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About three o’clock in the morning, he came with two horses, one of which he mounted, and I the other. The horse I rode was a blooded animal, and to use my friend’s expression, could run like a streak of lightning. I provided myself with a good whip, resolving, in case of danger, to put my horse to his utmost speed. A short time after daylight, we reached friend No. 3, who promised to conduct me to Rienzi. While at his house, I learned that a Unionist, Mr. N – , had been killed under circumstances of the greatest cruelty. His sentiments had become known to the rebels. He was arrested by their cavalry, and refusing to take the oath, they resolved to put him to death on the spot. He had a large family of small children, who, together with his wife, begged that his life might be spared. He himself had no favours to ask of the secessionists. Among his foes, the only point of dispute was, as to the mode of his death. Some favoured shooting, some hanging; but the prevailing majority were in favour of scalding him to death. And there, in the presence of his weeping and helpless family, these fiends in human form deliberately heated water, with which they scalded to death their chained and defenceless victim. Thus perished a patriot of whom the State was not worthy. The corpse was then suspended from a tree, with a label on the breast, stating that whoever cut him down and buried him, should suffer the same fate. My companions cut down the corpse by night, and buried it in the forest. May God reward them!
My friend No. 3 thought that it would be best to travel in daylight. He could follow by-paths, and avoid the rebel cavalry. We started about eight o’clock on Friday morning, and met with no incident worth narrating until we reached a mill; here we fell in with some six or seven rebel soldiers, who had been out on sick furlough, and were returning. They scanned us closely, and inquired whence we came, and whither bound. My friend specified a neighbourhood from which he affirmed we came, and stated that we were hunting stray oxen, asking whether they had seen a black ox and a pied ox in their travels. They replied in the negative; and in turn asked him who I was. He replied that I was his wife’s brother, who had come from Alabama about three months ago. They said I looked like “death on a pale hoss,” and wished to know what was the matter with me – if I were consumptive. My friend replied that I had had the chills for several months; and as there was no quinine in the country, it was impossible to stop them.
During this inquisition, I was ready at any moment to put spur to my horse, and run a race for life, had any attempt been made to arrest me, or if I had been recognised by any of the soldiers. We were, however, permitted to pass on, not without some suspicious glances. We at length reached a point ten miles from Rienzi. My guide now insisted on returning. It would be morning ere he reached home, and if met by cavalry, he must invent some plausible excuse for having a led horse. Nor did he dare return by the same route. Knowing the country, I permitted him to return. I then set out on foot, and at length reached the Federal pickets, three miles from Rienzi, where a horse was furnished me; and about ten o’clock I reached the head-quarters of Colonel Misner in Rienzi. When I gazed upon the star-spangled banner, beneath whose ample folds there was safety and protection – when I saw around me the Union hosts – I shed tears of joy, and from the depths of my heart returned thanks to Almighty God, who had given me my life at my request, preserving me, amid dangers seen and unseen, till I now was safe amid hosts of friends.
Colonel Misner requested me to report all that would be of service to General Rosecrans, which I did, he copying my report as I gave it. I reported, so far as I was informed, the probable number of troops in and around Tupelo, the topography of the country, the probable designs of the rebels, the number of troops sent to Richmond under Beauregard, &c. The Colonel requested me to go with him to head-quarters in the morning; but at the hour specified I was sick, and my physician, Dr. Holley, of the Thirty-sixth Illinois, thought it would not be advisable for me to go, even in an ambulance. My report, however, was carried up to General Rosecrans.
Through proper treatment I recovered in a few days, so as to be able to go into Jacinto, the nearest point in the Federal lines to my family. I called on General Jefferson C. Davis, who was in command of that post. The General had heard of my arrest, and expressed gratification at my safe return. I informed him of my desire to get my family within the lines. The General immediately proffered me all the cavalry at his command, and ordered them to prepare for the expedition. I thankfully accepted his kind offer, but after reflection concluded to send a messenger first, with a letter to my wife; if he were not intercepted, I knew that she would come in as soon as possible. The order to the cavalry was countermanded until this plan would be tried. The messenger was not intercepted, and on the next day I had the pleasure of beholding my wife and child, whose faces, a short time before, I had given up all hope of ever beholding on earth.
