at Shakespeare will have to vacate his pedestal
this side of the year 2209. Disbelief in him cannot come swiftly,
disbelief in a healthy and deeply-loved tar baby has never been known
to disintegrate swiftly; it is a very slow process. It took several
thousand years to convince our fine race--including every splendid
intellect in it--that there is no such thing as a witch; it has taken
several thousand years to convince the same fine race--including every
splendid intellect in it--that there is no such person as Satan; it has
taken several centuries to remove perdition from the Protestant Church's
program of post-mortem entertainments; it has taken a weary long time to
persuade American Presbyterians to give up infant damnation and try to
bear it the best they can; and it looks as if their Scotch brethren will
still be burning babies in the everlasting fires when Shakespeare comes
down from his perch.

We are The Reasoning Race. We can't prove it by the above examples,
and we can't prove it by the miraculous "histories" built by those
Stratfordolaters out of a hatful of rags and a barrel of sawdust, but
there is a plenty of other things we can prove it by, if I could think
of them. We are The Reasoning Race, and when we find a vague file of
chipmunk-tracks stringing through the dust of Stratford village, we know
by our reasoning bowers that Hercules has been along there. I feel that
our fetish is safe for three centuries yet. The bust, too--there in the
Stratford Church. The precious bust, the priceless bust, the calm bust,
the serene bust, the emotionless bust, with the dandy mustache, and the
putty face, unseamed of care--that face which has looked passionlessly
down upon the awed pilgrim for a hundred and fifty years and will still
look down upon the awed pilgrim three hundred more, with the deep, deep,
deep, subtle, subtle, subtle expression of a bladder.

XII

Irreverence

One of the most trying defects which I find in these--these--what shall
I call them? for I will not apply injurious epithets to them, the way
they do to us, such violations of courtesy being repugnant to my nature
and my dignity. The farthest I can go in that direction is to call them
by names of limited reverence--names merely descriptive, never unkind,
never offensive, never tainted by harsh feeling. If THEY would do
like this, they would feel better in their hearts. Very well,
then--to proceed. One of the most trying defects which I fi