Rainbow Chasers

[This is the lecture that Mr. Brann delivered and was to continue on his lecture tour, which was cut short by his death.]

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: There are many things which I very cordially dislike; but my pet aversion is what is known as a "set" lecture—one of those stereotyped affairs that are ground out with studied inflection and practiced gesture and suggest the grinding of Old Hundred on a hurdy- gurdy; hence I shall ask permission to talk to you tonight as informally and as freely as though we were seated in friendly converse around the soda fount of a Kansas drug store; and I want you to feel as free to talk back as though we had gotten into this difficulty by accident instead of design. Ask me all the questions you want to, and if I'm unable to answer offhand I'll look the matter up later and telegraph you—at your expense. With such unbounded liberty there's really no telling whither we will drift, what subjects we may touch upon; but should I inadvertently trample upon any of your social idols or political gods, I trust that you will take no offense—will remember that we may honestly differ, that none of us are altogether infallible. Lest any of you should mistake me for an oratorical clearing-sale or elocutionary bargain- counter, expect a Demosthenic display and be disappointed, I hasten to say that I am no orator as Brutus was, but simply a plain, blunt man, like Mark Antony, who spoke right on and said what he did know, or thought he knew, which was just as satisfactory to himself. He's dead now, poor fellow! Woman in the case, of course. Shakespeare assures us that "men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love." However that may be, Antony's just as dead as though he had died for love—or become a gold-bug "Democrat." Yes, Mark Antony's gone, but we still have Mark Hanna. One threw the world away for Cleopatra's smile, the other threw Columbia's smile away for a seat in the Senate, and so it goes. Of the two Marks, I think Antony was the easiest.

. . .

But let us take a look at our text. The rainbow is a sign, I believe, that the Prohibitionists once carried the country and would have made a complete success of the cold water cure had not the Rum Demon engineered the Ark. Still it does not necessarily follow that a rainbow chaser is a fellow on the hot trail of a blind tiger. He may be one who hopes to raise the wage rate by means of a tariff wall, or expects John Bull to assist Uncle Sam in the remonetization of silver. A rainbow-chaser, in the common acceptance of the term, is a fellow who mistakes shadow for substance and wanders off the plank turnpike into bogs and briar patches. Satan appears to have been the first victim of the rainbow-chasing fad—to have bolted the Chicago convention and run for president on the reform ticket. At a very early age I began to doubt the existence of a personal devil, whereupon my parent on my father's side proceeded to argue the matter in the good old orthodox way, but failed to get more than half the hussy out of my hide. But we will not quarrel about the existence or non-existence of a party who Milton assures us slipped on a political orange peel. We know that frauds and fakes exist, that hypocrites and humbugs abound. Whether this be due to the pernicious activity of a horned monster or to evil inherent in the human heart, I will not assume to say. We may call that power the devil which is forever at war with truth, is the father of falsehood, whether it be an active personality or only a vicious principle.

. . .

Under the direction of this devil, real or abstract, the world has gone rainbow chasing and fallen deep into the Slough of Despond. Conditions have become so desperate that it were well for you and I, who are in the world and of it, to abate somewhat our partisan rancor, our sectarian bitterness, and take serious counsel together. Desperate, I say, meaning thereby not only that it becomes ever more difficult for the workman to win his modicum of bread and butter, to provide his own hemlock coffin in which to go to hades—or elsewhere; but that honor, patriotism, reverence—all things which our fathers esteemed as more precious than pure gold—have well-nigh departed, that the social heart is dead as a salt herring; that all is becoming brummagem and pinch-beck, leather and prunella; that a curse hath fallen upon the womb of the world, and it no longer produces heaven-inspired men but only some pitiful simulacra thereof, some worthless succedona for such, who strive not to do their god-given duty though the world reward them with a gibbet, but to win wages of gold and grub, to obtain idle praise by empty plausibility. They aspire to ride the topmost wave, not of a tempestuous ocean which tries the heart of oak and the hand of iron, but of some pitiful sectarian mud-puddle or political goose pond. Under the guidance of these shallow self-seekers we have abandoned the Ark of the Covenant with its Brotherhood of Man, its solemn duties and sacred responsibilities, and are striving to manage matters mundane on a basis of brute selfishness, with a conscience or a creed of following the foolish rainbow of a fatuous utilitaria and getting even deeper into the bogs.

. . .

I have frequently been called a "chronic kicker," but do not object to the epithet. There's need of good lusty kickers, those whose No. 1 tootsie-wootsies are copper- toed, for the world is lull of devilish things that deserve to die. Lest any should accuse me of the awful sin of using slang, and thereby break my heart, I hasten to say that the Bible twice employs the word "kick" in the same sense that I used it here. In fact, a goodly proportion of our so-called slang is drawn from the same high source, being vinegar to the teeth of pietistical purists, but quite good enough for God. Some complain that I should build instead of tearing down, should preserve and not destroy. The complaint is well founded if it be wrong to attack falsehood, to exterminate the industrial wolves and social rottenness, to destroy the tares sown by the devil and give dollar wheat a chance to arise and hump itself. In determining what should be preserved and what destroyed, we may honestly disagree; but I think all will concede that what is notoriously untrue should be attacked, that we should wage uncompromising war on whatsoever maketh or loveth a lie. I think all will agree that this is pre-eminently an age of artificiality—that there is little genuine left in the land but the complexion of the ladies. Even that has been called in question by certain unchivalrous old bachelors, those unfortunates whom the ladies of Boston propose to expel from politics for dereliction of duty. Somehow an old bachelor always reminds me of a rainbow; not because he looks like one in the least, but rather because he's so utterly useless for all practical purposes. He also reminds me of a rainbow-chaser, because what he is compelled to admire is beyond his reach. When hope deferred hath made him heart-sick he begins to growl at the girls—and for the same reason that a mastiff barks at the moon. You will notice that a mastiff seldom barks much at anything he can get hold of and bite.

. . .

We are solemnly assured that the world is steadily growing better; and I suppose that's so, for in days of old they crucified men head downwards for telling the truth, while now they only hammer them over the head with six-shooters and drag 'em around a Baptist college campus with a rope. All that a reformer now needs is a hard head and a rubber neck. The cheerful idiot, alias the optimist, is forever prating of the world's progress. Progress is a desirable thing only when we make it in the right direction. It may be sure and swift down a soaped plank into wild ocean depths; or it may be with painful steps and slow toward the eternal mountain tops where breaks the great white light of God, and there's no more of darkness and of death. Progress industrial, the productive power of labor multiplied by two, by ten; and with such improved weapons for waging war upon the grisly gorgon of want, nearly nine millions of the industrial army in India alone died upon their shields. Hosannahs mounting in costly churches here, the starving babe tugging at the empty breast of the dead mother there!— and we send to the famine-sufferers many bibles and hymn- books, little bacon and beans. Bibles and hymn-books are excellent things in their ways, but do not possess an absorbing interest for the man with an aching void concealed about his system. Starving people ask a Christian world for grub, and it gives them forty'leven different brands of saving grace—each warranted the only genuine —most of these elixirs of life ladled out by hired missionaries who serve God for the long green, and who are often so deplorably ignorant that they couldn't tell a religious thesis from an ichthyosaurian.

Progress in religion until there's no longer a divine message from on high, no God in Israel; only a fashionable pulpiteering to minister to languid minds, the cultivation of foolish fads and the flaunting of fine feathers— the church becoming a mere Vanity Fair or social clearing- house, a kind of esthetic forecourt to hades instead of the gate to heaven. At the opposite extreme we find blatant blackguardism by so-called evangelists, who were educated in a mule-pen and dismissed without a diploma, yet who set up as instructors of the masses in the profound mysteries of the Almighty. Men who would get shipwrecked in the poetry of Shakespeare, or lost in the philosophy of one of his fools, pretend to interpret the plans of Him who writes his thoughts in flaming words on the papyri of immensity, whose sentences are astral fire.

Progress in science until we learn that the rainbow was not built to allay the fears of the roachin family, but is old as the sun and the sea; that bourbon whisky drills the stomach full o' blow-holes and that the purest spring water is full o' bacteria and we must boil it or switch to beer; that Havana cigars give us tobacco heart, pastry is the hand-maid of dyspepsia, while even the empurpled grape is but a John the Baptist for appendicitis; that a rich thief has kleptomania and should be treated at a fashionable hospital instead of a plebian penitentiary, while even the rosebud of beauty is aswarm with bacilli, warning the sons of men to keep their distance on pain of death. If all the doctors discovered be true then life isn't half worth living—is stale, flat and unprofitable as a Republican nomination in Texas. When the poet declared that men do not die for love, the doctors had not yet learned that a cornfed kiss that cracks like a dynamite gun may be equally dangerous. I think the bolus-builders are chasing rainbows—that if I wait for death until I'm killed with kisses old Methuselah won't be a marker.

Our car of progress, of which we hear so much, has carried us from the Vates' vision of Milton and Dante to Alfred Austin's yaller doggerel—to the raucous twitterings of grown men who aspire to play Persian bulbul instead of planting post-holes, who mistake some spavined mule for Bellerophon's Mount and go chasing metrical rainbows when they should be drawing a fat bacon rind adown the shining blade of a bucksaw; from the flame sighs of Sappho, that breed mutiny in the blood, to the green- sick maunderings of atrabilarious maids who are best qualified to build soft-soap or take a fall out of the corrugated bosom of a washboard. We now have poetry, so-called, everywhere—in books and magazine innumerable, even sandwiched in between reports of camp-meetings, political pow-wows and newspaper ads. for patent liver pills. O, that the featherless jaybirds now trying to twitter in long-primer type would apply the soft pedal unto themselves, would add no more to life's dissonance and despair! Most of our modern poets are bowed down with more than Werterean woe. Their sweethearts are cruel or fate unkind; they've got cirrhosis of the liver or palpitation of the heart, and needs must spill their scalding tears over all humanity. It seems never to have occurred to the average verse architect that not a line of true poetry was ever written by mortal man; that even the song of Solomon and the odes of Anacreon are but as the jingling of sweet bells out of tone, a dissonance in the divine harmony; that you can no more write poetry than you can paint the music of childhood's laughter, or hear the dew-beaded jasmine bud breathing its sensuous perfume to the morning sun. The true poets are those whose hearts are harps of a thousand strings, ever swept by unseen hands—those whose lips are mute because the soul of man hath never learned a language. Those we call master-poets and crown with immortelles but caught and fixed some far off echo of deep calling unto deep—the lines of Byron or a Burns, a Tasso or a Tennyson are but the half-articulate cries of a soul stifling with the splendor of its own imaginings.

But we were speaking of progress when diverted by the discordant clamor of featherless crows. I am no pecterist with my face ever to the past. I realize that there has been no era without its burden of sorrow, no time without its fathomless lake of tears; that the past seems more glorious than the present because the heart casts a glamour over days that are dead. From the dust and glare of the noon of life we cast regretful glances back to the dewy morn, and as eve creeps on the shadows reach further back until they link the cradle and the grave and all is dark. I would not blot from heaven the star of hope, nor mock one earnest effort of mankind; but I would warn this world that its ideals are all wrong, that it's going forward backwards, is chasing foolish rainbows that lead to barbarism. Palaces and gold, fame and power—these by thy gods, O! Israel—mere fly-specked eidolons worthy no man's worship.

. . .

