powerful
lies, not because they were lies, but because they were powerful; who,
seeing shams and cheats so prosperous, so venerable, so strong, got the
notion into their poor cowardly hearts that they are strongest, and
wanted the reformer to come humbly, cap in hand, and ask them to let a
little truth live, a little modest, humble, unaggressive truth--it will
be very orderly, very quiet, very deferential, if they, the powerful,
the venerable, the respectable lies will let it stay here, in some
corner, out of charity!

These are the men who, in all ages, have built barriers against heaven,
the cowards, the faithless, the unbelieving. They dare not trust truth
because it is truth, and good because it is good, leaving consequences
with Him whose special business it is to take care of consequences. No,
it is not love for the lie, but want of faith in the truth, that blocks
the chariot wheels of the golden year.

For men do not love the lie after all. There's comfort in that. They do
not like being cheated. They never get quite used to it, as, they say,
eels do to skinning. They sometimes turn on the man, or the system, that
tries it on them, in a very terrible and savage manner, with fury as of
a mad lion, and take swift, fearful vengeance. The big, dumb heart of
humanity, in the long, run, can be trusted. It is often imposed upon,
its blind trust shamefully abused. Scoundrels exist and prosper on its
patience and credulity. But only for a time. There is a reckoning for
all such deceptions, if need be, in blood and fire. The dull heart
throbs, the dull eyes open, the great brain stirs in its sleep, and
humanity, true to its origin, rises to crush the lie with its million
arms of power. And earth-born Briareus, when his thousand hands turn to
right his wrongs, is not delicate in their handling. The echoes of a
French Revolution will ring for some generations yet.

The man who turns to combat error needs the assurance of the true
instincts of his race, for he enters on a task that must seem hopeless
often.

'Truth crushed to earth will rise again;'

so Mr. Bryant tells him, and he is much obliged to Mr. Bryant. But will
not error do just the same? He killed a lie yesterday, and buried it
decently. He finds it alive again and prosperous to-day. Cut a man's
head off, and he dies. There's no help for it, unless he is a St. Denis,
and then he can only take a walk with his head in his hand. But, if he
is not a St. Denis,