remainder of this hour I invite you to seek with me some
principle to make our tolerance less chaotic. And, as I began my
previous lecture by a personal reminiscence, I am going to ask your
indulgence for a similar bit of egotism now.

A few summers ago I spent a happy week at the famous Assembly Grounds on
the borders of Chautauqua Lake. The moment one treads that sacred
enclosure, one feels one's self in an atmosphere of success. Sobriety
and industry, intelligence and goodness, orderliness and ideality,
prosperity and cheerfulness, pervade the air. It is a serious and
studious picnic on a gigantic scale. Here you have a town of many
thousands of inhabitants, beautifully laid out in the forest and
drained, and equipped with means for satisfying all the necessary lower
and most of the superfluous higher wants of man. You have a first-class
college in full blast. You have magnificent music--a chorus of seven
hundred voices, with possibly the most perfect open-air auditorium in
the world. You have every sort of athletic exercise from sailing,
rowing, swimming, bicycling, to the ball-field and the more artificial
doings which the gymnasium affords. You have kindergartens and model
secondary schools. You have general religious services and special
club-houses for the several sects. You have perpetually running
soda-water fountains, and daily popular lectures by distinguished men.
You have the best of company, and yet no effort. You have no zymotic
diseases, no poverty, no drunkenness, no crime, no police. You have
culture, you have kindness, you have cheapness, you have equality, you
have the best fruits of what mankind has fought and bled and striven
for tinder the name of civilization for centuries. You have, in short, a
foretaste of what human society might be, were it all in the light, with
no suffering and no dark corners.

I went in curiosity for a day. I stayed for a week, held spell-bound by
the charm and ease of everything, by the middle-class paradise, without
a sin, without a victim, without a blot, without a tear.

And yet what was my own astonishment, on emerging into the dark and
wicked world again, to catch myself quite unexpectedly and involuntarily
saying: "Ouf! what a relief! Now for something primordial and savage,
even though it were as bad as an Armenian massacre, to set the balance
straight again. This order is too tame, this culture too second-rate,
this goodness too uninspiring. This human drama w