And as I stand in the sacred silence, history whispers in my ear and says, "It is from here as a rule that have come the stalwart ones who manage the most important business of the world; the pure young mothers who repeople the realms of virtue and happiness; the foremost teachers in our schools and colleges: the leading members of the three learned professions; the great generals who lead to victory the armies of liberty, and the statesmen who direct the destinies of nations," and ere the description is completed your heart is exclaiming with mine, "That which is now depicted is the Christian home, the unit of our civilization, the splendid gift to the world from its Greatest Philanthropist, Jesus Christ.

Another scene rises before me. Thousands of school houses appear in village or city or dotting hill and valley and plain and mountain top. Hard by, romping on the lea, are myriads of children whose merry laughter in echoing chorus mounts the skies. At a signal given they are at their books, and as I look in upon the magnificent scene I reflect that this is the public school, the pride and glory of America, and now of well nigh all Christendom, first thought of, first put to a practical test by the disciples of the matchless Gallilean in rugged, thinking, God-fearing, old Scotland-another logical gift to the world from its Greatest Philanthropist, Jesus Christ.

Another picture is presented to my view. Here in the foreground stands poor, pale-faced woman, almost bowed to earth by the load placed upon her. Here is the home, but she is not its mistress. She is its drudge. Here is personal property, but she cannot own it. Here is real estate, but she cannot take title to it, even though with the sweat of her own sad face, she earns the money with which it is bought. Here she is toiling in the field, beneath the blazing sun, with her infant strapped upon her back. Here is marriage, and she is on the block being sold to her husband like a brute. At every inhabited spot on the globe, I behold her as the drudge, the menial, the burden bearer, the abject slave of man.

Nineteen hundred years roll away and a changed picture is presented to my enraptured view. Here now stands sweet faced woman, erect and free in all her beauty and loveliness. Nearby stands a meek and lowly Nazarene. When I look closely I see He has a key in his hand, that he has unlocked her shackles and they are lying at her feet. Here she is now in her young womanhood, and a knightly youth on bended knee is pressing her hand

to his lips as he asks it in marriage, and bathing it with the tears of joy as she answers yes. Here she is by his side as his wife and he is proud to acknowledge her as his equal. Here is the home and she is its queen. Here is personal property and she can. possess it. Here is real estate and she can take title to it. Here she is especially guarded under the law. Here, too, she is, as we often see her, eager to take her life in her frail hands and hasten away to the dark regions of the globe-to brave torture and death -that she may tell benighted men and women the sweet story of her deliverance, and ere I am through you are exclaiming, ladies, and you, too, gentlemen, "That which you now depict is the emancipation of woman, the precious, the sweet gift to half the human race from its Greatest Philanthropist, Jesus Christ."

One more scene rises before me. It is the quiet Sabbath morn. Even the bright sun beams seem to rest, and all nature is locked in the holy hush. Erelong the silence begins to be broken. Out in the country they are greeting on another as they hitch their horses to the old church yard fence, in the towns and villages the bells are ringing. In the cities the choirs are chanting and the great organs are pealing. After a while a great congregation is assembled, which already no man can accurately number, and then ascends to Almighty God, an anthem of praise. which goes on resounding through the rolling spheres. And as I behold the magnificent spectacle, I reflect, let men say what they will, these are they from whose hard earnings comes as a rule the money which is building our school houses, our colleges, our universities and our temples of justice. These are they who are erecting the hospitals around the globe, and if, perchance, one is built at public expense it is they who are furnishing the soft hands and faithful eyes that minister to the unfortunate inmates. Their agents are everywhere, in the slums, in the desolate places. If a poor wretch is shivering from cold, it is they who find him and clothe him. If he is starving, it is they who, raven-like, bring him food. Their trained nurses, usually females, equipped with all the remedies and appliances known to the medical profession, are in the black regions of the globe, telling the simple story of the Cross, I know, but also, and no man can deny it, teaching the world's best science and civilization, healing the sick, watching by the bedside of the suffering, and making softer the pillow of the dying. Their missionaries are in all lands, preaching Christ, I know, but also, and no man can deny it, carrying light and love and love and light around the world. When

nations in their anger with panoplied armies have rushed upon one another, and blood and carnage have strewn the battlefield, the roar of the cannon has not yet ceased until their angels of mercy are upon the ground, binding up wounds, pressing the cup of cold water to the lips of the famishing and closing the eyes of the dead and dying. And as I contemplate this most magnificent instrumentality of love and mercy and charity the eyes of men have ever beheld, your heart is exclaiming with mine, "What is now depicted is the church of the Most High, the glorious gift to the world from its Greatest Philanthropist, Jesus Christ."

