The Jackson Standard

Robbed Him of His Crutches.

Col. Ingersoll was thrown incidentally into the society of Henry Ward Beecher. There were four or five gentlemen present, all of whom were prominent in the world of brains. A variety of topics were discussed with decided brilliancy, but no allusion to religion. The distinguished infidel was, of course, too polite to introduce the subject himself, but one of the party finally, desiring to see a tilt between Bob and Beecher, made a playful remark about Col. Ingersoll's idiosyncrasy, as he termed it. The Colonel at once defended his views in his usual apt rhetoric; in fact, he waxed eloquent. He was replied to by several gentlemen in very effective repartee. Contrary to the expectations of all, Mr. Beecher remained an abstracted listener, and said not a word. The gentleman who introduced the topic with hope that Mr. Beecher would answer Colonel Ingersoll, at last remarked:

"Mr. Beecher, have you nothing to say on this question?"

The old man slowly lifted himself from his attitude, and replied:

"Nothing: in fact, if you will excuse me for changing the conversation, I will say that while you gentlemen were talking, my mind was bent on a most deplorable spectacle which I witnessed to-day."

"What was it?" at once inquired Colonel Ingersoll, who, notwithstanding his peculiar views of the hereafter is noted for his kindness of heart.

"Why," said Mr. Beecher, "as I was walking down town to-day, I saw a poor lame man with crutches, slowly and carefully picking his way through a cesspool of mud, in the endeavor to cross the street. He had just reached the middle of the filth when a big, burly ruffian, himself all bespattered, rushed up to him, jerked the crutches from under the unfortunate man, and left him sprawling and helpless in the pool of liquid dirt, which almost engulfed him."

"What a brute he was!" said the Colonel.

"What a brute he was!" they all echoed.

"Yes," said the old man, rising from his chair and brushing back his long, white hair, while his eyes glittered with their old-time fire as he bent them on Ingersoll, "yes, Colonel Ingersoll, and you are the man! The human soul is lame, but Christianity gives it crutches to enable it to pass the highway of life. It is your teaching that knocks these crutches from under it, and leaves it a helpless and rudderless wreck in the slough of despond. If robbing the human soul of its support on this earth--religion--be your profession, why, ply it to your heart's content. It requires an architect to erect a building: an incendiary can reduce it to ashes."

The old man sat down, and silence brooded over the scene. Colonel Ingersoll found that he had a master in his own power of illustration, and said nothing. The company took their hats and parted.--Religious Intelligencer.