. "Now, then, we arrive at a man's stomach. Consider how
exactly, how marvelously, indeed, its situation corresponds to that of
a pair of tongs. Listen--and take careful note, I beg you. Can a man's
stomach plan a murder? No. Can it plan a theft? No. Can it plan an
incendiary fire? No. Now answer me--can a pair of tongs?" (There were
admiring shouts of "No!" and "The cases are just exact!" and "Don't he
do it splendid!") "Now, then, friends and neighbors, a stomach which
cannot plan a crime cannot be a principal in the commission of it--that
is plain, as you see. The matter is narrowed down by that much; we will
narrow it further. Can a stomach, of its own motion, assist at a crime?
The answer is no, because command is absent, the reasoning faculty is
absent, volition is absent--as in the case of the tongs. We perceive
now, do we not, that the stomach is totally irresponsible for crimes
committed, either in whole or in part, by it?" He got a rousing cheer
for response. "Then what do we arrive at as our verdict? Clearly this:
that there is no such thing in this world as a guilty stomach; that
in the body of the veriest rascal resides a pure and innocent stomach;
that, whatever it's owner may do, it at least should be sacred in our
eyes; and that while God gives us minds to think just and charitable and
honorable thoughts, it should be, and is, our privilege, as well as
our duty, not only to feed the hungry stomach that resides in a
rascal, having pity for its sorrow and its need, but to do it gladly,
gratefully, in recognition of its sturdy and loyal maintenance of
its purity and innocence in the midst of temptation and in company so
repugnant to its better feelings. I am done."

Well, you never saw such an effect! They rose--the whole house rose--an
clapped, and cheered, and praised him to the skies; and one after
another, still clapping and shouting, they crowded forward, some with
moisture in their eyes, and wrung his hands, and said such glorious
things to him that he was clear overcome with pride and happiness,
and couldn't say a word, for his voice would have broken, sure. It was
splendid to see; and everybody said he had never come up to that speech
in his life before, and never could do it again. Eloquence is a power,
there is no question of that. Even old Jacques d'Arc was carried away,
for once in his life, and shouted out:

"It's all right, Joan--give him the porridge!"

She was embarrassed, and did not seem