While here, I called on my friend, Lieutenant Richard Malone, who resides in Jacinto. On inquiring at his house for him, he heard my voice, and ran out to the gate to meet me. Grasping my hand, he could not for some time control his emotions so as to speak.
Malone gave me his history since we had parted at the outer wall of the prison. He reached the corn-field at the point designated, and anxiously awaited my arrival until near daylight, when he was compelled to seek safety in flight. We had agreed to meet in the corn-field at a place where there was a garment suspended upon the fence. We think there must have been two garments suspended at different points, and hence our mistake. We could not signal loud in consequence of the nearness of the pickets, and therefore did not meet. Soon after daylight, Malone found himself in the midst of a cavalry company which had encamped there during the night; they were making preparations for departure, and the majority of them were gathering blackberries. Joining them, he passed as a citizen, and when he reached the rear of the company, he gathered some sticks in his arms, and started towards a small cabin at a short distance, as if it were his residence. Before reaching it, he made a detour to the right, and passed into the dense woods. On the next day, about ten o’clock, A. M., he reached an open champaign country, through which it would have been dangerous to travel. To the west, about three hundred yards distant, was a dense woods, which he hoped to reach without detection. While travelling down a road for this purpose, four cavalrymen who were in pursuit dashed towards him, and ordered him to return with them to Tupelo. Malone replied, that as it was useless to resist, he must submit. He asked for some water; they had none in their canteens, but went to a house in the distance to obtain some. Malone was ordered to march before them, which he was compelled to do, though famishing from hunger and thirst. On reaching the house, they all went to the well and drew a bucket of water. There being no dipper, Malone remarked that he would go into the house and get one. One of the guards followed, and stationed himself at the door with his gun. Malone went into the house, and immediately passed out at the back door. The garden gate being open, he passed into the garden, when he commenced running. Two women in the house noticed his running, and clapping their hands exclaimed, “Your Yankee’s gone! Your Yankee’s gone!” The guards immediately followed, ordering him to halt, and firing at him with their revolvers. Malone quickly reached a corn-field, and soon after a swamp, whence he made good his escape, and after various vicissitudes reached his family in Jacinto, where I now found him.
I returned to Rienzi with my family, resolved to leave for the North. My wife, before leaving her father’s, learned, through a letter sent by a rebel officer to his wife, that all the guards who were on duty during the night I escaped from prison, were placed under close arrest, and were still in the dungeon at the time of his writing. There were eleven guards on each relief, and three reliefs during the night; there were, therefore, thirty-three guards placed under arrest because of my escape.
On the night previous to our departure from Rienzi, we were honoured with a serenade, through the politeness of General Granger, of the cavalry, and Colonel Bryner, of the Forty-seventh Illinois Regiment. Being called on for a speech, I thus responded:
Gentlemen – I return you sincere thanks for the honour intended myself and family. In the language of the last tune played by your band, I truly feel at “home again,” and it fills my soul with joy to meet my friends once more. What a vast difference a few miles makes! Tupelo is about forty miles south of Rienzi, on an air-line. There I was regarded as a base ingrate, as a despicable traitor, as an enemy to the country, chained as a felon, doomed to die, and before the execution of the sentence, subjected to every species of insult and contumely. Here I meet with the kindest expressions of sympathy from officers of all ranks, from the subaltern to the general, and there is not a private soldier who has heard my tale of woe, who does not manifest a kindly sympathy.
I hope that you will soon pass south of Tupelo; but in your march to the Gulf, may you fare better than I did in my journey to this place. Green corn eaten raw, berries, and stagnant water, would soon cause you to present the emaciated appearance that I do. On your route, call upon the secession sympathizers, and compel them to furnish you with better and more substantial food. My horse I left at Tupelo. He is a valuable animal. The rebel General Hardee, in the true spirit of secession, appropriated – that is, stole – him. However, I did not call to demand him when I left. Being in haste, I did not choose to spare the time, and leaving in the night, I did not wish to disturb the slumbers of the Tupelonians. He is a bright bay. If you meet with him, you may have him for nothing. I would much prefer that he serve the Federal army.
If you take General Jordan prisoner, send me word, and I will furnish you with the iron bands that he put on me, by which you may secure him till he meets the just award of his crimes, which would be death, for destroying the lives of so many Union men.