When we have adopted higher ideals; when success is no longer a synonym for vain show; when the man of millions who toils and wails for more is considered mad; when we realize that all the world's wealth cannot equal the splendor of the sunset sky 'neath which the poorest trudge, the astral fire that flames at night's high noon above the meanest hut; that only God's omnipotence can recall one wasted hour, restore the bloom of youth, or bid the loved and lost return to glad our desolate hearts with the lambent light of eyes that haunt all our waking dreams, the music of laughter that has become a wailing cry in memory's desolate halls; when we cease chasing lying rainbows in the empty realm of Make-Believe and learn for a verity that the kendal green of the workman may be more worthy of honor than the purple of the prince —why then the world will have no further need of iconoclasts to frankly rehearse its faults, and my words of censure will be transformed into paeans of praise.

     "Sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet
       And soft as their parting tear."

We have "progressed" from the manly independence and fierce patriotism of our forebears to a namby-pamby foreign policy that compels our citizens abroad to seek protection of the consuls of other countries from the spirit that made our flag respected in every land and honored on every sea, to the anserine cackle of "jingoism" whenever an American manifests a love of country or professes a national pride. What is "jingoism?" It is a word coined by enemies of this country and used by toad-eaters. It is a term which, under various titles, has been applied to every American patriot since our gran'- sires held the British lion up by the caudal appendage and beat the sawdust out of the impudent brute—since they appealed from a crack-brained king to the justice of heaven and wrote the charter of our liberties with the bayonet on the back of Cornwallis' buccaneers. Its synonym was applied to Thomas Paine, the arch-angel of the Revolution, whose pen of fire made independence imperative—who through seven long years of blood and tears fanned Liberty's flickering flames with his deathless faith that the Omnipotent arm of God would uphold the banner of the free. From the brain of that much-maligned and long-suffering man Columbia sprang full-panoplied, like Minerva from the brow of Olympian Jove. And what has been his reward? In life he was bitterly belied by the foes of freedom and the slaves of superstition; in death a mighty wave of calumny rolls above his grave. Greater men have lived and died and been forgotten, but a nobler heart ne'er beat and broke—grander soul ne'er struggled toward the light or bowed before the ever-living God. When the colonists stood debating whether to bear their present ills or fly to other they knew not of, he seized the gage of battle and flung it full and fair in Britain's haughty face. When defeat followed defeat, when the new-born nation was bankrupt and its soldiers starving in the field; when coward lips did from their color fly and men brave as Roman tribunes wept tears of grim despair, his voice rang out again and again like that of some ancient prophet of Israel cheering on the fainting legions of the Lord, and again, and again, and yet again the ragged barefoot Continentals set their breasts against the bayonet, until from the very ashes of defeat dear Liberty arose Phoenix-like, a goddess in her beauty, a titan in her strength.

The term "jingoist;" or its equivalent, was applied to Washington and Henry, to Jefferson and Jackson. It was applied to James G. Blaine, the typical American of his time—a man from beneath whose very toe-nails enough intellect might be scraped to make an hundred Clevelands or McKinleys. All were jingoes in their day and generation, because all preferred the title of sovereign to that of subject; because all believed that Columbia should be mistress of her own fate, the architect of her own fortune, instead of an appendage of England, or political orphan under a European protectorate, because all believed that she should protect her humblest citizen from wrong and outrage wheresoever he may be, though it cost every dollar of the nation's treasure and every drop of the nation's blood—and if that be jingoism then I, too, am a jingo from alpha to omega, from beginning to end.

. . .

Who are those who recalcitrate about jingoism? They are people who have never forgiven Almighty God for suffering them to be born American sovereigns instead of British subjects. They are those whose ideal man is some stupid, forked, radish "stuck o'er with titles, hung 'round with strings," and anxious to board with a wealthy American wife to avoid honest work. They are the people whose god is the dollar, their country the stock exchange, and who suspect that a foreign policy with as much backbone as a scared rabbit would knock some of the wind and water out of their bogus "securities." It is those who would sell their citizenship for a copper cent and throw in their risen Lord as lagniappe, who are forever prating of "jingoism" and pleading for peace at any price. And these unclean harpies of greed and gall have been too long permitted to dominate this government. The result is that the greatest nation known to human history—the sum and crown of things—is an object of general insult. If it be rumored that we contemplate protecting American citizens in Cuba, every European government emits a growl—there's talk of rebuking Uncle Sam's "presumption," of standing him in a corner to cool. If it be suggested that we annex an island—at the earnest request of all its inhabitants worth the hanging—there more minatory caterwauling by the European courts, while even the Mikado of Japan gets his little Ebenezer up, and the Ahkound of Swat, the Nizan of Nowhere and the grand gyasticutus of Jimple- cute intimate that they may send a yaller-legged policeman across the Pacific in a soap-box to pull the tail- feathers out of the bird o' freedom if it doesn't crawl humbly back upon its perch. If a fourth-class power insults our flag we accept a flippant apology. If our citizens are wrongfully imprisoned we wait until they are starved, shot, or perish of blank despair in dungeons so foul that a hog would die therein of a broken heart; then humbly ask permission to investigate, report that they are dead, and feel that we have discharged our duty. Why? Because this nation is dominated by the dollar—is in the hands of those who have no idea of honor unless it will yield somewhat to eat, no use for patriotism unless it can be made to pay. When we concluded to protect our citizens from Weylerian savagery, instead of sending a warship to Havana to read the riot act if need be in villainous saltpetre we had our ambassador crawling about the European courts humbly begging permission of the powers, and as we got no permission we did no protecting. When the church people elect me president of this Republic I'll have ante-mortem investigations when American citizens are held prisoners by foreign powers, and those entitled to Old Glory's protection will get it in one time and two motions if Uncle Sam has to shuck his seer-sucker and fight all Europe to a finish. I shall certainly ask no foreign prince, potentate or power for permission to protect American citizens in the western world. There'll be one plank in my platform as broad as a boulevard and as long as a turnpike, and it will be to the effect that the nation which wrongs an American citizen must either apologize with its nose in the sand or reach for its six-shooter. I'd rather see my country made a desolation forever and a day, its flag torn from the heavens, its name erased from the map of the world and its people sleeping in heroes' sepulchres, than to see it a mark for scorn, an object of contempt.

In continually crying "Peace! Peace!" Uncle Sam is chasing a rainbow that has a dynamite bomb under either end. If history be philosophy teaching by example what is the lesson we have to learn? In little more than a century we've had four wars, and only by the skin of our teeth have we escaped as many more, yet we not only refuse to judge the future by the past, but ignore the solemn admonitions of Washington and Jefferson and stand naked before our enemies. We have no merchant marine to develop these hardy sailors who once made our flag the glory of the sea. We have a little navy, commanded chiefly by political pets who couldn't sail a catboat into New York harbor without getting aground or falling overboard. We have an army, about the size of a comic opera company, officered largely by society swells who cannot even play good poker, are powerful only on dress parade. We have a few militia companies, scattered from Sunrise to Lake Chance, composed chiefly of boys and commanded by home-made colonels, who couldn't hit a flock o' barns with a howitzer loaded to scatter; who show up at state encampments attired in gaudy uniforms that would make Solomon ashamed, and armed with so-called swords that wouldn't cut hot butter or perforate a rubber boot. And that's our immediate fighting force. Uncle Sam is a Philadelphia tenderfoot flourishing a toy pistol at a Mexican fandango. When I succeed Mr. McKinley I'll weed every dude and dancing master out of the army and navy and put on guard old war dogs who can tell the song of a ten-inch shell from the boom-de-aye of a sham battle. I'll call the attention of my Hardshell Baptist Congress to Washington's advice that while avoiding overgrown military establishments, we should be careful to keep this country on a respectable defensive posture, and that if that advice is not heeded, I'll distribute the last slice of federal pie among the female Prohibitionists of Kansas. If this is to be a government of, for and by a lot of nice old ladies, I'll see to it that none of my official grannies grow a beard or wear their bronchos clothespin fashion. And I'll warrant you that were this nation ruled by sure-enough women instead of by a lot of anaemic he-peons of the money-power, Columbia would not be caught unprepared when "the spider's web woven across the cannon's throat shakes its threaded tears in the wind no more."

. . .

To the American patriot familiar with the rapid development of this country it seems that the hour must assuredly come when its lightest wish will be the world's law— when foreign potentates will pay homage to the sovereigns of a new and greater Rome; but let us not be too sanguine, for nations, like individuals, have their youth, their lusty manhood and their decay; and despite the rapid increase in men and money there are startling indications that Uncle Sam has already passed the zenith of his power.

     "First freedom, then glory, when that fails,
       Wealth, vice, corruption—barbarism at last."

Freedom we have won, and glory, yet both have failed— we have become, not the subjects of native Caesars, but the serfs of foreign Shylocks. Wealth we now have, and Oriental vice, and corruption that reaches even from the senate chamber through every stratum of society. That we are approaching barbarism may be inferred from the magnificence of the plutocrat and the poverty of the working people. The first reaps where he has not sown and gathers where he has not strewn, while if the latter protest against this grievous injustice they are branded as noisy Bryanites or lampooned as lippy Populists. To the superficial observer, a nation seems to be forging forward long after it has really begun to retrograde. There's an era of splendor, of Lucullus feasts, of Bradley- Martin balls and Seeley dinners; there's grand parade of soldiery and ships, miles of costly palaces, and wealth poured out like water in foolish pageantry; there's refinement of manners into affectation, dilettantism, epicureanism—but 'tis "the gilded halo hovering 'round decay."

The heart of that nation is dead, its soul hath departed, and no antiseptic known to science will prevent putrefaction. How is it with us? Forty thousand people own one-half of the wealth between two oceans, while 250,000 own more than 80 per cent. of all the values created by the people. What is the result? Money is omnipotent. Power is concentrated in the hands of a little coterie of plutocrats—the people are sovereigns de jure and slaves de facto. A mongrel Anglomaniaism is spreading among our wealthy, like mange in a pack o' lobo wolves. Our plutocrats have become ashamed of their country—probably because it permits them to practice a brutal predacity —and now cultivate foreign customs, ape foreign fashions, and purchase as husbands for their daughters the upper- servants of European potentates—people who earned their titles of nobility by chronic boot-licking or sacrificing their female relatives to the god of infamy. Year after year these titled paupers—these shameless parodies on God's masterpiece—paddle across the pond to barter their tawdy dishonor for boodle, to sell their shame-crested coronets to porcine-souled American parvenues, who if spawned by slaves and born in hell would disgrace their parentage and dishonor their country. Our toadies and title- worshippers now have a society called the "Order of the Crown," composed of puppies who fondly imagine that they have within their royal hides a taint of the impure blood that once coursed through the veins of corrupt and barbarous kings. Perchance these dudelets and dudines will yet discover that they are descended in a direct line from King Adam the First and are heirs to the throne of Eden. Our country is scarce half developed, yet it is already rank with decadence and smells of decay. Our literature is "yellow," our pulpit is jaundiced, our society is rotten to the core and our politics shamefully corrupt —yet people say there's no need of iconoclasts! Perhaps there isn't. The iconoclasts used hammers, while those who purify our social atmosphere and make this once again a government of, for and by the people may have to empty gatling guns and load them with carbolic acid. National decay and racial retrogression may be inferred from the fact that alleged respectable white women have been married to black men by eastern ministers who insist on solving the race problem for God and the South by giving to the typical American of the future the complexion of a new saddle and the perfume of a Republican powwow. When these ethnological experts tire of life, they should— come to Texas. When white people lose their racial pride they've nothing left that justifies the appointment of a receiver. We hear a great deal about "race prejudice," and I want to say right here that there's just enough of it in my composition to inspire an abiding faith that the white man should be, must be, will be, lord paramount of this planet. I promise you that when you elect me to the presidency, nothing that's black, yaller or tan gets an office under my administration. I shall certain not follow Mark Hanna's understudy and fill the departments at Washington with big, fat, saucy blacks, to employ white women as stenographers and white men as messenger boys. There's lots of good in the Senegambian—lots of it; but not in a thousand years will he be fit for American sovereignty. Half the white people are not fit for it, else instead of a wooden-headed hiccius doctius we'd have Billy Bryan in the presidential chair today. Whenever I look at McKinley, I think of Daniel Webster—not because Bill resembles old Dan, but because he doesn't. I like the negro in his place and his place is in the cotton patch, instead of in politics, despite the opinion of those who have studied him only through the rose-tinted lorgnette of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." I also like the Anglomaniac in his place, and that is the geographical center of old England, with John Bull's trade-mark seared with a hot iron on the western elevation of his architecture as he faces the rising sun to lace his shoes. As between the nigger and the Anglomaniac, I much prefer the former. The full-blooded nigger is a fool positive, but the Anglomaniac is an ass superlative. The first is faithful to those who feed him; the latter is a sneaking enemy to the country that has conferred upon him every benefit.

