The Plastic Age by Percy Marks (best mobile ebook reader .txt) 📖

As Simple Because It Was

Half-Drowned In Mist. As A Matter Of Fact,  However,  The Religion Of The

Catholic Church,  Putting Out Of The Question Its Theology,  Is A Thing

Far Simpler Than The Outside World Supposes; Nor Is There A Doctrine In

It Without A Direct Moral Meaning For Us,  And Not Tending To Have A

Direct Effect On The Character.

 

But The Outside World Misjudges Of All This For Various Reasons. In The

First Place,  It Can Reach It As A Rule Through Explanations Only; And

The Explanation Or The Account Of Anything Is Always Far More Intricate

Than The Apprehension Of The Thing Itself. Take,  For Instance,  The

Practice Of The Invocation Of Saints. This Seems To Many To Complicate

The Whole Relation Of The Soul To God,  To Be Introducing A Number Of New

And Unnecessary Go-Betweens,  And To Make Us,  As It Were,  Communicate

With God Through A Dragoman. But The Case Really Is Very Different. Of

Course It May Be Contended That Intercessory Prayer,  Or That Prayer Of

Any Kind,  Is An Absurdity; But For Those Who Do Not Think This,  There

Can Be Nothing To Object To In The Invocation Of Saints. It Is Admitted

By Such Men That We Are Not Wrong In asking The Living To Pray For Us.

Surely,  Therefore,  It Is Not Wrong To Make A Like Request Of The Dead.

In The Same Way,  To Those Who Believe In Purgatory,  To Pray For The Dead

Is As Natural And As Rational As To Pray For The Living. Next,  As To

This Doctrine Of Purgatory Itself--Which Has So Long Been A

Stumbling-Block To The Whole Protestant World--Time Goes On,  And The

View Men Take Of It Is Changing. It Is Becoming Fast Recognized On All

Sides That It Is The Only Doctrine That Can Bring A Belief In Future

Rewards And Punishments Into Anything Like Accordance With Our Notions

Of What Is Just Or Reasonable. So Far From Its Being A Superfluous

Chapter 4 Pg 25

Superstition,  It Is Seen To Be Just What Is Demanded At Once By Reason

And Morality; And A Belief In It To Be Not An Intellectual Assent Only,

But A Partial Harmonising Of The Whole Moral Ideal. And The Whole

Catholic _Religion_,  If We Only Distinguish And Apprehend It Rightly,

Will Present Itself To Us In The Same Light.

 

But There Are Other Reasons Besides Those Just Described,  By Which

Outsiders Are Hindered From Arriving At Such A Right View Of The

Matter. Not Only Does The Intricacy Of Catholicism _Described_,  Blind

Them To The Simplicity Of Catholicism _Experienced_,  But They Confuse

With The Points Of Faith,  Not Only The Scientific Accounts The

Theologians Give ostly To Williams,  But Some Of 'Em Go To Yale Or Princeton.

 

"Well,  I Had Four Years Of That,  And I Was Homesick The Whole Four

Years. Oh,  I Don'T Mean That They Kept After Me All The Time--That Was

Just The First Few Months--But They Never Really Accepted Me. I Never

Felt At Home. Even When I Was With A Bunch Of Them,  I Felt Lonesome....

And They Never Made A Gentleman Out Of Me,  Though My Old Lady Thinks

They Did."

 

"You'Re Crazy," Hugh Interrupted Indignantly. "You'Re As Much A

Gentleman As Anybody In college."

 

Carl Smiled And Shook His Head. "No,  You Don'T Understand. You'Re A

Gentleman,  But I'M Not. Oh,  I Know All The Tricks,  The Parlor Stunts.

Four Years At Kane Taught Me Those,  But They'Re Just Tricks To Me. I

Don'T Know Just How To Explain It--But I Know That You'Re A Gentleman

And I'M Not."

 

"You'Re Just Plain Bug-House. You Make Me Feel Like A Fish. Why,  I'M

Just From A Country High School. I'M Not In Your Class." Hugh Sat Up

And Leaned Eagerly Toward Carl,  Gesticulating Excitedly.

 

"As If That Made Any Difference," Carl Replied,  His Voice Sharp With

Scorn. "You See,  I'M A Bad Egg. I Drink And Gamble And Pet. I Haven'T

Gone The Limit Yet On--On Account Of My Old Lady--But I Will."

 

Hugh Was Relieved. He Had Wondered More Than Once During The Past Week

"Just How Far Carl Had Gone." Several Times Carl Had Suggested By Sly

Innuendos That There Wasn'T Anything That He Hadn'T Done,  And Hugh Had

Felt A Slight Disapproval--And Considerable Envy. His Own Standards Were

Very High,  Very Strict,  But He Was Ashamed To Reveal Them.

 

"I'Ve Never Gone The Limit Either," He Confessed Shyly.

 

Carl Threw Back His Head And Laughed. "You Poor Fish; Don'T You Suppose

I Know That?" He Exclaimed.

