n,
who was ultra-liberal as the orator, drove about, fantastically
attired as a charioteer, and the people were wild with delight.
Domitian had the same ideas, and severe were his persecutions of the
new heresy. This was the day on which infidelity was so full of the
love of freedom that it cried: "The Christians to the lions!"

And so I might recount to you how for hundreds of years the Church
found out how early and unchristianized infidelity loved freedom of
thought. To a type of liberals, it has for years seemed a joy to go
to the places in the old world and note how intolerant the Church has
been. Now I suggest to any one that he go and visit some of the places
where men who thought of Christianity as negativism thinks showed
their faith and its fruits. Let him go to the Colosseum and ask the
winds that moan over its ruins what they know of the history
of infidelity. The winds will hush in that wreck of stupendous
magnificence, and with an eloquence gathered from seventeen centuries
they will tell him a story that will cause a flow of tears, for much
of infidelity is of noble heart. They will tell him how the marble
seats were crowded with thousands; again will sweep upward the shout
of the excited throng; before him there will lie a half-dead Christian
martyr, and near that pool of blood will stand a lion who has satiated
his horrid thirst.

They will tell him how infidelity made that splendid place a temple
of the furies, how it laughed and yelled and applauded, as it amused
itself with that spectacle of horror. They will tell him how the
underground passages served to keep and cage wild beasts, and how
those who then hated Christianity starved the fierce lion until his
eyes rolled in hot hunger and his teeth were sharpened with its agony.
They will tell him how the infidelity of that day put balls of fire
on the backs of the lions, and how the madness of their passion was
increased by scattering hated colors about, tearing the beasts with
iron hooks and beating them with cruel whips. They will tell how the
Christian was made to fight these infuriated beasts without weapons,
while infidelity was frantic with applause. It said "no" to the torn
body yonder, that was mangled and supplicating in blood for life. I
would have him stand there until, in after years, in a nobler strain
than that of Byron, he could say:

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Wh