holiday was kept. Women cast down flowers before the conqueror, and he was the true monarch of the day. Now our apostle had evidently seen such a triumph, or read of it, and he takes this as a representation of what Christ did on the cross. He says, Jesus made a show of them openly, triumphing over them in it. Have you ever thought that the cross could be the scene of a triumph? Most of the old commentators can scarcely conceive it to be true. They say, this must certainly refer to Christ's resurrection and ascension. But nevertheless, so saith the scripture, even on the cross Christ enjoyed a triumph. Yes, while those hands were bleeding, the acclamation of angels were being poured upon his head. Yes, while those feet were being rent with the nails, the noblest spirits in the world were crowding round him with admiration. And when upon that blood-stained cross he died in agonies unutterable, there was heard a shout such as never was heard before. For the ransomed in heaven and all the angels of God with loudest harmony chanted his praise. Then was sung in fullest chorus the song of Moses, the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb, for he had indeed cut Rahab and sorely wounded the dragon. Sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously, the Lord shall reign for ever and ever, King of kings and Lord of lords. I do not feel able, however, this morning, to work out a scene so grand, and yet so contrary to everything that flesh could guess as a picture of Christ actually triumphing on the cross, in the midst of his bleeding, his wounds, and his pains, actually being a triumphant victor and admired of all. I choose rather to take my text thus. The cross is the ground of Christ's ultimate triumph. He may be said to have really triumphed there, because it was by that one act of his, that one suffering of himself, that he completely vanquished all his foes, and forever sat down at the right hand of the majesty in the heavens. In the cross to the spiritual eye every victory of Christ is contained. It may not be there in fact, but it is there in effect. The germ of his glories may be discovered by the eye of faith in the agonies of the cross. Bear with me while I humbly attempt to depict the triumph, which now results from the cross. Christ has forever overcome all his foes, and defied the spoil upon the battlefield, and now even at this day is he enjoying the well-earned reward and triumph of his fearful struggle. Lift up your eyes to the battlements of heaven, the great metropolis of God. The pearly gates are wide open, and the city shines with her jeweled walls, like a bride prepared for her husband. Do you see the angels crowding to the battlements? Do you observe them on every mansion of the celestial city, eagerly desiring and looking for something which has not yet arrived? At last there is heard the sound of a trumpet, and the angels hurry to the gates. The vanguard of the redeemed is approaching the city. Abel comes in alone, clothed in a crimson garb, the herald of a glorious army of martyrs, harked to the shout of acclamation. This is the first of Christ's warriors, at once a soldier and a trophy that have been delivered. Close at his heels there follow others, who in those early times had learned the coming Saviour's fame. Behind them a mighty host may be discovered of patriarchal veterans, all have witnessed to the coming of the Lord in a wanton age. See Enoch still walking with his God and singing sweetly, behold the Lord cometh with ten thousands of his saints. There too is Noah, who had sailed in the ark with the Lord as his pilot, then follow Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Moses and Joshua, and Samuel and David, all mighty men of Valar. Harken to them as they enter, every one of them waving his helmet in the air cries unto him that loved us and washed us from our sins in his blood, unto him be honour and glory and dominion and power for ever and ever. Look, my brethren, with admiration upon this noble army. Mark the heroes as they march along the golden streets, everywhere meeting an enthusiastic welcome from the angels who have kept their first estate. On, on they pour those countless legions. Was there ever such a spectacle? It is not the pageant of a day, but the show of all time. For four thousand years streams on the army of Christ's redeemed. Sometimes there is a short rank for the people here have been diminished and brought low, but an on a crowd succeeds, and on and on still on they come, all shouting, all praising him who loved them and gave himself for them. But see, he comes. I mean, his immediate herald, clad in a garment of camel's hair and a leaven girdle about his loins. The prince of the house of David is not far behind, let every eye be open. Now mark how not only angels but the redeemed crowd the windows of heaven. He comes, he comes. It is Christ himself. Lash the snow-white courses up the everlasting hills. Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be lifted up, ye everlasting doors, that the king of glory may come in. See, he enters in the midst of acclamations. It is he. But he is not crowned with thorns. It is he. But though his hands wear the scar, they are stained with blood no longer. His eyes are as a flame of fire, and on his head are many crowns, and he hath on his vesture and on his thigh written, king of kings and lord of lords. He stands aloft in that chariot which is paved with love for the daughters of Jerusalem. Clothed in a vesture, dipped in blood, he stands confessed, the emperor of heaven and earth. On, on he rides, and louder than the noise of many waters, and like the voice of seven thunders are the acclamations which surround him. See how John's vision has become a reality, for now we can see for ourselves, and hear with our ears the new song whereof he writes, they sung a new song, saying thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof, for thou wast slain, and thou hast redeemed us to God by thy blood, out of every kindred and tongue and people and nation, and hast made us unto our God kings and priests, and we shall reign on the earth. And I beheld, and I heard the voice of many angels round about the throne, and the beasts, and the elders, and the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands, saying with a loud voice, worthy as the lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing. And every creature which is in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them heard I saying, blessing, and honor, and glory, and power, be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the lamb for ever, and ever. And the four beasts said, Amen. And the four and twenty elders fell down and worshiped him that liveth for ever, and ever. But who are those at his chariot wheels? Who are those grim monsters that come howling in the rear? I know them. First of all there is the arch enemy. Look to the old serpent, bound and fettered, how he writhes his ragged length along. His azure hues all tarnished, and trailing in the dust, his scales despoiled of their once-vaunted brightness. Now his captivity led captive, and death and hell shall be cast into the lake of fire. With what derision is the chief of rebels regarded? How has he become the object of everlasting contempt? He that sitteth in the heavens doth laugh. The Lord doth have him in derision. Behold how the serpent's head is broken, and the dragon is trampled underfoot. And now regard attentively you hideous monster, sin, chained hand in hand with his satanic master. See how he rolls his fiery eyeballs, how he twists and writhes in agonies. Mark how he glares upon the holy city, but is unable to spit his venom there, for he is chained and gagged, and dragged along an unwilling captive at the wheels of the victor. And there, too, is old death, with his darts all broken, and his hands behind him, the grim king of terrors. He, too, is a captive. Hark to the songs of the redeemed, of those who have entered paradise, as they see these mighty prisoners dragged along. Worthy as he they shout to live and reign at his almighty father's side, for he hath ascended up on high, and he hath led captivity captive, and received gifts for men. And behind them all I see the great multitude of the ransomed streaming in. The apostles first arrive in one goodly fellowship, hymning with their lord, and then their immediate successors, and then a long array of those who, through cruel mockings and blood, through flame and sword, have followed their master. These are they of whom the world was not worthy, brightest among the stars of heaven. Regard also the mighty preachers and confessors of the faith, Chrysostom, Athanasius, Augustine, and the like, witness their holy unanimity in praising their lord. Then let your eye run along the glittering ranks till you come to the days of reformation. I see in the midst of the squadron Luther, and Calvin, and Zwingli, three holy brothers. I see just before them Wycliffe, and Huss, and Jerome marching together, and then I see a company that no man can number, converted to God through those mighty reformers who now follow in the rear of the king of kings and lord of lords. And looking down to our own time I see the stream, broader and deeper, for many other soldiers who have in these last times entered into their master's triumph. We may mourn their absence from us, but we must rejoice in their presence with the lord. But what is the unanimous shout? What is the one song that rolls from the first rank to the last? It is this, unto him that loved us and washed us from our sins, in his own blood, to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Have they changed the time? Have they supplanted his name by another? Have they put the crown on another head, or elevated another hero to the chariot? Oh no, they are content still to let the triumph and processions stream along its glorious length, still to rejoice as they behold fresh trophies of his love. For every soldier is a trophy, every warrior in Christ's army is another proof of his power to save, and his victory over death and hell. I have not time to enlarge further, or else I might describe the grand pictures at the end of the procession, for in the old Roman triumphs the deeds of the conqueror were all depicted in paintings. The town he had taken, the rivers he had passed, the provinces he had subdued, the battles he had fought, were represented in pictures and exposed to the view of the people who, with great festivity and rejoicing, accompanied him in throngs, or behind him from the windows of their houses, and filled the air with their acclamations. I might present to you first of all the picture of hell's dungeons, blown to atoms. Satan had prepared in the depths of darkness a prison house for God's elect, but Christ has not left