to the God who gave it--and gave them.

We are told that this earth was made for our inhabiting. Our dearly
beloved brethren in the faith, our spiritual guides, philosophers and
friends of the pulpit, never tire of pointing out the goodness of God in
giving us so excellent a place to live in and commending the admirable
adaptation of all things to our needs.

What a fine world it is, to be sure--a darling little world, "so suited
to the needs of man." A globe of liquid fire, straining within a shell
relatively no thicker than that of an egg--a shell constantly cracking
and in momentary danger of going all to pieces! Three-fourths of this
delectable field of human activity are covered with an element in which
we can not breathe, and which swallows us by myriads:

With moldering bones the deep is white
From the frozen zones to the tropic bright.

Of the other one-fourth more than one-half is uninhabitable by reason of
climate. On the remaining one-eighth we pass a comfortless and
precarious existence in disputed occupancy with countless ministers of
death and pain--pass it in fighting for it, tooth and nail, a hopeless
battle in which we are foredoomed to defeat. Everywhere death, terror,
lamentation and the laughter that is more terrible than tears--the fury
and despair of a race hanging on to life by the tips of its fingers. And
the prize for which we strive, "to have and to hold"--what is it? A
thing that is neither enjoyed while had, or missed when lost. So
worthless it is, so unsatisfying, so inadequate to purpose, so false to
hope and at its best so brief, that for consolation and compensation we
set up fantastic faiths of an aftertime in a better world from which no