Despite the optimistic cackle anent the march of science, industrial progress, and all that sort o' thing, it appears to be the general consensus of opinion that there's something radically wrong. There's no lack of remedies— the political drug store is full of panaceas, each with the trade-mark of some peculiar school of therapeutics blown in the bottle. Strange that all these catholicons for earthly ills propose to inaugurate the millennium by improving the pecuniary condition of the people—as though the want of money in this or the other pocket were the only evil. Certainly a better distribution of wealth were desirable, but a general dissemination of God's grace were far preferable. Given that, all worthy reforms will follow; without it we will continue to chase foolish rainbows to our fall, Dives becoming more insolent, Lazarus left more and more to the care of the dogs. I do not mean that by acquiring a case of the camp-meeting jerks we will solve the riddle which the Sphinx of Time is propounding to this republic—that we will find the solution of all life's problems in the amen-corner. Not exactly. The average church is about the last place to which we need look for relief. It's too often a lying rainbow painted on the dark mist of ignorance by the devil's own artist. It promises more and performs less than a Republican candidate for Congress. I've noticed that shouting hosannahs has little tendency to make one more truthful —that when a man professes himself the chief of sinners, he may feel obligated to substantiate his statement. I've never known a man to borrow any money of the bank on the unctuosity of his amen, but I have known people who could double-discount Satan himself at dodging an honest debt, to weep real water because I declined to come into their sectarian penfold and be measured for a suit of angelic pin-feathers. There are many church people who will slander you unmercifully for dissenting from their religious dogma, then seize the first opportunity to stick you with a plugged dime or steal your dog. There are worshippers who do not consider in outward rites and specious forms religion satisfied; but these never accumulate vast fortunes. The path to heaven is too steep to be scaled by a man weighted down with seven million dollars. He may be long on hope and faith, but he's short on charity, and without charity religion is as big a fraud as McKinley's international bimetallism. Charity is a word that is awfully misunderstood. If a man's income be $5,000 a year and he gives half of it to the less fortunate, he's a pretty decent fellow, but if he reserves for himself half of a $100,000 income while people are going hungry to bed, he's simply a brute. With a world full of woe and want, what right has any professed follower of Jesus to shove $50,000 a year down his jeans? The true test of a man's charity is the sum which he reserves for himself; hence when Jno. D. Rockefeller—my good Baptist brother who's building collegiate monuments to his own memory with other people's money—reserves tens o' millions in excess of his needs and imagines himself full to the muzzle with the grace of God, he's simply chasing a rainbow that may land him in Malebolge with the dull sudden plunk of a Republican campaign promise hitting the tidal wave of prosperity. Imagine Jesus Christ with John D.'s money—loaning it at 5 per cent. a month! Why if he'd had half so much cash he'd never have been crucified. Those who clamored for his death would have run him for mayor of Jerusalem on the reform ticket and tried to work him for his last dollar.

. . .

If all who call themselves Christians were Christlike, then indeed might there be hope for humanity; but what is there to inspire belief that the church will ever win the world from a foolish quest of rainbows? What hope in Talmage, with his nightmare visions and stertorous dreams, his pilgrimings to Palestine and rummaging among the mummified cats and has-been kings of ancient Egypt for "Scriptural evidence?" What hope for a people so mentally emasculate that they can patiently listen to his jejune wind-jamming, can read and relish his irremediable tommyrot? What hope in Sam Jones and other noisy ignorami of that ilk, with their wild war on dancing and the euchre deck, the drama and decollete? Be these the strongholds of Abriman in his ceaseless war on Oromasdes? Does the Prince of Darkness, who once did fill the wondering cosmos with the clangor of celestial steel, now front the hosts of Heaven armed with a euchre-deck? Is Tara Boom-de-aye the battle-hymn and the theater hat the blazing gonfalon of him who strove with Omnipotence for universal empire? Does Lucifer expect to become lord paramount of all the gleaming worlds that hang like jewels pendant in heaven's imperial concave by persuading some miserable son of Adam to work his toes on Sunday, dance with the girls on Monday or play seven-up for the cigars? O Jonesy, Jonesy! would to heaven that thou and all thy brother blabsters and bubblyjocks would go hang yourselves, for you know naught of the war that rages ever like a sulphurous siroc in the human soul. Ye are but insects that infest great Igdrasyl, the ash tree that upholds the universe. One atheistical Stephen Girard playing Good Samaritan in a plague-swept city while the preachers hit the turnpike; one deistical Tom Paine, braving the guillotine for the rights of man; one Father Damien, freely laying down his life for the miserable lepers of Molokai; one sweet-faced sister of charity bravely battling with the reeking slums of a great city, striving to drag souls from that seething maelstrom of sin, were worth legions of those sanctified lollypops who prate of sacrificing all for their Savior, yet never risk life or gold in the service of their God.

. . .

"Work is worship," said the old monks who carried the cross into the Western wilds despite all hardships, in defiance of all dangers—men for whom life was no Momusmasque, but a battle and a march, men who sacrificed all for other's sake, accepting without a sigh disease and death as worldly reward. Those monks were real men, and real men are ever the world's heroes and its hope. The soul of a real man is never hidden behind the cowardly superficies of policy or expediency—his heart is an open book which he who runs may read. Deceive he cannot, for the lie blooms only on the lips of cowards. Public opinion he may treat with kingly contempt, but self-respect is dearer to him than life, though dowered with a monarch's scepter and all the wealth of Ormus and of Ind. There's something in the words of a woman, spoken during the civil war, which indicates that despite all artificiality and folly, beneath the cheap gilding and showy lacquer of life, the heart of the race still beats steady and strong; that above the infinitude of goose-speech and the trumpeting of tin- horns on the housetops may still be heard "the ever-pealing tones of old Eternity." From out the mad hell of the fight a wounded hero was borne to the hospital. Neither pain nor approaching death could break the courage of that heart of oak, but a prurient little preacher, one of those busy smooth-bore bigots whose mission seems to be to cast a shadow on the very sun, convinced the stricken man that he was an awful sinner, whereupon he began crying out that he was doomed to be damned. The nurse, a muscular woman who believed with the old monks that "work is worship," took the parson by the pendulous 8 x 10 ear, led him aside and sweetly said: "Mr. Goody Two-Shoes, if I catch you in this ward again I'll throw you out of the window." The brimstone peddler felt that he had an urgent "call" to other fields. He stood not upon the order of his going, but hit the dim and shadowy distance like Nancy Hanks. He couldn't even wait to pray for his persecutor or take up a collection. In vain the nurse strove to soothe her patient by telling him that the man who gave his life for his native land cannot miss heaven's mercy—he but wailed the louder that he was lost. "You came to me a hero," she cried, "and you shall not leave me a coward. If you must go to hell, go like a man." If Romans nursed by a she-wolf became demigods, what might not Americans be sprung from the loins of such a lioness! Milton has almost made Satan respectable by endowing him with an infernal heroism, by making him altogether and irremediably bad, instead of a moral mugwump—by giving him a heart for any fate instead of picturing him as willing to wound and yet afraid to strike.

. . .

By God's grace, I mean not the kind you catch at camp- meetings with sand-fleas, wood-ticks and other gifts of the Holy Ghost; but rather an end everlasting to brummagem and make-believe, a return to the Ark of the Covenant, a recognition of that fact that the soul is not the stomach —that a man owes debts to his fellows which cannot be cast up at the end of the month and discharged with a given number of dollars. Man was not made for himself alone, but all were made for each and each for all. The doctrine which now prevails of "every man for himself," is the dogma of the devil. It means universal war, shameful wrong and brutal outrage—the strong become intolerable tyrants, the weak go to the wall. It transforms this beautiful world into a basket of adders, each biting, hissing, striving to get its foolish head above its fellows. If the Christian religion contained naught else of worth, its doctrine of self-sacrifice should earn for it the respect of every Atheist in the universe. Through the fogs of ignorance and the clouds of superstition that enshrouded the Biblical ages that touch of the divine shines like a pilot star.

. . .

That Persian poet who prated of "the sorry scheme of things" would deserve pity were he not beneath contempt. He imagined that there was a screw loose in the universe because his quest of pleasure slipped its trolley-pole and could not make the bubble Joy to dance in Folly's cup.

Millions make continual moan that they are not happy when they ought to be thankful that they are not hanged. They shake their puny hands at heaven because not provided with a terrestrial Paradise, when they ought to be giving thanks that I'm not the party who holds the sea in the hollow of his hand. I'd make good Baptists of the whole caboodle—would hold them under water long enough to soak out the original sin. A man complains because Fortune doesn't empty her cornucopia into the pockets of his pantalettes while he whittles a pine box and talks municipal politics instead of humping himself behind an enterprising mule in the cotton-patch. If his sweetheart jilts him, he's in despair, and if she marries him he wishes he were dead. He has the mulligrubs because he cannot plant himself on a Congressional cushion, or because he finds his wife awake and nursing a curtain lecture to keep it warm when he falls through the front fence at 5 o'clock in the morning. It seems never to have occurred to these Werterian wailers that the happiest existence is that of the lower animals—that the human being of fine brain and keen sensibilities cannot possibly be content. It is this very unrest, this heart-hunger that drives a man on to noble deeds—that lifts him out of the gutter where wallow the dull, dumb beasts and places him among the gods. Of suffering and sorrow were born all life's beauty. The kiss of Pyramus and Thisbe is an ecstasy of pain. The hope of immortality sprang from breaking hearts. Nations rise through a mist of tears. Every great life-work is an agony. Behind every song there lurks a sigh. There's an element of sadness in humor itself. The Virgin Mother is known as Our Lady of Pain. The cult of Christ is hallowed by the blood of self-sacrifice and known as the Religion of Sorrow. The first breath of life and the last gasp are drawn in suffering; and between the cradle and the grave there lies a monster-haunted Sahara. Yet men choose the ignis-fatuus called Happiness, and mourn that they cannot cover it with a No. 6 hat. They should pray the gods to transform them into contented goats and turn them out to grass. People who cannot find happiness here begin to look for it in heaven. Eternal beatitude is another ridiculous rainbow. Nirvana is nonsense. If there be a life beyond the grave, it means continued endeavor, and there can be no endeavor unless there's dissatisfaction. The creature cannot rise superior to its creator—and the universe is the result of God's unrest. Had he been perfectly content he would not have made me.

