vated. We have got to live with them in
the world, for I imagine there is nobody talking about sending them to
the moon. Don't you know, and I know that the world is growing smaller
every year? Talk about neighborhood--look over this continent. Germany
is here; Ireland is here; France is here; China is here; Africa is here.
We are neighbors to everybody. We are touching elbows across the ocean
all the time. If you send anybody to Africa, why, he is only next door;
and by and by we shall have air ships that will float up over there in a
few hours! How are you going to manage this thing? We have got to live
together in this world, and nearer and nearer to one another with every
generation; and this country may just as well be the field in which to
try the experiment out as any other country on the face of the globe. I
think we are going to try it out to the end. There are symptoms of it
all around.

But the conflict is here; it is in the air. It is not a conflict by
sword. You know they tell the legend among the old mediaeval stories that
in one of the great battles on one of the plains of Europe, after the
quiet darkness of the night had settled over the scene, the field strewn
all over with the forms of the mangled and the dead, there were seen in
the shuddering midnight air to rise spirit forms maintaining the deadly
conflict there, and carrying on the battle of the day. It seems to me,
in some sense, true of us. The sword has done what the sword could do;
it can do no more. But the conflict is here in the air, pronouncing
itself with every event that drifts across our horizon. Harvard sets its
seal on the brow of Clement Morgan, and the Memphis _Avalanche_ has no
other word for him than to call him "that dusky steer with the crumpled
forelock."

My friends, we are going right forward in the field of conflict, which
is the field of victory. One with God is a majority, and we are
thousands with God. And we have on our side the weak and the helpless,
too. I don't want any better aid than that. You know that Burke in that
magnificent invective against Warren Hastings, when he rose to the very
climax of it and told the story of those atrocious tortures to which the
poor and ignorant and misguided peasants of India had been put, how they
had had their fingers tied together and mashed with hammers, and other
unmentionable things had been done to them, appealed to the parliament
and said that if they should refuse justice th