My friends, I have kept my promise made at the outset, I have stayed within my sphere. As best I could I have placed my humble tribute at the feet of that great Personage in history, whom, considered merely as a man, I admire above all others. But I am not only His admirer, I am also His unworthy follower, and I feel that I would be disloyal to His flag, if I did not ask you to permit me as a lawyer accustomed for so many years to weigh testimony, to step just for one moment over into the realm of the sacred, that I may draw the resistless conclusion from all the evidence I have been detailing.

Some persons say they cannot believe in a miracle, the basis upon which rests the divinity of Jesus Christ, because as they allege, "A miracle is the product of no force known to men." My friends, as jurors sitting in judgement upon our own cases, let us be fair and honest with ourselves and with the facts, especially when the fate of our own souls depends upon the verdict we shall render. Before we perplex ourselves so much over the question as to whether or not Jesus stood at the grave of Lazarus and with a loud voice cried out, "Lazarus come forth," and he came forth clad in his grave clothes, let us first determine the question as to whether or not a miracle greater than all those which the witnesses say were performed, is not being wrought before our very eyes every day we live.

To properly understand the great problems connected with human existence and to be enabled as a teacher to impart our knowledge to others, is not the work of an hour, or a year; it is the result of the labor of a lifetime. What force known to men, then, produced this young teacher, who passed away at thirtythree, who never sat at the feet of a distinguished instructor, who never attended a great school of learning, and yet whose wisdom

in the record where we can read it, surpasses the aggregated wisdom of all the hoary-headed sages of time combined?

By an old maxim of the Latins, half as old as the human race, "The poet is born; the orator is made." The power of the latter, if genuine, comes from long years of severest training and experience. What force known to men, then, produced this matchless orator, who threw down His carpenter's tools, mounted the rostrum and without training, without a model, without a borrowed thought, without a literary reference save to one Book, has, throughout nineteen centuries, held the world entranced by the magic beauty and power of his eloquence?

What force known to men has placed this blazing torch of liberty in the uplifted hand of this humble, intrepid Gallilean commoner; which He has borne aloft adown the long black night of time, and which all the powers of Earth and Hell combined have never yet been able to extinguish?

What force known to men has produced this marvelous paradox, that while we are continually being assured that science is dethroning Jesus, by the undisputable record, the brighter science shines, the firmer grasp He has upon the human race?

What force known to men has brought about this remarkable status, that wherever on the globe we find law and light and love and liberty, there Jesus is not only admired as a man, but is worshiped as a God, and wherever any other religion than His prevails there we find ignorance, superstition, cruelty and despotism?

What force known to men, I pray you, has thrust this blazing star into the firmament, which, with ever-increasing splendor and glory, is enlightning the world?

Ah, my friends, the conclusion is inevitable. It is resistless. Jesus of Nazareth is the product of no force known to men. In and of Himself He is the standing miracle of all the ages. Surely, surely, the bright old Sun was right, when, after looking down upon myriads of deaths, he hid his face and refused to gaze upon his Maker while He died. Beyond peradventure, beyond peradventure, the grim centurion was right when panoplied in the steel of Rome he stood on Calvary and, beholding that awful scene, exclaimed, "Truly this man was the Son of God."

AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION.

HIS autobiography, if a plain statement of an ordinary man of the facts connected with his life may be so designated, is certainly not inspired by self-esteem. Whilst winning quite a number of battles fought for the public good, I have too often realized my faults, and received too many scars at the hands of political bosses and the law-breakers whom they control, to leave a place in my breast for self-conceit. On the other hand, it is trusted that it will be distinctly understood that I am not prompted by the slightest desire to apologize. I shall stand by the law as long as I live. These lines are written mainly to meet misrepresentation.

My work for the supremacy of the law; my long fight while prosecuting attorney against crime in high places and in aiding in the over-throw of criminals with powerful friends; my prosecutions, at the instance of good citizens at various times, of gamblers, jury bribers, corrupt officials and election thieves; my enforcement of our Sunday laws while prosecuting attorney and while on the bench; my opposition to the great source of crime and suffering, the brewery and the saloon; and my labors on the stump and in the press against an organization of misguided men, backed by millions, and who are striving to deprive the people of their titles to their homes and farms, have made me the object of bitterer and more prolonged misrepresentation than has fallen to the lot of any Missourian in the history of our Commonwealth. It has been a misrepresentation which demagogues have failed not to place upon the lips of the lawless classes, and to which hundreds of columns have been devoted by that portion of the metropolitan press which hates a genuine reign of law and order, and which holds, along with the disorderly classes, that there are laws which sworn officers ought not to enforce. It has been a misrepresentation, too, before which for years I have stood powerless