Carlyle—not Mugwump Carlisle of Kentucky, but Thos. Carlyle of Great Britain-the lord of modern literature— says the hell most dreaded by the English is the hell of not making money. We have imported this English Gehenna, duty free, despite Mr. Dingley, and now the man who doesn't succeed in accumulating dollars is socially damned. How many of this generation can understand the remark of Agassiz that he had no time to make money?—can realize that such occupation is not the sole end of man?— that time expended in the accumulation of wealth beyond the satisfaction of simple wants is worse than wasted? It is so because from our numbered days we have stolen years that should have been devoted to soul-development, filled with the sweets of knowledge; hallowed by the perfume of love, made gracious by noble deeds—because we have blasted life's fair fruitage with the primeval eldest curse. Omar strikes one true chord when he doth sing:

   "A book of verses, underneath the bough,
   A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou
   Singing beside me in the wilderness—
   O wilderness were Paradise enow!"

. . .

Diogenes was content with a tub while Alexander sat him down by the ever-moaning sea and wept his red bandanna full of brine because he didn't know that the empire of Czar Reed yet remained unconquered. And now both Diogenes and Alexander have "gone glimmering through the dream of things that were," and little it matters to them or to us whether they fed on honey of Hymettus and wine of Falernus or ate boarding house hash off a pewter plate and guzzled Prohibition busthead out of a gourd. The cynic who housed in a tub and clothed himself with a second-hand carpet is as rich to-day as he that reveled in the spoil of Persia's conquered king and kicked the bucket while enjoying a case of katzenjammer. King and cynic, tub and palace, lantern and scepter—all have perished; and he that butchered thousands to glut his greed for what fools call glory, shines less brightly through the murky shadows of the century than he that made a nobler conquest of himself. The haughty empires one did rear have long since crumbled into dust; the wild goat browses in their deserted capitals, the lizard sleeps upon their broken thrones, and the owl hoots from their forgotten altars and ruined fanes; but the philosophy of the other lives on from age to age, to point the folly of such mad rainbow-chasing as that of him who thought to make the world his monument.

. . .

Know ye not that the poorest beggar is an earth- passenger also, that thy brother, traveling his millions of miles per day?—where, think you? Among the stars. For him as for thee does Aurora gild the morning and Apollo hang the evening sky with banners of burnished gold; for him as for thee doth Selene draw the limpid waters behind her silver car around the rolling world and Bootes lead his hunting dogs afield in their leash of celestial fire. Ten centuries hence the dust of the millionaire will have mingled with that of the mendicant, both long forgotten of men; ten centuries hence the descendants of those now peddling hot wiener-wurst may proudly wear the purple, while the posterity of present monarchs creep through life as paupers. A thousand years are but as one tick of the mighty horologe of time—and the allotted life of man but three score years and ten! And this brief period we expend, not in living, but in providing the means of life; not as creation's lords, but as slaves to our own avarice, the most pitiful passion that ever cursed mankind. If there be a God, be thou his messenger unto men; if there be no God, then have thy unfortunate fellows the more need of thee. Wait not until a man is driven to crime by the iron law of necessity, a woman to dishonor, a child to beggary, then organize some fake relief society for thine own glory, but put forth a helping hand in time to avert the sin and shame. The most pitiful failure in all God's universe is the man who succeeds only in making money. A thieving fox will grow fat by predacity while an honest dog starves in the path of duty. And we have too many sleek Reynards prowling 'round the sheep-pens and dove-cotes of this people, too few faithful Gelerts doing stubborn battle with predaceous beasts.

There's one class of people whom we cannot brand as arrant knaves and put in the pillory, yet who are a curse to any country. These are your Laodiceans in religion and politics, your luke-warms, your namby-pamby milk- and-cider set who are neither cold or hot. These are your eminently proper people, your stereotyped respectables. They accept the Gospel as true, not that they can comprehend it, but rather because they lack sufficient mental vigor to deny it. They join the church and align themselves with that political party to which the local nabobs belong. "What will people say?" is to them the all- important problem. They have followed some old bell weather or lead-gander into the wire-grass pasture of Respectabilia. They observe all the proprieties—at least in outward appearance. These are the animals whose vis inertia perpetuates all the abuses of wealth and power— whatsoever has the approval of two or more generations of infamous rascals is so eminently respectable. These are the people who are so profoundly shocked by the alleged slang of Hugo and vulgarities of Goethe, while compelling their daughters to read the Canticles. They have a conniption fit and fall in it because some shapely danseuse kicks up her rhythmic heels on the vaudeville stage, then organize Trilbys auctions, kissing bees and garter raffles for the glory of God. Their ideal is expediency and their moral law the Eleventh Commandment— Don't get caught. These are the people who stone the prophets of progress. They are to the social organism what a pound of putty would be to the stomach of a dyspeptic. They are a mill-stone slung about the neck of the giant of civilization. "What will people say?" Well, if you tell them a new truth, they will say that you are a demagogue or a blasphemer, an anarchist or a Populist; but when your new truth has been transformed by Time's great alembic into an old falsehood, they will have absorbed it—it will have become respectable—and you couldn't purge it from their soggy brain with Theodorus' Auticyrian hellebore. They said of Galileo, "Imprison him!" because he denied the old falsehood that the world is flat; of Servetus, "Burn him!" because he dissented from the ipse dixit of another heretic; of Socrates, "Poison him!" because he laughed at the too amorous gods of Greece; of Robert Emmett, "Hang him!" because he wasn't a Cleveland-Bayard Anglomaniac; and they said of Jesus Christ, "Crucify him!" because he intimated the fashionable preachers of his time were a set of splenetic-hearted hypocrites. That's what people say; but occasionally there's one to answer that 'tis not in the power of all Xerxes' hosts to bend one thought of his proud heart—"they may destroy the case of Anaxarchus, himself they cannot reach." It is not what foolish sound is shaped by a deal of stinking breath and blown adown the wind to be forgotten like the bray of an asthmatic burro, to perish like the snows of yesteryear, that should be our concern—not what the idle gabble of Mrs. Grundy proclaims us, but what we actually are. Public opinion is an ever-shifting rainbow. The "heretics" of one age are the saints of the next: the "cranks" of our own time may be the philosophers of the future; the despised rebels of a century ago are the men whose graves we bedeck with our garlands. Soon or late, those who court the many- headed monster, who "flatter its rank breath and bow to its idolatries a patient knee," are trampled beneath its iron heel; but those who take duty for guiding star and are strong enough to withstand the gibes of malice and the jeers of ignorance will find that the years are seldom unjust. It has been well said that one eternity waited for us to be born, that another waits to see what we will do now that we are here. Do what thou canst and do it with all thy might, remembering that every fice that doth bark at thee this day, every goose that stretches forth its rubber neck to express its disapproval, will be dead in hell a hundred years hence, its foolish yawp gone silent forevermore, but that thy honest act affects in greater or less degree all God's universe.

I am neither a Jeremiah with a lung full o' lamentations, nor a Jonah rushing round like a middle of the roader and proclaiming, "Yet forty days and the woods will be on fire." I do not believe that we can pick ourselves up by our own embroidered boot-straps and hop blithely astride a millennium built to order by McKinley, Bryan, or any other man; but I do believe that the human race is slowly but surely working the subsoil out of its system, is becoming ever less the beast and more the god. Nations grown corrupt with wealth and age may fall, but others strong in youth and innocence will arise. Old faiths may be forgotten, but from other and purer altars will ascend the smoke of sacrifice. Freedom may be wounded grievously in her very temple by Anglomaniacs who needs must have a royal master, yet her banner, torn but flying, will stream triumphant over the grave of tyranny. The black night of barbarous ignorance may often engulf the world, but "Thou, Eternal Providence, wilt cause the day to dawn." The Star of Bethlehem cannot go down in everlasting darkness—the bow of promise gleams softly luminous behind the thunderbolt. I care not whether the Noahian tale be true that never again will the shifting axis of the earth pour the sea upon the plain—the rainbow is nature's emblem of peace, her cestus of love, and in its splendor I read a promise that never again will this fair earth of ours be swept with sword and fire, deluged with blood and tears. Not to the past, but to the future, do I look for the Saturnian age, when the demons of need and greed will be exorcised, when love will be the universal law, the fatherhood of God the only faith. Such, my friends, is the rainbow to which I have turned my feet. It lies afar, across dismal swamps o'er whose icy summits only the condor's shadow sweeps—across arctic vast and desert isles beyond tempestuous ocean rank with dead men's bones and the rotting hulls of ships. I shall not attain it, nor shall you; but he that strives, though vanquished, still is victor. A dreamer, say you? Ah yes, but all life is but a dream, mystic, wonderful, and we know not when we sleep nor when we wake. I love to dream so when the storm beats upon the great oaks, hoary with their hundred years, and they put forth their gnarled arms and grapple with the blast, when the lightning cleaves the inky sky with forked flame and the earth rocks neath the thunder's angry roar. When the dark clouds roll muttering unto the East and the evening sun hangs every leaf and twig and blade of grass with jewels brighter than e'er gleamed in Golconda's mines; when the mock-birds renew their melody and every flower seems drunken with its own incense, I look upon the irisate glory that seems to belt the world with beauty and my heart beats high with hope that in years to be the storm-clouds that o'ershadow the souls of men will recede also—that time shall come when the human race will be one universal brotherhood, containing neither a millionaire nor a mendicant, neither a master nor a slave.

INDEX TO THE TWELVE VOLUMES OF BRANN THE ICONOCLAST

All titles of articles appear in this index in capitals—except "Salmagundi," "Editorial Etchings," "Political Pot-pourri," and a few other stock titles which were used in the ICONOCLAST as general headings for groups of untitled short articles. The more important of these untitled brief articles are indexed under the theme or subject.

The index entries appearing in small or lower case type comprise a subject index of the leading topics discussed by Brann. As the same subject may be variously phrased the student of Brann is advised to glance through the index to familiarize himself with the terminology used. Articles relating to individuals are not indexed under the proper names unless the individuals are generally known to the reading public. Articles contributed to the ICONOCLAST by others than Brann are indexed under title and name of contributor but not by theme or subject.

