blasted; take the solace from them which this book breathes into their
withered hearts, the solace that suffering innocence will be
recompensed, that a God of justice rules, take that solace from them
and you have taken all that makes life bearable. There are millions of
people pining in bondage, toiling in obscurity, suffering physically
and mentally for no crime of their own, sick and hungry, friendless and
hopeless; take the book from them that teaches them the lesson of
patient endurance, and you may write the word Finis, and close the
records of civilization forevermore. It is the one book that has a
balm for every wound, a comfort for every tear, a ray of light for
every darkness.

Its language all people can understand, its spirit all minds can grasp,
its moral laws all people can obey, its truths appeal not only to the
lowly and simple, but also to the highest intellect, they win the
spontaneous approval, not only of the pious, but also of the most
skeptical. At a literary gathering at the house of the Baron von
Holbach, where the most celebrated atheists of the age used to
assemble, the gentlemen present were one day commenting on the absurd
and foolish things with which the Bible abounds. The French
encyclopedist, Diderat, a materialist himself, startled his friends by
his little speech: "But it is wonderful, gentlemen, it is wonderful. I
know of no man who can speak or write with such ability. I do not
believe that any of you could compose such narratives, or could have
laid down such sublime moral laws, so simple, yet so elevating,
exerting so wide an influence for good, and awakening such deep and
such reverential feelings, as does the Bible." Diderat spoke the
truth. Place the most celebrated systems of philosophies or the most
famous code of ethics, into the hands of the masses, and see whether
the subtleties of their learning, the elegance of their diction will