one stone upon another. On the picture I see the chains broken in pieces. The prison doors burnt with fire, and all the depths of the vasty deep shaken to their foundations. On another picture I see heaven open to all believers. I see the gates that were fast shut, heaved back by the golden lever of Christ's atonement. I see on another picture the grave despoiled. I behold Jesus in it, slumbering for a while, and then rolling away the stone and rising to immortality and glory. But we cannot stay to describe these mighty victories of his love. We know that the time shall come when the triumphant procession shall cease, when the last of his redeemed shall have entered into the city of happiness and of joy, and when, with a shout of a trumpet, heard for the last time, he shall ascend to heaven and take his people up to reign with God, even our Father, forever and ever. Our only question, and with that we conclude, is, have we a good hope, through grace, that we shall march in that sublime procession? Shall we pass under review in that day of pomp and glory? Say, my soul, shall thou have an humble part in that glorious pageant? Wilt thou follow at his chariot wheels? Wilt thou join in the Hosannas? Shall thy voice help to swell the everlasting chorus? Sometimes I fear it shall not. There are times when the awful question comes, what if my name should be left out when he reads the muster roll? Brethren, does not that thought trouble you? But yet I put the question again. Can you answer it? Will you be there? Shall you see this pomp? Will you behold him triumph over sin, death, and hell at last? Canst thou answer this question? There is another, but the answer will serve for both. Does thou believe on the Lord Jesus Christ? Is he thy confidence and thy trust? Has thou committed thy soul to his keeping? Reposing on his might? Canst thou say for thy an immortal spirit? Other refuge have I none, hangs my helpless soul on thee. If thou can say that, thine eyes shall see him in the day of his glory. Nay, thou shalt share his glory, and sit with him upon his throne, even as he has overcome, and sits down with his father upon his throne. I blush to preach, as I have done this morning, on a theme far beyond my power. Yet I could not leave it unsung, but as best I might sing it. May God enlarge your faith and strengthen your hope, and inflame your love, and make you ready to be made partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light. That when he shall come with flying clouds on wings of wind, you may be ready to meet him, and may with him ascend to gaze forever on the vision of his glory. May God grant this blessing for Christ's sake. Amen. End of Christ's Triumphant by Charles Spurgeon. 1909 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The New York Times, July 4, 1909. Fourth Not Really Independence Day. July 2 should have been firecracker day, according to John Adams. When Freedom Was Won. Declaration wasn't signed on any particular day. Secretaries whim, responsible for the fourth. This year, beyond all others, doubt is being cast upon the majesty of the firecracker, as the one and only method of properly celebrating the glorious fourth. This heresy is no longer confined to the ranks of the greybeards and nervous invalids, but has even reached the stage of popular comment. However, practically no one outside the ranks of the history professor doubts that, if one is to light a firecracker, July 4 is the correct occasion for that debatable operation. The general public, and particularly the gentlemen who have been denouncing the present day university instruction, may be a trifle surprise to learn that while college students aren't taught that the Declaration of Independence is a meaningless bit of parchment, they are told that it was not signed on the fourth of July. In the grammar schools, children are still shown the picture of the patriot fathers, wearing their best velvet knee-bridges and most dignified expressions of countenance, gathering around the table to sign, conscious that they were making history. John Hancock takes the pen, writes a smashing bold signature, and remarks that John Bull could read that without spectacles. For the college students, however, this is relegated into that portion of history as made by the poets, and they are told to go back to the sources. The story of how the Declaration of Independence wasn't signed on the fourth of July at all, as taught by unromantic college professors, is practically this. Before the winter of 1776, only a small proportion of the colonists wanted to separate from Great Britain. The New York delegates to the Continental Congress were forbidden, in their official instructions, to vote for any measure which might obstruct the restoration of friendly feelings. But during the winter of 76, the public opinion changed. The British fleet descended on the coast and burned Falmouth, Maine, and made similar attacks along the Virginia shore. Public indignation at these outrages expressed itself in the Virginia Assembly, when, on May 29, Richard Henry Lee was instructed to introduce a resolution of independence in the Continental Congress at Philadelphia. Accordingly, on June 7, Lee brought in the resolution that the United Colonies ought to be free and independent states. The motion was debated until June 10, when, as Jefferson noted, certain colonies were not yet matured for falling from the