th strength to endure the dizzying
throng of thoughts, passions, longings, yearnings--but him! Thou hast
given him a frame fragile as the frailest web of the spider, and every
great thought rends and frays it. O Lord! my God! have mercy!

I have not had one tranquil hour for the last ten years. Thou hast
placed me among men who may have envied my position, who may have wished
me well, or who would have conferred benefits upon me--but I have been
alone! alone!

Thou hast sent storms of agony upon me, mingled with wrongs, dreams,
hopes, thoughts, aspirations, and yearnings for the infinite! Thy grace
shines upon my intellect, but reaches not my heart!

Have mercy, God! Suffer me to love my son in peace, that thus
reconciliation may be planted between the created and the Creator!...

Cross thyself now, my son, and come with me.

Eternal rest be with the dead!

Exit with George

* * * * *

A public square. Ladies and gentlemen. A Philosophe. The Man.

PHILOSOPHE. I repeat to you, that it is my irresistible conviction that
the hour has come for the emancipation of negroes and women.

THE MAN. I agree with you fully.

PHILOSOPHE. And as a change so great in the constitution of society,
both in general and particular, stands so immediately before us, I
deduce from such a revolution the complete destruction of old forms and
formulas, and the regeneration of the whole human family.

THE MAN. Do you really think so?

PHILOSOPHE. Just as our earth, by a sudden change in the inclination of
its axis, might rotate more obliquely ...

THE MAN. Do you see this hollow tree?

PHILOSOPHE. With tufts of new leaves sprouting forth from the lower
branches?

THE MAN. Yes. How much longer do you think it can continue to stand?

PHILOSOPHE. I cannot tell; perhaps a year or two longer.

THE MAN. Its roots are rapidly rotting out, and yet it still puts forth
a few green leaves.

PHILOSOPHE. What inference do you deduce from that?

THE MAN. Nothing--only that it is rotting out in spite of its few green
leaves; falling daily into dust and ashes; and that it will not bear the
tool of the moulder!

And yet it is your type, the type of your followers, of your theories,
of the times in which we live....

They pass on out of sight.

* * * * *

A mountain pass.

THE MAN. I have labored many years to discover the final results of
knowledge, p