I hope that you may soon plant the stars and stripes on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, and play the “Star-spangled Banner” within hearing of its vertiginous billows, after having conquered every foe to the permanence of the glorious Union. I close with the sentiment of the immortal Jackson, which I wish you to bear constantly in mind, in your victorious progress – “The Federal Union – it must and shall be preserved!” Relying upon the God of battles, rest assured that the right cause will triumph, and that after having secured the great object of your warfare, the preservation of the Union, your children and your children’s children will rise up and call you blessed, rejoicing in the enjoyment of a free, united, and happy country.
Wishing you abundant success, I beg leave to retire.
On Saturday, the 2d of August, 1862, we left Rienzi, en route for the North, in company with William H. Hubbard, Esq., and family, who were also refugees. From the moment I reached the Federal lines I experienced nothing but kindness. I could not mention all who are deserving of thanks from myself and family. I am under special obligations to Generals Nelson, Rosecrans, Granger, Davis, and Asboth; also to Colonel Bryner and Lieutenant Colonel Thrush, of the Forty-seventh Illinois, and Surgeon Lucas, of same regiment, and to Dr. Holley, of the Thirty-sixth Illinois Volunteers; to Josiah King, Esq., of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; and Dr. McCook, of Steubenville, Ohio; also Mrs. Ann Wheelwright, of Newburyport, Massachusetts, whose kind letter will ever be remembered, and whose “material aid” entitles her to lasting gratitude; and to Rev. George Potts, D. D., of New York; and Mr. William E. Dubois, of Philadelphia; Rev. Dr. Sprole, Newburgh, New York; Rev. N. Hewitt, D. D., Bridgeport, Connecticut; and Rev. F. N. Ewing, Chicago, Illinois; Rev. J. M. Krebs, D. D., New York; Rev. A. D. Smith, D. D., New York; and Rev. F. Reck Harbaugh, Philadelphia, and many others.
Before closing this chapter I would mention the following incident:
On Wednesday evening, November 19th, I addressed the citizens of Philadelphia at the Sixth Presbyterian Church, (Rev. F. Reck Harbaugh’s.) A report of this address found its way into the city papers. Two days afterwards, while in conversation with Mr. Martien, at his book-store, two soldiers entered, one of whom approached, and thus addressed me:
“Do you know me, sir?”
I replied: “Your face is familiar, but I do not remember your name. It is my misfortune not to be able to remember proper names.”
“I read the report of your address in the newspaper, and through the aid of my comrade, I have succeeded in finding you. We have met before, at Tupelo.”
At the mention of Tupelo, I immediately recognised in the speaker the man who, after labouring with the others in sundering my chain, engaged the guard, who sat in the doorway, in conversation, while I watched an opportunity to disappear under the prison. Grasping him warmly by the hand, I said: “I now recognise you. You are Mr. Howell Trogdon, of Missouri, late my fellow-prisoner in Tupelo. How and when did you succeed in leaving that prison?”
“Being a Federal prisoner, I was removed from Tupelo to Mobile, and there parolled on the 26th of August last.”
“When was I missed after my escape, and how did the officers act when they learned that I was gone?”
“You were missed at roll-call, the next morning, and in a short time, many officers came into the prison. They were greatly enraged at this, your second flight. The prisoners were closely questioned as to their complicity in your escape, but they denied all knowledge of the matter. Soon all the prison-guards on duty during the night, thirty-three in number, were brought into the prison in chains. The cavalry was ordered out in search of you, and directed to shoot you down wherever found. The mode of your escape was not discovered, and the officers were of the opinion that you had bribed the guards. From that time, the officers became more cruel than ever, and in two weeks, thirty-two of our fellow-prisoners were taken out and shot! We never learned whether you had succeeded in escaping to the Union lines. We feared that you were overtaken and shot, or that you perished in the swamps from hunger, thirst, and fatigue. I hope soon to see McHatten, Speer, De Grummond, and Soper, who are also parolled, and they will rejoice to learn that you still live. During the night of your escape, we slept but little, through fear that our chaplain might be shot by the guards, and I assure you many fervent prayers ascended to Heaven for your safety.”
CHAPTER VII.