parent stem, but that they were fast advancing to that state. On June 11, a committee of five was instructed to prepare a suitable wording for such a declaration. This committee was elected by ballot, Jefferson receiving the greatest number of votes, then John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, and Robert Livingston. The writing was entrusted to Jefferson by the common consent of his fellow workers. Four, as Adams records, writings of his were remarkable for their peculiar felicity of expression. So Jefferson started in on his task. He had rented the second floor of a house at the corner of Seventh and Market Streets, belonging to a bricklayer named Graf. Here Jefferson prepared the first draft. It was written on several sheets of legal paper, and is full of corrections, many made by the author himself, and a few verbal changes made by Adams and Franklin, as is shown by the handwriting. Jefferson then made a fair copy to present to Congress. The first draft he sent to Richard Henry Lee, who had been recalled to Virginia by the illness of his wife. This manuscript, with a note in the handwriting of Jefferson vouching for its authenticity, was handed down in the Lee family till 1825, when the owner presented it to the American Philosophical Society of Philadelphia. On July 1st Congress adopted Lee's resolution that the colonies be free and independent states by a vote of nine colonies. South Carolina and Pennsylvania voted against it. The two delegates from Delaware disagreed, and their vote was divided and lost. The New York delegates expressed themselves as personally in favor of the measure, but were prevented from voting for it by their instructions, forbidding them to obstruct reconciliation in any way. The committee then made its report. The meeting was adjourned and the discussion postponed till the next day. But before the opening of Congress on the 2nd of July, the delegates from South Carolina and Pennsylvania announced themselves as having been converted, and a third delegate from Delaware arrived and changed the vote of that colony. So when the discussion opened, the passing of the measure was assured. In the debate that followed, various criticisms were made of Jefferson's wording, while the author sat mute and writhing under the threatened changing of his pet phrases. Adams was the colossus of that debate, Jefferson recorded. But even that hardy fight could not prevent the cutting out of a clause denouncing George III for protecting the slave trade and for hiring scotch and foreign mercenaries. But the question of independence was practically decided. The next day, July 3rd, Adams wrote to his wife, Yesterday the greatest question was decided which ever was debated in America, and a greater perhaps never was, nor will be, decided among men. And again, the second day of July 1776 will be a most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward, forever more. This letter of John Adams to his wife, the historians declare, proves conclusively that as far as the actual separating from Great Britain was concerned, the Patriot Fathers themselves considered July 2nd the eventful day. It is the next step to discover how, then, the general public has pinned its faith to July 4th. The debate in Congress continued until the evening of July 4th, when, according to tradition, the Fathers marched up one by one and signed. The Journal of Congress, though, tells a different story. At the close of the debate, the Secretary was entrusted to have a copy of the Declaration engrossed, signed by the members, and entered in the journal. Anyone who has seen the ordinary facsimile copy of the Declaration will recognize that the original from which it was made was this engrossed copy ordered by Congress, and not Jefferson's draft, in which his inherent and inalienable rights had been changed to the more simple inalienable. There is no disputing the fact that the signatures were added to the engrossed copy. This was left open for signature till into August, so the heroic picture of the daring Congress solemnly signing one by one after noble debate must be replaced by a vision of the Secretary buttonholing the members wherever he could find them from July 4th into August and asking them to sign. When the document was completed, however, and was to be entered in the Journals of Congress, the Secretary entered it on July 4th, the date on which he had been instructed to have the Declaration engrossed, and not on July 2nd, the day which Adams had predicted would be the Great Anniversary Festival. That is why, so the Echinoclastic History Professors declare, the engrossed copy happens to read, in Congress, July 4th, 1776, the unanimous Declaration. Still worse, the Declaration was not read in Philadelphia until July 8th, so there wasn't any 1st, 4th of July, with the boy in the poem calling to his Grand Sire in the Belfry to, Ring for Liberty. However, the historians will allow that it was read on July 8th, from the platform which David Rittenhouse had erected from which to watch the Transit of Venus. Captain John Hopkins, Commander of the First National Ship of War, did the reading, and the crowds did cheer. Even the historians admit that much, only it wouldn't be July 4th at all, except that the Secretary of Congress happened to enter the document under that date. And, a 4th not really Independence Day, from the New York Times, July 4th, 1909.