ADAM AND EVE, I, 226
ADDITIONAL OBSERVATIONS IX, 206
ADVERTISING ADVENTURES III, 210
AGE OF CONSENT, THE, II, 30
AGE OF POISON, THE, XI, 202
AIR-JAMMING JINGOES, THE, III, 300
Allegorical Tales, I, 32, 1. 9, 203
AMATEUR EDITOR, THE, X, 179
AMBASSADOR BAYARD, IX, 37
AMELIE'S NEW MARRIAGE, IX, 209
AMERICAN DRUMMER, THE, II, 188
AMERICAN MIDDLEMAN, THE, VII, 122
AMERICAN PRESS, THE, VII, 52
AMERICAN SOVEREIGN, THE, V, 69
Anarchy, VI, 115; IX, 254; X, 11
ANGLO-AMERICAN INFAMY, VIII, 126
Anglomaniacs (see also England),
 III 73, IV, 37, 260, V, 6, VI
 254; VII, 226, VIII, 30, 126,
 281; IX, 153
ANTHONY THE ABOMINABLE, XI, 235
ANTI-DANCING DERVISH, AN, IX, 183
ANTONIA TEIXEIRA, II, 286
A.P.A. (see also Catholicism),
 11, 111, 187, 215; III, 12, 229;
 IV, 41, 135, 264, 311; V, 242,
 299, 312, VI, 4, 159, 232, VII
 27, 87, 223, 295, VIII, 161
A.P.A. IDIOCY, THE, III, 12
APOLOGY FOR PATRIOTISM, AN, V, 201
"APOSTLE" AS POLYGAMIST, THE, III, 198
APOSTLE'S BIOGRAPHY, THE, II, 103

APOSTLE IN PERDITION, THE, IV, 97
APOSTLE vs. PAGAN, I, 37
APOSTLE'S RAG BABY THE, VI 154
ARE SECOND MARRIAGES LAWFUL? VI, 284
ARMENIAN MUDDLE, THE, III, 271
ARE WOMEN DEVOID OF DESIRE? I, 135
Army, Social Snobbery in, VII, 1
ASSIGNATS vs. INSANITY, VII, 42
Atheism (see also Faith; Immortality),
 I, 37; III, 207; IV, 53;
 V, 54; VI, 288; IX, 296, 308;
 XI, 95.
ATHEISM AND ORTHODOXY
ATHEISTS AND IGNORANCE, XI, 282
AT THE EXPO., III, 148
ATKINSON'S FINANCIAL FOLLY, III, 200
AUTHOR OF EPISCOPALIANISM, THE, X, 115
BACHELORS vs. BENEDICTS, II, 134
BAILEY AND THE DAL-GAL, VI, 52
BAPTIST BELLIGERENCY, IV, 135
BAPTIST BOYCOTT, A, III, 144
BARDWELL SLOTE OF COHOSH, THE HON., X, 155
BARONS vs. BARONS, IX, 250
BAYLOR IN BAD BUSINESS, III, 29
BAYLOR'S REJOINDER, III. 150
BEANS AND BLOOD, III, 240
BEAUTEOUS REBECCA, THE, II, 12
BEAUTY AND DEATH, VII, 205

Beauty Contest, VII, 120 VIII, 307
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, VI, 312
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, IV, 93
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, XII, 193
BEECHER AND THE BIBLE, IV, 147
Beecher, Henry Ward, IV, 147; VII, 206
BEHIND THE SCENES IN ST. LOUIS, X, 205
BEHIND THE SMOKESTACK, VI, 60
Bible Stories Revised, I, 1, 226,
 285; II, 94, 277; VI, 193; VII, 243
Bible, Criticism of, I, 285; IV,
 147; VII, 9, 115, 195; VIII, 201
BIBLICAL BEAR STORY, A, II, 277
Bicycle Craze, I, 252; III, 146;
 IV, 258, V 11, 218; VI, 161;
 VII, 79
BICYCLING AND BAWDRY, III, 146
BIGOTED ARCHBISHOP, A, X, 270
BIKE BACILLUS, THE, I, 252
BILLY HOWELL'S BAD BREAK, VIII, 299
Bishop, Julia Truitt, Articles by,
 VII, 143, 309; VIII, 93; X,
 222; XI 25, 159. 193
BISMARCK, II. 50
Blasphemy, V, 134; VI, 122
BLUE AND GRAY, XII, 143
BOLTING POPULIST BOSSES, VII 19
BONDS vs. BUNCOMBE. IV, 56
BOOZE AND BABY SHOES. V, 39
BRACE OF BELLYACHERS, A, II, 159
BRACE OF MISSOURI BEAUTS, A, V, 109
BRADLEY-MARTIN BALMASQUE, I, 81
BRANN AND BAYLOR, XII, 29
Brann, Life of, 11, 103; VII, 25;
 X, 143; XII, pages 1 to 114
BRANN IS NO MORE, XII, 74
BRANN OF THE ICONOCLAST, XII, 77
BRANN THE FOOL, XII, 106
BRANN, WILLIAM COWPER, XII, 109
BRANN'S BRAVE BATTLE, XII, 73
Brann's Death, XII, 11
Brann's Death (and events leading
 thereto; see also Teixeira Case)
Brann's Lectures, XII, pages 115 to :2013
BRANN'S REPLY TO SLATTERY, XII, 204
BRANN vs. BAYLOR, X, 77
BRANNAN vs. SEASHOLES, VI, 32
BRASS COLLAR DEMOCRAT, A, VI, 57
BRAVE AND BRAINY BRANN, XII, 76
BRAZEN HUMBUG, A, V, 275
BRER. CRANFILL'S LITTLE BLUFF, VIII, 250
BRER. JONES ABILIN, IV, 297
BRITISH vs. BOERS, IV, 119
BRO. EARLY'S BAZOO, IV, 242
BROTHERLY REBUKE, A, II, 78
BRYAN, D. D., VII, 39
BRYAN PANIC PENDING, A, VI,
BRYAN. WILLIAM JENNINGS,
 V 253, VI, 78, 85, 221, 308;
 VII, 34, 111, 238; VIII, 47, 139
BUCK NEGRO, THE, II, 15
Business, Corruption in V 234; VII 218
BUSINESS REVIVAL, THE, III, 58
BUSINESS WOMAN THE, VII, 143
BUZZARDS ON THE WING, III, 114

CALVINISTIC CALF, THE, IV, 309
CAMPBELLITE FAMA CLAMOSA, A, IX, 268
CANDIDATE FOR CASTRATION, A, IV, 307
CARNIVAL OF CRIME. A, II, 99
CARNIVAL OF CRIME, A, VI, 301
CASH vs. COIN, II, 293
CASTOR AND POLLUX, II, 125
CAT, THE, II, 201
Catholicism (see also A. P. A.), II,
 111; III, 190; V, 118, 163; VI,
 33- VII, 87, 295- VIII, 1, 181;
 IX, 1, 173; X, 8, 195, 270; XII, 204
CATHOLIC vs. PROTESTANT "CRANKS," V, 163
Canfleld, H. S., Articles by, X, 149; XI, 139
CHAPTER WRITTEN IN THE LIFE BLOOD, A, XII, 1
CHARITY, I 16
CHILDREN OF POVERTY, THE, XI, 25
CHRIST COMES TO TEXAS, I, 70
CHRISTIAN, THE, X, 222
CHRISTIAN COURIER, THE, V, 41
CHRISTIAN ENGLAND IN INDIA, I, 48
Christian Science VII, 253
Christmas, X, 274
CHRISTMAS CRIMES, IV, 34
Chrone, H. F., Articles by. XI, 266
CHURCH OF ENGLAND, THE, IX, 1
CHURCH AND STAGE, VII, 63
Church (see Religion, Catholicism, Preachers, etc.)
CIVILIZATION. IV, 184; I, 129

Civil War, The, I, 116 V, 5, 201;
 VII, 114, VIII, 159, 272, XII, 143
Cleveland. Grover. II, 3 III, 21,
 257; IV, 56, 161; V, 138; VII,
 5; VIII 232: X 5
CLEVELAND AS CATO, III, 143
COINING BLOOD INTO BOODLE
COLCHIAN DAYS, II, 308
Colonel, The (Pseudonym) Articles
 by, X, 105- XI, 223, 240
COMMISSION CRAZE, THE, IV, 137
COMMON COURTESAN, THE, IV, 5
CONCERNING HELL, III, 196
Connolly. M. W., Articles by, VII,
 132, 283- VIII, 84- X, 185; XI,
 69, 272, 297
Consent, age of, XI, 90
CONSTRUCTION vs. DESTRUCTION, VIII, 1
CONVICTION OF DURRANT, THE, III, 295
CORBETT-FITZSIMMONS AFFAIR, III. 52
CORBETT-FITZSIMMONS FIGHT, THE, III. 161
CORONATION OF THE CZAR, I, 118
CORRESPONDENT'S CURIOSITY, A, V, 46
COSTLY KISS, A, IV, 217
"COUNTESS" CASTELLANE, THE, IV, 1
COURAGE OF WOMENKIND, THE, VIII, 170
COURTESIES AND CORRUPTION, II. 260
Courts, Criticism of, XI, 99; III,
 34, 295- V, 316- IX, 27; X, 257
COUPLE OF HIGH-TONED KIDS, A, IX, 128
COUPLE OF UNCLEAN COYOTES, A, X, 257
CREDIT AND PRICES, IX, 237
Crime, Suppression of, II 99, 113;
 VI, 301; X, 31
CRUSADE OF CALUMNY, A, VI, 78
Cuban Question, VII, 232
CUBAN STRUGGLE, THE, IV, 203
CUCKOO CONFERENCE, THE, II, 247
CUCKOOS AND COME-OUTERS, VIII, 84
CUPID vs. CHRIST, XI, 174
Currency (see also Free Silver)
 II, 3, 59, 85, 109, 162 176, 243
 247; III, 58, 114, 149 200; IV,
 56, 161; V, 187, 261; VI, 154,
 168 V 11, 42, VIII, 5. IX, 10.-,.
 237, X, 1; XI, 133 137, XII, 249
CURRENCY AND COMMON SENSE, II, 162
CURRENCY AND COMMON SENSE, II, 243
CURRENCY AND COMMON SENSE, XI, 146

CURRENCY CRAZE, THE, V 261 CURRENT COMMENT, V, 124 CURSE OF KISSING THE, III, 68 CYCLONES AND SANCTIFICATION, V, 148

Damien, Father, II, 76; III, 158
DAMNABLE DECISION, A, II, 273
Dancing, III. 1 IX, 183; XI, 52
DANIEL WEBSTER'S PREDICTION, IV, 198
DAVIS FOLLOWS BRANN, XII, 13
DAVID AND BATH-SHEBA, VI, 193
DEADLY PARALLEL. THE, V, 4
DEAN HART OF DENVER, IX, 144
DEATH OF BRANN, THE, IX, 94
DEATH OF W. C. BRANN, XII, 64
DEATH OF DOUGLASS. II. 118
DEFENDER-VALKYRIE FIASCO, THE. III, 185
DEITY IN DANGER, THE, V, 134
DEMOCRACY DISINTEGRATING, III, 63
DEMOCRATIC DEFEAT, THE, III, 257
Depew, Chauncey, VIII, 222
DESTRUCTIVE RUM DEMON, THE III, 186
Devil, The II, 74; V, 43
DISGRACE TO CIVILIZATION, A, V II, 140
Divorce. III. 250; VII, 140
DIXIE'S DALIA-LAMA, V, 138
DOGMATISM, THE MOTHER OF DOUBT, I, 163
DOLCE FAR NIENTE AND DOLLARS, X, 1
DOWN IN DIXIE. IX, 166
Dress (see Nudity)
DRUMMER'S NUMBER, II, 168
DUTCH, DEITY, AND THE DEVIL, V, 256