SOUTHERN CLASSES – CRUELTY TO SLAVES
Sandhillers – Dirt-eating – Dipping – Their Mode of Living – Patois – Rain-book – Wife-trade – Coming in to see the Cars – Superstition – Marriage of Kinsfolks – Hardshell Sermon – Causes which lead to the Degradation of this Class – Efforts to Reconcile the Poor Whites to the Peculiar Institution – The Slaveholding Class – The Middle Class – Northern Isms – Incident at a Methodist Minister’s House – Question asked a Candidate for Licensure – Reason of Southern Hatred toward the North – Letter to Mr. Jackman – Barbarities and Cruelties of Slavery – Mulattoes – Old Cole – Child Born at Whipping-post – Advertisement of a Keeper of Bloodhounds – Getting Rid of Free Blacks – The Doom of Slavery – Methodist Church South.
The sojourner in the Slave States is struck with the wretched and degraded appearance of a class of people called by the slaveholders, “poor white folks,” and “the tallow-faced gentry,” from their pallid complexion. They live in wretched hovels, dress slatternly, and are exceedingly filthy in their habits. Many of them are clay or dirt-eaters, which is said to cause their peculiar complexion. Their children, at a very early age, form this filthy and disgusting habit; and mere infants may be found with their mouths filled with dirt. The mud with which they daub the interstices between the logs of their rude domicils, must be frequently renewed, as the occupants pick it all out in a very short time, and eat it. This pernicious practice induces disease. The complexion becomes pale, similar to that occasioned by chronic ague and fever.
Akin to this is the practice of snuff-dipping, which is not confined exclusively to females of the poor white caste, though scarcely one in fifty of this class is exempt from the disgusting habit. The method is this: The female snuff-dipper takes a short stick, and wetting it with her saliva, dips it into her snuff-box, and then rubs the gathered dust all about her mouth, and into the interstices of her teeth, where she allows it to remain until its strength has been fully absorbed. Others hold the stick thus loaded with snuff in the cheek, a la quid of tobacco, and suck it with a decided relish, while engaged in their ordinary avocations; while others simply fill the mouth with the snuff, and imitate, to all intents and purposes, the chewing propensities of the men. In the absence of snuff, tobacco in the plug or leaf is invariably resorted to as a substitute. Oriental betel-chewing, and the Japanese fashion of blacking the teeth of married ladies, are the height of elegance compared with snuff-dipping. The habit leads to a speedy decay of the teeth, and to nervous disorders of every kind. Those who indulge in it become haggard at a very early age.
The Petersburg (Va.) Express estimates the number of women in that State as one hundred and twenty-five thousand, one hundred thousand of whom are snuff-dippers. Every five of these will use a two-ounce paper of snuff per day; that is, to the hundred thousand dippers, two thousand five hundred pounds a day, amounting, in one year, to the enormous quantity of nine hundred and twelve thousand pounds. This practice prevails generally, it says, among the poor whites, though some females of the higher classes are guilty of it.
The poor whites obtain their subsistence, as far as practicable, in the primitive aboriginal mode, viz., by hunting and fishing. When these methods fail to afford a supply, they cultivate a truck-patch, and some of them raise a bale or two of cotton, with the proceeds of the sale of which they buy whiskey, tobacco, and a few necessary articles. When all other methods fail, they resort to stealing, to which many of them are addicted from choice, as well as from necessity. They are exceeding slovenly in their habits, cleanliness being a rare virtue. Indolence is a prevailing vice, and its lamentable effects are everywhere visible. They fully obey the scriptural injunction, take no thought for the morrow. A present supply, sufficient to satisfy nature’s most urgent demands, being obtained, their care ceases, and they relapse into listless inactivity. They herd together upon the poor sand-hills, the refuse land of the country, which the rich slaveholder will not purchase, for which reason, they are sometimes called sand-hillers, and here they live, and their children, and their children’s children, through successive generations, in the same deplorable condition of wretchedness and degradation.
They are exceedingly ignorant; not one adult in fifty can write; not one in twenty can read. They can scarcely be said to speak the English language, using a patois which is scarcely intelligible. An old lady thus related an incident of which her daughter “Sal” was the heroine. “My darter Sal yisterday sot the lather to the damsel tree, and clim up, and knocked some of the nicest saftest damsels I ever seed in my born days.” I once called to make some inquiry about the road, at a small log tenement, inhabited by a sand-hiller and family. A sheet was hanging upon the wall, containing the portraits of the Presidents of the United States. I remarked to the lady of the house that those were, I believed, the pictures of the Presidents.
