as to all the plunder and oppression, that obtain
amongst us. Those new colors were consecrated (that is the word) by the
Dean of Windsor. The old colors were consecrated forty-two years ago by
the Venerable Dr. Vernon Harcourt, Archbishop of York, who was probably
a near relative of our pious Home Secretary, the fat member for Derby.
If I were a courtier, a sycophant, or an ordinary journalist, I might
spend some time in hunting up the actual relationship between these
two Harcourts; but being neither, and not caring a straw one way or the
other, I content myself, as I shall probably content my readers, with
hazarding a conjecture.

Consecrating the colors! What does that mean? First of all it implies
the alliance between the soldier and the priest, who are the two arms
of tyranny. One holds and the other strikes; one guards and the other
attacks; one overawes with terror and delusion, and the other smites
with material weapons when the spiritual restraints fail. The black and
the red armies are both retainers in the service of Privilege, and they
preach or fight exactly as they are bidden. It makes no real difference
that the soldier's orders are clear and explicit, while the priest's
are mysteriously conveyed through secret channels. They alike obey the
mandate of their employers, and take their wages for the work.

In the next place it shows the intimate relation between religion and
war. Both belong to the age of faith. When the age of reason has fairly
dawned both will be despised and finally forgotten. They are always
and everywhere founded on ignorance and stupidity, although they are
decorated with all sorts of fine names. The man of sense sees through
all these fine disguises. He knows that the most ignorant people are
the most credulous, and that the most stupid are the most pugnacious.
Educated and thoughtful men shrink alike from the dogmas of religion and
the brutalities of war.

Further, this consecration of the colors reminds us that the Christian
deity is still the lord of hosts, the god of battles. His eyes delight
to look over a purple sea of blood, and his devotees never invoke
his name so-much as when they are about to emulate his sanguinary
characteristics. The Dean of Windsor does not shock, he only gratifies,
the feelings of the orthodox world, when he blesses the flag which is to
float over scenes of carnage, and flame like a fiend's tongue over the
hell of battle, where brothers of the same