ECONOMIC IDEA ORPHANED, AN, VIII, 286
ECONOMICS (see Poverty; Finance;
 Free Silver; Single Tax, etc.)
EDITOR'S ERROR, AN, II, 85
Education, I. 234; III. 202, 275;
 IV, 47, 310: VI, 140; IX, 153
EGYPT vs. ARKANSAS, VI, 188
England (see also Anglomaniacs)
 I, 48; III, 73, 185, 300, 303,
 IV, 119, 133, 1$15, 220; V, 95,
 142, 209; VI, 12, 123, 254; VIII
 30, 126, 200, 228, 273, 281; IX
 1, 101; X, 10, 12, 200; X, 114
ENGLISH WOMAN'S IDEA, AN, V 6
ENGLISH AS SHE IS SPOKE, III, 275
EPICTETUS AND REBECCA, IV, 3
Episcopal Church, IV, 223; VII,
 112; VII, 30; IX, 1, 65, 144;
 X, 115, 298

EPISCOPALIAN MISTAKE, AN, X, 238
EUGENE FIELD, 11, 242
Eunuch, The (see Philip and the Eunuch)
EVIDENCES OF MAN'S IMMORTALITY I, 257
EVOLUTION OR REVOLUTION, I, 58
Faith (see also Atheism; Immortality),
 I, 104, 257; IL 1; V, 148
FAITH AND FOLLY, II, 1
Faith Healing, III, 268, VI, 9 186; IX, 50
FAKE JOURNALISM, III, 105
FARMING AS A PROFESSION, V, 76
FATHER BRANNANS'S NEW DEPARTURE III, 190
FATHER BRANNAN vs. WILLIAMSON, VII, 295
FATHER DAMIEN'S SUCCESSOR III, 158
FAVORITE FALSEHOODS, II, 181
FAVORITE FALSEHOODS, VII, 35
Feminism (see The New Woman;
 Woman's Suffrage)
Finance (see Currency; Free Silver)
FINANCIAL FETICH, A, II, 3
FINGAL'S DOG, II, 220
FISTIC PHOBIA FOLLY, THE, IV, 155
FOOLS AND REFORM, II, 176
FOOLS AND REFORM XI, 110
FOOTLIGHT FAVORITES X, 282
"FOR WOMAN'S EYE," VIII, 98
Foreign Missions, II, 77; III, 107
 271, IV, 242, V, 29, 225, VI
 112, 170: VII. 26
FOREIGN MISSION FAKE, V, 29
France, XI, 91
FRANK CONFESSION, A, V, 95
FRANK CONFESSION, A IX 258
FREE COINAGE OF INTERVIEWS, VI, 48
Free Silver (see also Currency)
 II, 58, 247, 293, IV. 247, V
 106, 228, 253, 261, 275; VI 43,
 60, 202, 227, 247 260; VII, 138;
 VIII, 141, IX, 278; X, 101
FREEDOM OF SPEECH, AS TO, VI, 232
FRIED IN HIS OWN FAT, V, 192
FRIEND OF THE FAMILY, A, IX,
FROM THE GODS TO THE GUTTER, VIII, 102

Gall, Brann's Lecture on, XII, 115
GAMBLERS INSULT ALMIGHTY GOD, VIII, 265
GARDEN OF THE GODS, THE, I, 184
GARTERS AND AMEN GROANS, I, 173
George, Henry (see Single Tax)
GEORGIE CLARK'S COMPOSITION, VI. 95
Germany, VIII, 192
GILLY WHO GABS, THE, IV, 33
GINX'S BABY, X, 288
Girard Stephen, VIII, 254
GLORY OF THE NEW GARTER, X, 241
GODEY'S MAGAZINE FOR MOKES, IX, 149
GOING FORWARD BACKWARDS, IX, 224
GOLD BRICK GAME, THE XI, 220
GOLD, SILVER, AND GAB, IV, 247
GOLDEN BOOK, A, XI, 12
GONE MATHEMATICALLY MAD, IV, 40
GOO-GOOS AND TAMMANY TIGER, THE, X, 149
 137 V 11, 177; XI, 110
Government Ownership, VIII, 208; IX, 85
GOVERNMENTAL EDUCATION, IV, 310
GOVERNMENTAL FIRE INSURANCE, IX, 301
GRAMMAR SHARP, THE, III, 98
Grant, U S.. VIII, 244
GREAT "REFORM" JOURNAL, A, V, 140
GRECIAN GAMES, THE, V, 56
Greece, VIII, 188
GREENWALL GRAFT THE IV, 129
GROVER'S NEW GIRL, III, 21
GYPSY GENIUS, A, X, 117

HANG THE LIBELERS, III, 199
Hanna, Mark, VI, 162, 279
Harrison, Benjamin, IV, 75
HAS THE SALOONIST A SOUL? IV, 287
Hawaii, Annexation of, IX, 52
Heaven, II, 83, 22 IX, 67
HEAVEN AND HELL, III, 65
Hell, IV 97, IX, 76
HELLAS AND THE IMPS OF HADES, VIII, 188
HENRY GEORGE HOODOO, THE, IX, 133
HER BEAUTIFUL EYES, II, 222
HEROES OF HISTORY, THE, II, 123
High Society I, 81, 118 231, 11
 51 116; III, 142, 174; IV, 11
 93, 130, 167 201, 269, 272; V
 38 109, 132, 145, 183, 192, 195
 291; VI 2 111; VII 174 228,
 239, 251, 252 VIII, 51, 167, 225,
 277; IX, 128, 186, 264, 291, X
 21, 145; XI, 7, 187, 189
Hogg, Governor II, 43
HOLY BIBLE, THE, VII, 9
HOMILY ON HELL, A, IX 76
HONESTY vs LAW, II. 130
HORP vs HARVEY, III, 55
HOWELL'S NEW HORROR, V, 159
Hubbard-Kernan, Will, Article by, XI, 235
Hubbard, Elbelt, Article on Brann XII, 106
HUMBUGS AND HUMBUGGERY, XII 151
HUMOROUS STORIES AND ARTICLES,
 I, 43 II, 12, 105, 181,
 201 III, 45; VI, 242; VII, 35
 to 42
HUNTING FOR A HUSBAND, V, 3
Huston, Ethelyn Leslie, Articles by,
 VIII. 102: X, 133, 163, 282; XI
 44, 174, 306
HYPNOTIC POWER OF HER, I, 146

ICONOCLAST'S BEAUTY CONTEST, VII, 120
ICONOCLAST AND THE CLERGY, THE, V, 278
ICONOCLAST TOLD TO LEAVE TOWN, THE, IX, 199
IF OUR COUNTRY WERE CATHOLIC? V, 118
Immortality! (see also Faith), I
 56, 257; II, 69; III, 196
Income Tax, II, 147, 273
INCOME TAX DECISION, II, 147
India, I, 48
INFERNAL FRAUD, AN, IV, 239
infidelity (see Atheism)
Ingalls, John J., VIII 156, 240
INGERSOLL, ROBERT GREEN
 I, 37: II, 88, 174; IV, 53 222,
 275; V, 1, 18, 133, 136; VI 288;
 IX, 54
INGERSOLL'S COWARDICE, COLONEL, V, 136
INGERSOLL'S TEXAS ITINERARY, IV, 275
Initiative and Referendum, VIII, 62
INSULT TO OMNIPOTENCE, AN, VII, 271
Insurance (see Life Insurance)
INSURANCE AND SUCKERS, IX, 85
Ireland, II, 206; VI, 33
IS BRYAN A BOODLER? VI, 85
IS CIVILIZATION A SHAM? IV, 184
IS GOD AN INDIAN? V, 21
IS IT A CRIME TO BE RICH? VII, 125
IS IT A FAKE? III, 113
IS SUICIDE A SIN? V, 24
ISLAND CITY ANGEL, AN, V, 234
ISLE OF CHANEPH, THE, VI, 107
ISRAEL AS IT IS, II, 224
ITALIAN HERO, AN, VIII, 168
IT'S GONE AGLIMMERING, VIII, 274

Jackass Department, VII, 32; IX, 113
Jefferson, Thomas, IV, 303
JEFFERSONIAN DEMOCRACY, IV, 303
JEKYLL ISLAND JACK RABBITS, THE, XI, 240
JESUS AND JUDAISM. IX, 962
JEW-BAITER ABROAD, THE, IV, 21
Jews, The, II. 224; IV, 210; IV
 264, IX, 188, 260
JINGOES AND JABBERWOCKS, VII, 70
JINGOES AND JOHN BULL, III, 73
Jingoism (see Preparedness)
JOHN BULL'S BIG BLOW-OUT, VIII, 281
JOHN BULL'S BLUFF IV, 133
JOHN BULL'S CHEAP BLUSTER, IV, 195
JOHN BULL'S CHRONIC BELLY-ACHE, XI, 114
JONAH'S GOURD, II, 94
Jones, Sam, II, 174; X, 278
Journalism (Criticism of) I, 231
 250; 11, 39, 1.,9; 111, 21, 56
 105, 132 210; IV, 214, 255, V
 16 62, 109; VI, 48, 165; VII
 52 118, 190 315 VIII, 75, 143
 156, 235; IX, 101; X, 179; XI,
 40, 95, 96
 "JOYS OF THE JAG," VI, 305
JUDGE LYNCH AND THE LAW
Junius (Pseudonym), Articles by
 X, 155; XI, 210
JUNIUS LETTERS THE II, 218
JURY SYSTEM, THE, III, 34

Kaiser, The, VII, 227
KANSAS CITY ARISTOCRAT, A, X, 21
KANSAS CURIOSITY, A, V, 100
Kansas, the Home of Cranks, VIII, 145
KANSAS TRINITY, V, 239
KENTUCKY'S DEGENERACY, XI, 37
KILLING OF CANOVAS IX, 254
"KING CHARLES, THE MARTYR," VIII, 47
 22, 184, XI, 164
"KREUTZER SONATA," THE, II, 211
Kyut, Iseult, Article by, X, 205

