Men were the same now as they were when we first heard of them. Their lives, shortened slightly perhaps by civilization, were identical; their death, as inevitable; their physical sufferings synonymous; their joys similar.
He alluded to those who knew of the existence of hateful sins, and who from misplaced scruple, failed to mention them.
"Do not call me illogical," he said, "I do not believe that sin could be abolished by all the sermons in the world. But at least it should be diligently pointed out that it may not gather increased victims. Its spread can be avoided; its contagion diminished. Men will sin as long as the world exists; but many sin voluntarily, won over by those with whom vice is natural."
The pessimism of the sermon frightened me. With him there was no hope of eradicating evil; merely of lessening its influence upon those with whom it was forced to come in contact. It was a very deep, obtuse lecture—too deep for me, I am afraid. I did not understand it thoroughly, though its gist was perfectly clear to me. The methods of the man would have attracted atten-