“Yes!” she replied; “they is, and I’ve hearn tell of ’em a long time. They must be gittin’ mighty old, ef some of ’em aint dead. That top one,” she continued, “is Gineral Washington. I’ve hearn of him ever sence I was a gal. He must be gittin’ up in years, ef he aint dead. Him and Gineral Jackson fit the British and Tories at New Orleans, and whipped ’em, too.”
She seemed to pride herself greatly on her historical knowledge.
One of these geniuses once informed me of a peculiar kind of book “he’d hearn tell on,” that the Yankees had. He had forgotten its name, but thus described it: “It told the day of the week the month come in on. It told when we was a gwine to have rain, and what kind of wether we was gwine to have in gineral. May-be they call it a rain-book.”
I replied that I had heard of the book, and I believed that it was called an Almanac.
“You’ve said it now,” remarked the man. “It’s a alminick, and I’d give half I’s wuth to have one. I’d no when to take a umberell, and if I haddent nary one, I’d no when I could go a huntin’ without gittin’ wet.”
Two of these semi-savages had resolved to remove to the West, in hope of bettering their condition. One wished to remove to Arkansas, the other to Texas. The wife of the former wished to go to Texas, the latter to Arkansas. The husbands were desirous of gratifying their spouses, but could devise no plan that seemed likely to prove satisfactory, till one day when hunting, finding game scarce, they sat down upon a log, when the following dialogue took place:
“Kit, I’m sort o’ pestered about Dilsie. She swars to Rackensack she’ll go, and no whar else. I allers had a hankerin’ arter Texas. Plague take Rackensack, I say! Ef a man war thar, the ager and the airthquakes ed shake him out on it quicker en nothin’.”
“When a woman’s set on a gwine anywhar, they’re a gwine. It’s jest no use to talk. I’ve coaxed Minnie more’n a little to go long with me to Arkansas, and the more I coax, the more she wont go.”
“Well, Kit, ’sposen we swap women.”
“Well, Sam, what trade’ll ye gin?”
“Oh! a gentleman’s trade, of course!”
“Shucks, Sam! ’sposen I had a young filly, and you a old mar, ye wouldn’t ax an even trade, would ye?”
“No; it ’ud be too hard. I tell you what I’ll do, Kit. Here’s a shot-gun that’s wuth ten dollars, ef it’s wuth a red. I’ll give it and that ar b’ar-skin hangin’ on the side of my shanty, to boot, and say it’s a trade.”
“Nuff sed, ef the women’s agreed.”
Home they went, and stated the case to the women, who, after due deliberation, acceded to the proposition, having also made a satisfactory arrangement about the children, and they all soon went on their way rejoicing to their respective destinations in that
“American’s haven of eternal rest,
Found a little farther West.”
On the Sabbath after the completion of the Memphis and Charleston railroad, a large number of the sand-hillers came to Iuka Springs, to witness the passing of the cars. Arriving too early, they visited a church where divine service was progressing. Whilst the minister was in the midst of his sermon, the locomotive whistle sounded, when a stampede took place to the railroad. The exodus left the parson almost alone in his glory. The passing train caused the most extravagant expressions and gestures of wonder and astonishment by these rude observers. It was an era in their life.
Once while standing on the railroad-track, I observed a crowd of these people coming to see the “elephant.” They came so near, that I overheard their conversation. One young lass, of sweet sixteen, with slattern dress and dishevelled hair, looking up the road, which was visible for a great distance, thus expressed her astonishment at what she saw: “O, dad! what a long piece of iron!” Soon the whistle sounded; this they had never heard before, and came to the conclusion that it was a dinner-horn. As soon as the cars came in sight, they scattered like frightened sheep, some on one side of the road, and some on the other. Nor did they halt till they had placed fifty yards at least between them and the track.
Superstition prevails amongst them to a fearful extent. Almost every hut has a horse-shoe nailed above the door, or on the threshold, to keep out witches. In sickness, charms and incantations are used to drive away disease. Their physicians are chiefly what are termed faith-doctors, who are said to work miraculous cures. They are strong believers in luck. If a rabbit cross their path, they will turn round to change their luck. If, on setting out on a journey, an owl hoot on the left hand, they will return and set out anew. If the new moon is seen through brush, or on the left hand, it is a bad omen. They will have trouble during the lunar month. When the whippoorwill is first heard in the spring, they turn head over heels thrice, to prevent back-ache during the year. Dreams are harbingers of joy or wo. To dream of snakes, is ominous. To dream of seeing a coffin, or conversing with the dead, is a sign of approaching dissolution, and many have no doubt perished through terror, occasioned by such dreams. Fortune-tellers are rife amongst them – those sages whose comprehensive view knows the past, the present, and the future. They seek unto familiar spirits, that peep and mutter, for the living to the dead.