Labor (see also Poverty; Revolution
 Threatened), I, 58 VI, 220
 VIII, 181; IX, 118, 303; X, 18
 247; XI, 92
Labor, political coercion of, VI, 60
 VII, 109, 185
Labor Unions VII 945
Ladies, Brann's lecture to, XII, 193
LADONIA'S AMAZONIAN GUARD,
LADY AND THE TIGER, THE, XI, 306
LADY AS LORD, THE, III, 195
LAIR OF THE MINOTAUR, IN THE, XI, 255
LAST LESSON, THE, XII, 85
LAST OF OUR LIBERTIES, THE, IX, 304
LATE TRAGEDY, THE, XII, 41
LATEST TRAGEDY, THE, XII, 26
LAW OF LOVED, THE, XI, 58
Lawyers (see Courts)
LECTURE TO YOUNG LADIES, A, VII. 103
LEGISLATIVE INSANITY, XI, 261
LEGISLATIVE LIMNINGS, VII, 300
LES ENFANTS TERRIBLES, VI, 260
Leslie, Maud M., Article by, XI, 129
LIFE AND DEATH I, 179
Life Insurance, VIII, 208; IX, 85; X, 264
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS, II, 69
LIFE INSURANCE INIQUITY, THE, VIII, 208
Literary Criticisms, I, 107, 149; II,
 28, 211, 218, 222, 239, 242; III,
 98 180; IV 139 210: V, 13,
 20: VI, 266; VII, 254; VIII,
 158, 207, 224, 299; IX, 173; X,
 28; XI, 1
LITERARY LEPER, A, II, 313
LITERARY RARA AVIS, A, II, 239
LIVE JACKASS, A, vs. DEAD
LION OPTION AND INFAMY, IV 25
LOCAL OPTION LUNACY, THE, XII, 225
LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEER, THE, II, 141
Lone Star, The, XII, 246
LONG FELT WANT, A, IV, 213
LOOKING BACKWARD, I, 129
LOST TRIAD, THE, VI, 288
Love (see also Sex), I, 32, 101,
 135, 146, 157; II, 37, 307; III,
 68, 254; IV, 3, 209, 217; V, 36;
 VIII, 196; X, 249
LOVE AS AN INTOXICANT? X, 249
LOVE LETTERS, V, 36
LUNATIC AT LARGE, A, V, 106
Luther, Martin, IX. 173
Lying (see Truth)
Lynch Law (see Negro Problem)
MACHIAVELLI, X, 168
MAID'S MISTAKE, A, II, 105
MAJOR MOSE HARRIS, VII, 38
MANIMON'S HIGH MUCK-A-MUCK, V, 93
MAN IN THE IRON MASK, THE, VIII, 244
MAN IN THE MOON, THE, III, 121
MANKIND'S MOCK MODESTY, IV, 84
MAN'S GUST FOR GORE, X, 31
MAN'S IMMORTALITY, I, 56
MARLBOROUGH-VANDERBILT MARRIAGE, III, 174
Marriage (see also Love; Divorce;
 Sex), II, 134; III, 198; VI, 284;
 X, 270
MARRIAGE AND MISERY, III, 250
MARRIAGE AND MISERY, X, 133
MARTYR TO FREE SPEECH, A, XII, 78
MAYBRICK MOVEMENT, THE, V, 142
MAYOR CAMPBELL'S MENDACITY, VI, 247
M'COON-LOGAN CONTROVERSY, THE VIII, 277
McKINLEY AID SOCIETY, THE, VI, 177
McKINLEY AND THE APES, V, 312
McKinley, William, IV, 279; V
 102, 211, 270, 312; VI, 78
MEANEST MAN IN AMERICA, THE, VIII, 254
MEMORIAL TO W. C. BRANN, A, XII, 61
MESSAGE TO MARY, A. IV, 151
MEXICAN ANNEXATION, III, 297
Mexico, II, 41; III, 297
Middleman, The, VII, 122
MIDDLE-OF-THE-MUCKERS, IX, 178
"MINISTERIAL SPORTS," IV, 89
Ministers (see Preachers)
Missions (see Foreign Missions)
MONDE AND DEMI-MONDE, X, 163
MODERN MICAWBER, A, IX, 173
MODERN SIMON MAGUS, A, VI, 186
MODERN SPHINX, THE, VII, 157
MODERN THAUMATURGIS, A, VIII, 55
MODERN HE-MAIDEN, A, V, 316
Modesty (see Nudity; Love; Sexual Morality)
Monroe Doctrine, I, 23; II, 137
 III, 236, 303 IX, 45
MONROE DOCTRINE, THE, II, 137
MORAL STATUS OF TEXAS, V, 91
MORALITY vs. RELIGION, III, 290
MORMONS OF MEXICO, THE, IV, 15
Morris, John A., Articles by, X,
 241; XI, 202, 261
MOUTH OF HELL, THE, VI, 244

NATIONAL POEM, A, II, 28
NATIONAL POEM, A III, 180
Negro Problem, II, 15, 118, III,
 240; IV, 307; V, 3; VI, 55;
 VII, 5, 113, 180, 182 216 305;
 IX, 27, 38, 149, 164 209 298,
 X, 13, 279; XI, 54
NELL GWYN, XI, 98
NEW MESSIAH, THE. III, 268
NEW POET LAUREATE, THE, IV, 139
NEW SASSIETY SHEET A, V, 38
NEW SOUTH, THE, I, 161
NEW WOMAN, THE, III, 134
New Woman The, I, 252; III, 195
 V, 62, 100, 206; VI, 20; VII, 84;
 VIII, 136
NEW YORK'S NIGHT LIFE XI, 152
NEW YORK SAWCIETY SHEET, A, VIII, 167
Nobility (see Royalty; High Society)
NO CROSS-EYED CLERGYMEN, II, 186
NO LIMIT TO "LALLYGAGGING," III, 254
NUDE ART AT CHICAGO, I, 201
Nudity, 1, 201; IV, 84; VII, 103; IX, 48

OBSCENE CONVERSATION, VII, 60
OBSCENE RELIGIOUS RITES, VII, 195
Obscenity, I, 173; II, 78, 87, 215,
 313; IV, 255; VI, 234; VII, 60;
 VII. 195
OBSEQUIES, THE, XII, 19
OLD GLORY, XII, 239
OLD MAID'S AUCTION, AN, V, 286
OLGA NETHERSOLE'S OSCULATION, IV, 117
OPTIMISM vs. PESSIMISM, I, 221
Oratory, VIII, 245
ORDER OF THE CROWN, THE, XI, 7
OTHER STATEMENTS, XII, 6
OUR AMERICAN CZARS, V, 170
OUR CODFISH ARISTOCRACY, IV, 272
OUR FRIEND THE ENEMY, VIII, 316
OUR H. Y. C. GOVERNOR, III, 265

OUR HEROIC YOUNG CHRISTIAN GOV., VI, 215 OUR JACKASS DEPARTMENT, IX, 113 OUR PLASTER-OF-PARIS NAPOLEON, V, 211 OUR PUBLIC PANDERS, IV, 255 OUR "SISTER REPUBLIC," II, 41 OVERDOING REFORMATION, III, 140

PADEREWSKI'S PULL, IV, 130
PAGET-THOMAS CONTROVERSY, V, 54
PAINE AND THE AMERICAN PEOPLE, IX, 308
PAINS OF ORATORICAL PARTURITION, VIII, 240
PANACEAS FOR POVERTY, IV, 68
PANIC AND ITS LESSONS THE, XI, 159
PANTHERVILLE PATRIOT, A, III, 229
PARVENUE IN "PAREE," A, III, 142
PASSING OF WILLIAM COWPER BRANN, THE, XII, 43
PASSING OF HOGG, THE, II, 43
PASSING OF PARNELL, II, 206
PASSING OF PINKIE, THE, IV, 214
PASSING OF PROTESTANTISM, THE VIII, 181
PASSING OF THE REPUBLIC, THE, VII, 95
PASSING OF THE STUFFED PROPHET, VIII, 20
PAT DONAN'S PROGNOSTICATIONS VI 43
PEN PICTURE OF BRANN, A, XII, 68
Pension System, III, 39, IV, 239; XI, 134
"PERFUMES OF PASSION, THE," VIII, 175
PERFUNCTORY PRAYER, II, 30
PETTICOAT AS A PALLADIUM, THE, XI, 129
PHILADELPHIA'S FEMALE FOOLS, XI, 199
PHILIP AND THE EUNUCH, VII, 45
PICTORIAL PAIN-KILLER, X, 28
PILGRIMAGE TO PERDITION, A, I, 91
PILLS AND POLITICS, X, 200
PLAGUE OF POETS, A, VI, 266
PLATONIC FRIENDSHIP FAKE, THE, I, 101
PLEA FOR PATRICIATE, A, IX, 154
POET PRIEST, THE, XI, 193
Poetry, 1, 104, III, 223; VI, 266;
Political Corruption, II, 260; VII,
 95, 225, 300; VIII, 5
POLITICAL HIPPODROME, A, IV, 191
POLITICAL OLLA-PODRIDA, A, V, 113
POLITICAL PARTIES, III, 63
 112; IV, 299; V, 69, 88; VIII
 62, 81, 199, 204, 304; IX, 157
 178, 250
POLITICAL POINTERS, VI, 29
POLITICIANS AND PENSIONERS, III, 39
Polities (see Texas Politics, Poverty; Currency; etc.)
POLITICS IN THE PULPIT, VI, 174
Polygamy, IV, 15
POOR OLD TEXAS, I, 207
POOR OLD TEXAS, VI, 205
POSTAL INEPTITUDE, III, 192
POTIPHAR'S WIFE, I, 1
Poverty (and Wealth), I, 58, 81
 91; II, 51; IV, 68, 198; V, 93
 170; VI, 23, 144, 218, 277; VII,
 125, 157, 245; VIII, 65, 105,
 134, 310; IX, 118, 224; XI, 163;
 XII, 249
POWER OF PRAYER, THE, VII, 211
Prayer, II, 30; IV, 305; VII, 211,
PRAYERS FOR THE PAGAN, IV, 63
Preachers, I, 197; II, 156; III,
 101, 117, 261, 290; IV, 43, 89
 219, 222, 297, 314; V, 232, 278;
 VI, 1, 120, 174; VII, 14; VIII,
 98 152, 154, 254; IX, 95, 111,
 114, 144, 268, 295, XI, 169
PREACHER IN POLITICS, III, 117
PREACHERS AND FREE PASSES, IV, 219
PRECIOUS PAIR, A., IV, 314
Preparedness, Military, I, 23; II,
 137; III, 303; IV, 226; V 237;
 VII, 70 IX, 45, 283; X 228,
 XI, 215
Press (see Journalism)
PRICE'S PREDICAMENT, II, 215
Private Vengeance, XII, 100
Prize Fighting, II, 281; III, 52,
 113, 161, IV, 155; V, 199, VIII,
 49, 156 194; X, 15
PRIZE IDIOT OF THE EARTH, IX, 278
PROFESSIONAL FAILURES, V, 76
PROFESSIONAL REFORMER, THE I, 270
Prohibition, II, 254; III, 186; IV,
 21, 233, 281, 287; V, 8, 39, 41,
 130; VI, 17, 305; VII, 242,
 VIII, 137, 148, 162, 203; IX,
 194; X, 277; XI, 127; XII, 225
PROHIBITION PLAGUE THE, II, 254
Prostitution (see also Sexual Morality),
 I, 187; III, 101; IV, 5,
 89, 270
PROTECTION vs. FREE TRADE, IV, 229
Protestantism (see Catholicism)
PRURIENT TEXAS PREACHER, A, IX, 111
PUBLIC PEDAGOGUE, THE, I, 234
PUBLIC SCHOOL FARCE, THE, III, 202
PUFFERY OF THE PRESS, I, 250
PUGILISM AND HYPOCRISY, II, 281
PURELY POLITICAL, III, 235
"QUO VADIS," XI, 1

