CHAPLAIN McCABE'S DREAM OF INGERSOLLVILLE.
[The following is as forcible a comment on the fruits, and consequently the nature, of the teachings of such men as Ingersoll, as could well be presented. All history and observation testify that should such principles prevail, unalleviated by any of the influences which owe their origin to Christianity, the world would soon be in the condition of the city of Ingersollville after its six months' history. Study the picture and make up your verdict in regard to the desirableness of such men and principles, on the simple rule of Christ, “By their fruits ye shall know them.”] I had a dream which was not all a dream. I thought I was on a long journey through a beautiful country, when suddenly I came to a great city with walls fifteen feet high. At the gate stood a sentinel, whose shining armor reflected back the rays of the setting sun. As I was about to salute him, and pass into the city, he stopped me and said: “Do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ?” I answered, “Yes, with all my heart.” “Then,” said he, “you cannot enter here. No man or woman who acknowledges that name can pass in here. Stand aside,” said he, “they are coming.” I looked down the road and saw a vast multitude approaching. It was led by a military officer. “Who is that?” I asked the sentinel. “That,” replied he, “is the great Colonel Robert I——, the founder of the city of Ingersollville.” “Who is he?” I ventured to inquire. “He is the great and mighty warrior, who fought in many bloody battles for the Union during the great war.” I felt ashamed of my ignorance of history, and stood silently watching the procession. I had heard of a Colonel I——, who resigned in presence of the enemy, but of course this could not be the man. The procession came near enough for me to recognize some of the faces. I noted two infidel editors of national celebrity, followed by great wagons containing steam presses. There were also five members of Congress. All the noted infidels and scoffers of the country seemed to be there. Most of them passed in unchallenged by the sentinel, but at last a meek looking individual with a white necktie approached, and he was stopped. I saw at once it was a well-known “liberal” preacher of New York. “Do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ?” said the sentinel. “Not much!” said the doctor. Everybody laughed, and he was allowed to pass in. There were artists there, with glorious pictures; singers with ravishing voices; tragedians and comedians, whose names have a world-wide fame. Then came another division of the infidel host—saloon-keepers by thousands, proprietors of gambling hells, brothels and theaters. Still another division swept by—burglars, thieves, thugs, incendiaries, highwaymen, murderers,—all marching in. My vision grew keener. I beheld, and lo! Satan himself brought up the rear. High afloat above the mass was a banner on which was inscribed, “What has Christianity done?” and another, on which was inscribed, “Down with the churches! Away with Christianity—it interferes with our happiness!” And then came a murmur of voices that grew louder and louder until a shout went up like the roar of Niagara: “Away with him! Crucify him, crucify him!” I felt no desire now to enter Ingersollville. As the last of the procession entered, a few men and women with broad-brimmed hats and plain bonnets made their appearance, and wanted to go in as missionaries, but they were rudely turned away. One zealous young Methodist exhorter, with a Bible under his arm, asked permission to enter, but the sentinel swore at him awfully. Then I thought I saw Bro. Moody applying for admission, but he was refused. I could not help smiling to hear Moody say, as he turned sadly away: “Well! they let me live and work in Chicago; it is very strange they won't let me into Ingersollville.” The sentinel went inside the gate and shut it with a bang; and I thought, as soon as it was closed, a mighty angel came down with a great iron bar, and barred the gate on the outside, and wrote upon it in letters of fire: “Doomed to live together six months.” Then he went away, and all was silent, except the noise of revelry and shouting that came from within the city walls. I went away, and as I journeyed through the land I could not believe my eyes. Peace and plenty smiled everywhere. The jails were all empty and the penitentiaries were without occupants. The police in great cities were idle. Judges sat in court rooms with nothing to do. Business was brisk. Many great buildings, formerly crowded with criminals, were turned into manufacturing establishments. Just about this time the President of the United States called for a Day of Thanksgiving. I attended services in a Presbyterian church. The preacher dwelt upon the changed condition of affairs. As he went on, and depicted the great prosperity that had come to the country, and gave reasons for devout thanksgiving, I saw one old deacon clap his handkerchief over his mouth to keep from shouting right out. An ancient spinster who never did like the “noisy” Methodists, couldn't hold in. She expressed the thought of every heart shouting with all her might, “Glory to God for Ingersollville!” The country was almost delirious with joy. Great processions of children swept along the highways, singing,— “We’ll not give up the Bible,
God’s blessed word of truth.” Vast assemblies of reformed inebriates, with their wives and children, gathered in the open air. No building would hold them. I thought I was in one meeting where Bishop Simpson made an address, and as he closed it a mighty shout went up till the earth rang again. Oh, it was wonderful! And then we all stood up and sang with tears of joy,— “All hail the power of Jesus’ name!
Let angels prostrate fall;
Bring forth the royal diadem,
And crown him Lord of all.” The six months had well nigh gone. I made my way back again to the gate of Ingersollville. A dreadful silence reigned over the city, broken only by the sharp crack of a revolver now and then. I saw a busy man trying to get in at the gate, and I said to him, “My friend, where are you from?” “I lived in Chicago,” said he, “and they’ve taxed us to death there; and I’ve heard of this city, and I want to go in and buy some real estate in this new and growing place.” He failed utterly to remove the bar, but by some means he got a ladder about twelve feet long, and with its aid he climbed upon the wall. With an eye to business, he shouted to the first person he saw: “Halloo, there,—what’s the price of real estate in Ingersollville?” “Nothing!” shouted a voice; “you can have all you want if you’ll just take it and pay the taxes.” “What made your taxes so high?” asked the Chicago man. I noted the answer carefully; I shall never forget it. “We’ve had to build forty new jails and fourteen new penitentiaries—a lunatic asylum, and an orphan asylum in every ward; we’ve had to disband the public schools, and it takes all of the revenue of the city to keep up the police forces.” “Where’s my old friend, I——?” asked the Chicago man. “Oh, he is going about to-day with a subscription paper to build a church. They have gotten up a petition to send out for a lot of preachers to come and hold revival services. If we can only get them over the wall, we hope there’s a future for Ingersollville yet.” The six months ended. Instead of opening the door, however, a tunnel was dug under the wall large enough for one person to crawl through at a time. First came the bankrupt editors, followed by Col. I—— himself; and then the whole population crawled through. Then I thought, somehow, that great crowds of Christians surrounded the city. There was Moody, and Hammond, and Earle, with hundreds of other preachers and exhorters, and they struck up singing all together,— “Come ye sinners, poor and needy.” A needier crowd never was seen on earth before. I conversed with some of the inhabitants of the abandoned city, and asked a few of them this question: “Do you believe in hell?” I cannot record the answers; they were so terribly orthodox. One old man said, “I’ve been there on probation for six months, and I don’t want to join.” I knew by that he was an old backslider. The sequel of it all was a great revival that gathered in a mighty harvest from the ruined city of Ingersollville.—Harrisburg Independent.