They have many deformed, and blind, and deaf among them, in consequence of the intermarriage of relatives. Cousins often marry, and occasionally they marry within the degrees of consanguinity prohibited by the law of God. Perhaps this divine law forbids the marriage of cousins when it declares, “Thou shalt not marry any that is near of kin.” The sad effects on posterity, both mentally and physically, lead to the conviction that if the law of God does not condemn it, physiological law does.
These sand-hillers do not (when no serious preventive occurs) fail to attend the elections, where the highest bidder obtains their vote. Sometimes their vote will command cash, and sometimes only whiskey. It is sad to witness the elective franchise, that highest and most glorious badge of a freeman, thus prostituted.
The proverb holds good – Like people, like priest. Their ministers are ignorant, ranting fanatics. They despise literature, and every Sabbath fulminate censures upon an educated ministry. The following is a specimen of their preaching. Mr. V – is a Hard-shell Baptist, or, as they term themselves, “Primitive Baptists.” Entering the pulpit on a warm morning in July, he will take off his coat and vest, roll up his sleeves, and then begin:
My Brethering and Sistern – I air a ignorant man, follered the plough all my life, and never rubbed agin nary college. As I said afore, I’m ignorant, and I thank God for it. (Brother Jones responds, “Passon, yer ort to be very thankful, fur yer very ignorant.”) Well, I’m agin all high larnt fellers what preaches grammar and Greek fur a thousand dollars a year. They preaches fur the money, and they gits it, and that’s all they’ll git. They’ve got so high larnt they contradicts Scripter, what plainly tells us that the sun rises and sets. They seys it don’t, but that the yerth whirls round, like clay to the seal. What ud cum of the water in the wells ef it did. Wodent it all spill out, and leave ’em dry, and whar ed we be? I may say to them, as the sarpent said unto David, much learning hath made thee mad.
When I preaches, I never takes a tex till I goes inter the pulpit; then I preaches a plain sarment, what even women can understand. I never premedertates, but what is given to me in that same hour, that I sez. Now I’m a gwine ter open the Bible, and the first verse I sees, I’m a gwine to take it for a tex. (Suiting the action to the word, he opened the Bible, and commenced reading and spelling together.) Man is f-e-a-r-f-u-l-l-y – fearfully – and w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l-l-y – wonderfully – m-a-d-e – mad. – “Man is fearfully and wonderfully made.” (Pronounced mad.) Well, it’s a quar tex, but I said I’s a gwine to preach from it, and I’m a gwine to do it. In the fust place, I’ll divide my sarment into three heads. Fust and foremost, I show you that a man will git mad. 2d. That sometimes he’ll git fearfully mad; and thirdly and lastly, when thar’s lots of things to vex and pester him, he’ll git fearfully and wonderfully mad. And in the application I’ll show you that good men sometimes gits mad, for the Posle David hisself, who rote the tex, got mad, and called all men liars, and cussed his enemies, wishen’ ’em to go down quick into hell; and Noah, he got tite, and cussed his nigger boy Ham, just like some drunken masters now cusses their niggers. But Noah and David repented; and all on us what gits mad must repent, or the devil’ll git us.
Thus he ranted, to the great edification of his hearers, who regard him as a perfect Boanerges, to which title his stentorian voice would truly entitle him. This exordium will serve as a specimen of the “sarment,” as it continued in the same strain to the end of the peroration.
Where there is no vision, the people perish. Such blind leaders of the blind are liable, with their infatuated followers, to fall into a ditch worse than Bunyan’s Slough of Despond. This minister had undoubtedly run when he was not sent, though he “had hearn a call; a audible voice had, while he was a shucken corn, said unto him, Preach.” Though God does not need men’s learning, yet he has as little use for their ignorance. Learning is the handmaid of religion, but must not be substituted in its stead.
