people." An embarrassing "Savior" for the church of Good Society, you
might imagine; but they manage to fix him up and make him respectable.

I remember something analogous in my own boyhood. All day Saturday I
ran about with the little street rowdies, I stole potatoes and roasted
them in vacant lots, I threw mud from the roofs of apartment-houses;
but on Saturday night I went into a tub and was lathered and scrubbed,
and on Sunday I came forth in a newly brushed suit, a clean white
collar and a shining tie and a slick derby hat and a pair of tight
gloves which made me impotent for mischief. Thus I was taken and
paraded up Fifth Avenue, doing my part of the duties of Good Society.
And all church-members go through this same performance; the oldest
and most venerable of them steal potatoes and throw mud all week--and
then take a hot bath of repentance and put on the clean clothing of
piety. In this same way their ministers of religion are occupied to
scrub and clean and dress up their disreputable Founder--to turn him
from a proletarian rebel into a stained-glass-window divinity.

The man who really lived, the carpenter's son, they take out and
crucify all over again. As a young poet has phrased it, they nail him
to a jeweled cross with cruel nails of gold. Come with me to the New
Golgotha and witness this crucifixion; take the nails of gold in your
hands, try the weight of the jeweled sledges! Here is a sledge, in the
form of a dignified and scholarly volume, published by the exclusive
house of Scribner, and written by the Bishop of my boyhood, the Bishop
whose train I carried in the stately ceremonials: "The Citizen in His
Relation to the Industrial Situation," by the Right Reverend Henry
Codman Potter, D.D., L.L.D., D.C.L.--a course of lectures delivered
before the sons of our predatory classes at Yale University, under the
endowment of a millionaire mining king, founder of the Phelps-Dodge