 

"How Did You Know?" Hugh Demanded Indignantly. "I Might'Ve. Why,  I Was

Out With A Girl Just Before I Left Home And--"

 

"You Kissed Her," Carl Concluded For Him. "I Don'T Know How I Knew,  But

I Did. You'Re Just Kinda Pure; That'S All. I'M Not Pure At All; I'M Just

A Little Afraid--And I Keep Thinkin' Of My Old Lady. I'Ve Started To

Several Times,  But I'Ve Always Thought Of Her And Quit."

 

He Sat Silent For A Minute Or Two And Then Continued More Gently. "My

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Old Lady Never Came To Kane. She Never Will Come Here,  Either. She Wants

To Give Me A Real Chance. See? She Knows She Isn'T A Lady--But--But,  Oh,

God,  Hugh,  She'S White,  White As Hell. I Guess I Think More Of Her Than

All The Rest Of The World Put Together. That'S Why I Write To Her Every

Night. She Writes To Me Every Day,  Too. The Letters Have Mistakes In

Them,  But--But They Keep Me Straight. That Is,  They Have So Far. I Know,

Though,  That Some Night I'Ll Be Out With A Bag And Get Too Much Liquor

In Me--And Then Good-By,  Virginity."

 

"You'Re Crazy,  Carl. You Know You Won'T." Carl Rose From The Chair And

Stretched Hugely. "You'Re A Good Egg,  Hugh," He Said In The Midst Of A

Yawn,  "But You'Re A Damn Fool."

 

Hugh Started. That Was Just What He Had Said To Morse.

 

      

He Never Caught Carl In a Confidential Mood Again. The Next Morning He

Was His Old Flippant Self,  Swearing Because He Had To Study His Latin,

Which Wasn'T "Of Any Damned Use To Anybody."

 

In The Following Weeks Hugh Religiously Clung To Morse,  Helped Him With

His Work,  Went To The Movies With Him,  Inveigled Him Into Going On

Several Long Walks. Morse Was More Cheerful And Almost Pathetically

Grateful. One Day,  However,  Hugh Found An Unstamped Letter On The

Floor. He Opened It Wonderingly.

 

 

 

 

       Dear Hugh [He Read]. You'Ve Been Awfully Good To Me But

       I Can'T Stand It. I'M Going Home To-Day. Give My Regards

       To Peters. Thanks For All You'Ve Done For Me.

 

                                                Bert Morse.

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For A Moment After Reading Morse'S Letter Hugh Was Genuinely Sorry,  But

Almost Immediately He Felt Irritated And Hurt.

 

He Handed The Letter To Carl,  Who Entered Just As He Finished Reading

It,  And Exploded: "The Simp! And After I Wasted So Much Time On Him."een Gods And Demons_.--This Canto Is

Entirely Taken Up With The Struggle Between The Two Armies. A Few

Stanzas Are Given Here.

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  As Pairs Of Champions Stood Forth

  To Test Each Other'S Fighting Worth,

  The Bards Who Knew The Family Fame

  Proclaimed Aloud Each Mighty Name.

 

  As Ruthless Weapons Cut Their Way

  Through Quilted Armour In The Fray,

  White Tufts Of Cotton Flew On High

  Like Hoary Hairs Upon The Sky.

 

  Blood-Dripping Swords Reflected Bright

  The Sunbeams In That Awful Fight;

  Fire-Darting Like The Lightning-Flash,

  They Showed How Mighty Heroes Clash.

 

  The Archers' Arrows Flew So Fast,

  As Through A Hostile Breast They Passed,

  That They Were Buried In The Ground,

  No Stain Of Blood Upon Them Found.

 

  The Swords That Sheaths No Longer Clasped,

  That Hands Of Heroes Firmly Grasped,

  Flashed Out In Glory Through The Fight,

  As If They Laughed In Mad Delight.

 

  And Many A Warrior'S Eager Lance

  Shone Radiant In The Eerie Dance,

  A Curling,  Lapping Tongue Of Death

  To Lick Away The Soldier'S Breath.

 

  Some,  Panting With A Bloody Thirst,

  Fought Toward The Victim Chosen First,

  But Had A Reeking Path To Hew

  Before They Had Him Full In View.

 

  Great Elephants,  Their Drivers Gone

  And Pierced With Arrows,  Struggled On,

  But Sank At Every Step In Mud

  Made Liquid By The Streams Of Blood.

 

  The Warriors Falling In The Fray,

  Whose Heads The Sword Had Lopped Away,

  Were Able Still To Fetch A Blow

  That Slew The Loud-Exulting Foe.

 

  The Footmen Thrown To Paradise

  By Elephants Of Monstrous Size,

  Were Seized Upon By Nymphs Above,

  Exchanging Battle-Scenes For Love.

 

  The Lancer,  Charging At His Foe,

  Would Pierce Him Through And Bring Him Low,

  And Would Not Heed The Hostile Dart

  That Found A Lodgment In His Heart.

 

  The War-Horse,  Though Unguided,  Stopped

  The Moment That His Rider Dropped,

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