lemn figure; on all that it symbolizes of
interference with the purposes of a beneficent Creator? The policeman
is a permanent public defiance of Nature. Through him the weak rule
the strong, the few the many, the intelligent the fools. Through him
survive those whom the struggle for existence should have eliminated.
He substitutes the unfit for the fit. He dislocates the economy of the
universe. Under his shelter take root and thrive all monstrous and
parasitic growths. Marriage clings to his skirts, property nestles in
his bosom. And while these flourish, where is liberty? The law of
Nature we all know:

The good old rule, the ancient plan
That he should take who has the power,
And he should keep who can!

"But this, by the witchcraft of property, we have set aside. Our walls
of brick and stone we have manned with invisible guards. We have
thronged with fiery faces and arms the fences of our gardens and parks.
The plate-glass of our windows we have made more impenetrable than
adamant. To our very infants we have given the strength of giants.
Babies surfeit, while strong men starve; and the foetus in the womb
stretches out unformed hands to annex a principality. Is this liberty?
Is this Nature? No! It is a Merlin's prison! Yet, monstrous, it
subsists! Has our friend, then, no power to dissolve the charm? Or,
can it be that he has not the will?

"Again, can we be said to be free, can we be said to be in harmony with
Nature, while we endure the bonds of matrimony? While we fetter the
happy promiscuity of instinct, and subject our roving fancy to the
dominion of 'one unchanging wife?' Here, indeed, I frankly admit,
Nature has her revenges; and an actual polygamy flourishes even under
the aegis of our law. But the law exists; it is the warp on which, by
the woof of property, we fashion that Nessus-shirt, the Family, in
which, we have swathed the giant energies of mankind. But while that
shirt clings close to every limb, what avails it, in the name of
liberty, to snap, here and there, a button or a lace? A more heroic
work is required of the great protagonist, if, indeed, he will follow
his mistress to the end. He shakes his head. What! Is his service,
then, but half-hearted after all? Or, can it be, that behind the mask
of the goddess he begins to divine the teeth and claws of the brute?
But if nature be no goddess, how can we accept her as sponsor for
liberty? And if liberty be taken