Race Problem (see Negro Problem)
RAINBOW CHASERS, XII, 276
Rape (see Negro Problem)
RAPE FIEND REMEDY, THE, IX, 38
RECIPROCITY IN PRAYER, IV, 305
RECIPROCITY IN SUGAR PLUMS, VII, 190
RECTOR PAGE'S PROTEST, IV, 223
Reed, Tom, V, 314
Reedy, Wm. Marion, Articles by
 VII, 205; X, 117, 168, 288, 302;
 XI, 12, 58, 80, 98, 118; XII, 94
Reformers, I, 270 III, 140; VII,
 157; IX, 224, XI, 110
REIGN OF THE RED NECKS, THE, XI, 250
RELIGION A DISEASE, IV, 36
Religion and Science, I, 129, 163, 171
RELIGIOUS BOYCOTT, A, III, 298
 Religious (or Church) Criticism,
 I, 16, 70, 125, 163, 171, 285; II,
 1, 22; III, 65, 290, 294; IV, 36;
 V, 21 148; VII, 63; VIII, 20,
 181, IX, 1, 67, 76; X, 253, XI,
 180, 282, 310
Religious Intolerance vs. Religious
 Freedom, II, 30, 149, 264, III,
 61, 111, 144, 298; V, 256; VI,
 27, 229; VII, 235, 271; VIII,
 52, 150; IX, 57, 63
Religious Press, II, 78, 112; IV,
 79, 182 VII, 30, VIII, 250
REMARKABLE PUBLIC EDUCATOR, A, VI, 140
REPUBLIC IN DANGER, THE, II, 233
REPUBLIC IN PERIL, THE, IX, 45
REPUBLIC'S TEXAS ITINERARY, THE, III, 182
REQUIESCAT IN PACE, I, 118
REST—REST IN PEACE, XII, 56
RESTRICTED IMMIGRATION, XI, 118
RETORT COURTEOUS, THE, X, 72
REVOLT OF HEN-PECKED HUSBANDS, V, 206
Revolution Threatened, I, 23, 58;
 91; IV, 68; V, 170; VI, 144;
 VII, 157; IX, 118, 303
Rich, The (see High Society; Poverty and Wealth)
RIDDLE STILL UNRAVELING, DR., IV, 222
RIDDLE UNRAVELING, THE, IV, 43
RIGHT ROYAL ROAST, A, X, 38
ROASTING THE SHEMALE RANTIPOLERS, VII, 49
ROGER LAWSON'S BOMBSHELL, IV, 211
Rockefeller, John D., XI, 172
Royalty (see also High Society
 Anglomaniacs), I, 118; VII, 49;
 VIII, 277, 281
Rudyard Kipling, Maker of Writings XI 139

SACRED LEG SHOW, A, V, 34
SACRIFICE FOR COUNTRY'S SAKE, A, IV, 39
SALVATION ARMY NUISANCE THE, V, 45
SALVATION NO LONGER FREE, III, 294
SANCTIFICATION AND THE SWORD, II, 149
SANCTIFIED SHARK, A, V, 232
"SASSIETY" IN NEW YORK CITY, VI, 211
SATAN LOOSED FOR A SEASON, V, 43
SAVIOURS OF TEXAS, THE, II, 310
SAW-MILL CHECK SYSTEM, THE, X, 247
SCIENCE OF KISSING, THE, I, 157
Schools (see Education)
SCHOOLS OF JOURNALISM, III, 194
SECOND EPISTLE OF THE "APOSTLE," IV, 182
Second Wife The, XI, 266
SEMPER VIVAT IN MEMORIAM, XII, 70
SENATOR'S WOES, A, II, 39
SEVEN VIALS OF WRATH, THE, I, 23
SEVENTH COMMANDMENT, THE, I, 209
Sexual Morality (see also Prostitution),
 I, 1, 135, 173, 209, 271,
 274; II, 90, 170; III, 1, 146,
 279, IV, 5; V, 34, 66; VII, 149
 VIII, 20, 196; IX, 218, 246
SEXUAL PURITY AND GUN-POWDER, V, 66
SEXUAL SINS OF AMERICAN SOCIETY, VII, 149
SHEOL TO PAY AT PARIS, VI, 229
SHERMAN AND CLEVELAND, IV, 161
Short Stories (see also Allegorical
 Tales; Humorous Stories), II
 125, 69, 141
SHOULD "BOB" BE HANGED? V, 1
SIGNS OF THE TIMES, THE, IX, 118
SIMPLE STATEMENT OF FACTS, XII, 82
Single Tax, III, 78; VIII, 68, 105
 286 IX, 133; X, 38: 230
SINGLE TAX, THE, VIII, 105
SINGLE-TAXERS, THE, III, 78
SISTER'S SHAME, A, III, 101
SIX-SHOOTER, THE, IV, 51
SLANDERING THE SOUTH, VII, 5
SLATTERY AND HIS DUPES, II, 187
Slattery, Brann's Reply to, XII, 204
SLAVE OR SOVEREIGN, XII, 249
SLIPPERY BILL McKINLEY, V, 270
SMASHING THE IDOL-SMASHER, VII, 315
SOCIAL SWIM, THE, IV, 167
SOCIETY'S FEMALE CARD SHARPS, XI, 182
SOLDIERS OF PEACE, THE, IV, 315
SOME CHEERFUL LIARS, VII, 277
SOME ECONOMIC IDIOCY, X, 236
SOME EDUCATIONAL IGNORANCE, IV, 47
SOME ENGLISH POETS, XI, 80
SOME GOLD-BUG GUFF, X, 101
SOME KANSAS CITY CULTURE, XI, 187
SOME MILLIONAIRE MENDICANTS, VI, 277
SOME MISTAKES ABOUT MONEY, IX, 105
South, The, I, 161, III, 315, V
 127; VII, 5; IX, 166
SPEAKING FOR MYSELF, X, 183
SPEAKING OF BRANN, XII, 62
SPEAKING OF GALL, XII, 115
SPEARING OF NIGGER BABIES, VI, 1
SPEAKING OF PEDIGREES, III, 188
SPEAKING OF SPIRITUALISM, X, 96
SPEARING OF TEXAS, IV, 143
SPECIMEN APE, A, IV, 135
Spiritualism, X, 96
Stage, the, IV, 117, 129, VII, 63
STAGE AND STAGE DEGENERATES, THE, X, 214
Stock Exchange, The, VIII, 265
STORY OF THE OUTRAGED BROWN, XI, 223
STORY OF THE SEA, A, I, 32
Suicide, V, 24
SUNDAY IN NEW YORK, III, 61
SUNDAY IN WACO, III, 111
SUNDAY JOURNALISM. III, 56
Sunday Laws (see Religious Intolerance
 vs. Religions Freedom)
Swindle, Gold Brick, IV, 64
SWORD AND THE CROSS, THE, X, 253

Talmage I, 187; II, 83; IV, 140;
 V, 93; IX, 67
TALMAGE'S INDIGESTION IX, 67
TALMAGE THE TURGID, I, 197
TALMAGE'S WAR TALK, IV, 140
Tammany Hall, IV, 1
Tariff, IV, 229
Taxation (see also Single Tax), X, 236
TEDDY'S DAGOS, VII, 51
TEIXEIRA AFFIDAVIT, THE, VI, 125
Teixeira Case, II, 286; III, 29, 150
 222; V, 81: VI, 125; X, 63, 77
TEIXEIRA-MORRIS CASE, THE, III, 222
TEIXEIRA-MORRIS CASE, THE, V, 81
TEMPESTUOUS RELIGIONISTS AT TEMPLE, XI 108
TERRIFIC DEADLY CONFLICT, XII, 32
Texas, I, 184, 207; II 159, 310;
 IV, 143, 167; IX, 189; XII, 246
TEXAS AND TOLERANCE, II, 264
Texas Politics, II, 43 59, 247;
 III, 161, 265; IV, 39, 285, 312;
 V, 2, 91, 113, 198, 220, 224; VI,
 52, 57, 95, 205 215, 236; VII,
 19, 87; VIII, 147; X, 66
TEXAS SINGER, A, IV, 210
TEXAS TOPICS, X, 63
THAT TEXAS TESTIMONIAL, IV, 312
"THE CAT CAME BACK!" IV, 1
THERE'S ONE COMES AFTER, I, 203
THIRD TERM CONSPIRACY, V, 59
THOSE CHINESE OUTRAGES, III, 107
THOMAS CARLYLE, I, 107
THOU SHALT NOT, V, 243
THREE-CORNERED CONTROVERSY A, II, 174
THREE-CORNERED CONTROVERSY, A, III, 112
THOSE FASHIONABLE FORNICATORS, V, 145
THROWING STONES AT CHRIST, I, 125
TIENS TA FOI, I, 104
Tipping System, V, 159
THY BROTHER'S WIFE, XI, 245
TO GOV. CHARLES ANSERINE CULBERSON, V, 2
Tolstoi, II, 201
TOM REID'S CANDIDACY, V 314
TOMMIE WATSON'S TOMMY-ROT, X, 195
"TOO MUCH WORLD," VI, 144
TOUCH OF HIGH LIFE, A, II, 51
TOUR AMONG THE TITANS A, VII, 254
Trenholm, John Swope, Article by, XI, 255
TRILBY AND THE TRILBYITES, I, 274
TRILBY PARTIES AND PIETY, VIII, 30
TRUE LOVE TRIALS, III, 43
Truth vs. Lying, II, 34, 305 VII, 277
TWO "GREAT" ISSUES, THE, V, 68
TWO OF A KIND, X, 246
"TYPICAL AMERICAN TOWN, THE," X, 105

UNCLE SAM IN THE SOUP, V, 209
"UNCLE WILLIAM" CAMERON, IV, 64
UNDER WHICH FLAG? VII, 138
Unemployment (see Labor; Poverty;
 Revolution Threatened)
UNFAITHFUL LORD, THE, XI, 44
UNITED STATES ARMY ASININITY, VII. 1
UNPROFITABLE CONTROVERSY, AN 1, 171
UNRAVELED RIDDLE, AN, III, 261
"UNWRITTEN LAW, THE," IX, 218

VERY BAD BREAK, A, VI, 202
VICTOR HUGO'S IMMORALITY, I, 149
Victoria, Queen, VII, 49, VIII
 281; IX, 61
VISION OF HEAVEN, A, II, 22
VISIONS AND DREAMS, II, 83
VOICE FROM THE GRAVE, A, V, 237

Waco (Texas), Description of, VII
 290; XI, 31
WACO'S "WARWICK" II, 59
WAIL FROM THE A. P. A. V, 299
Wanamaker, John, XI, 97
WANTED: ONE WORD, IX, 209
War and Religion, X, 253
WAR OR WIND? III, 303
War, Prophecy of World War, I, 23
WARD, W. H., XII, 17
WASHINGTON'S WICKEDNESS, XI, 210
WATSON, J. L., VII, 41
Watterson, Henry, VII, 137; VIII, 270
WAYSIDE SERMON, A, III, 207
Wealth (see Poverty; High Society)
WEALTH OF NATIONS, THE, IV, 226
Weapons, Carrying of, IV, 51
WEARY MUGWUMP, A, IX 158
"WEDDING OF THE SEASON, THE," V, 291
WHAT IS A JINGO? IX, 283
WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH MISSOURI? X, 302
WHO IS MARK HANNA? VI, 279
WHY AND WHEREFORE, THE, XI, 31
WHY THIS IS THUS, VIII, 81
"WHY WE HATE GREAT BRITAIN," IX 101
WILDE AND HIS WORSHIPERS, II, 170
WILLY WALLY TO WED, IV, 201
WILLY WALLY TO WED, V, 183
WITHIN CONVENT WALLS, VII, 87
Woman, Courage of, VIII, 170
WOMAN IN JOURNALISM, V, 62
Woman's Suffrage (see also New
 Woman, The), I, 66; IV, 151;
 VI, 7
WOMAN THOU GAVEST ME, THE, I, 66
WOMAN'S WICKEDNESS, I, 190
WORD ABOUT WACO, A, VII, 290
WORKING FASHION'S FOOLS, I, 231
WORKING WOMAN, THE, VII, 309
Wyche, Robert Lee, Articles by, X,
 214; XI, 152