ty, have only felt at rare intervals the charm of
being fathers and husbands; but we other poor little men, who are less
occupied, must be one or the other.

I do not believe in the happy old bachelor; I do not believe in the
happiness of all those who, from stupidity or calculation, have withdrawn
themselves from the best of social laws. A great deal has been said on
this subject, and I do not wish to add to the voluminous documents in
this lawsuit. Acknowledge frankly all you who have heard the cry of your
new-born child and felt your heart tingle like a glass on the point of
breaking, unless you are idiots, acknowledge that you said to yourselves:
"I am in the right. Here, and here alone, lies man's part. I am entering
on a path, beaten and worn, but straight; I shall cross the weary downs,
but each step will bring me nearer the village spire. I am not wandering
through life, I am marching on, I stir with my feet the dust in which my
father has planted his. My child, on the same road, will find the traces
of my footsteps, and, perhaps, on seeing that I have not faltered, will
say: 'Let me act like my old father and not lose myself in the ploughed
land.'"

If the word holy has still a meaning, despite the uses it has been put
to, I do not see that a better use can be made of it than by placing it
beside the word family.

They speak of progress, justice, general well-being, infallible policies,
patriotism, devotion. I am for all these good things, but this bright
horizon is summed up in these three words: "Love your neighbor," and this
is precisely, in my opinion, the thing they forget to teach.

To love your neighbor is as simple as possible, but the mischief is that
you do not meet with this very natural feeling. There are people who will
show you the seed in the hollow of their hand, but even those who deal in
this precious grain are the last to show you it in leaf.

Well, my dear reader, this little plant which should spring up like the
poppies in the wheat, this plant which has never been seen growing higher
than watercress, but which should overtop the oaks, this undiscoverable
plant, I know where it grows.

It grows beside the domestic hearth, between the shovel and tongs; it is
there that it perpetuates itself, and if it still exists, it is to the
family that we owe it. I love pretty nearly all the philanthropists and
saviours of mankind; but I only believe in those who have learned to love
others by embr