of the tongs is wholly absent from the tongs; and, therefore, responsibility being absent, punishment cannot ensue.  Am I right?” A hearty burst of applause was his answer.  “Now, then, we arrive at a man’s stomach.  Consider how exactly, how marvelously, indeed, its situation corresponds to that of a pair of tongs.  Listen—­and take careful note, I beg you.  Can a man’s stomach plan a murder?  No.  Can it plan a theft?  No.  Can it plan an incendiary fire?  No.  Now answer me—­can a pair of tongs?” (There were admiring shouts of “No!” and “The cases are just exact!” and “Don’t he do it splendid!”) “Now, then, friends and neighbors, a stomach which cannot plan a crime cannot be a principal in the commission of it—­that is plain, as you see.  The matter is narrowed down by that much; we will narrow it further.  Can a stomach, of its own motion, assist at a crime?  The answer is no, because command is absent, the reasoning faculty is absent, volition is absent—­as in the case of the tongs.  We perceive now, do we not, that the stomach is totally irresponsible for crimes committed, either in whole or in part, by it?” He got a rousing cheer for response.  “Then what do we arrive at as our verdict?  Clearly this:  that there is no such thing in this world as a guilty stomach; that in the body of the veriest rascal resides a pure and innocent stomach; that, whatever it’s owner may do, it at least should be sacred in our eyes; and that while God gives us minds to think just and charitable and honorable thoughts, it should be, and is, our privilege, as well as our duty, not only to feed the hungry stomach that resides in a rascal, having pity for its sorrow and its need, but to do it gladly, gratefully, in recognition of its sturdy and loyal maintenance of its purity and innocence in the midst of temptation and in company so repugnant to its better feelings.  I am done.”

Well, you never saw such an effect!  They rose—­the whole house rose—­an clapped, and cheered, and praised him to the skies; and one after another, still clapping and shouting, they crowded forward, some with moisture in their eyes, and wrung his hands, and said such glorious things to him that he was clear overcome with pride and happiness, and couldn’t say a word, for his voice would have broken, sure.  It was splendid to see; and everybody said he had never come up to that speech in his life before, and never could do it again.  Eloquence is a power, there is no question of that.  Even old Jacques d’Arc was carried away, for once in his life, and shouted out: 

“It’s all right, Joan—­give him the porridge!”

She was embarrassed, and did not seem to know what to say, and so didn’t say anything.  It was because she had given the man the porridge long ago and he had already eaten it all up.  When she was asked why she had not waited until a decision was arrived at, she said the man’s stomach was very hungry, and it would not have been wise to wait, since she could not tell what the decision would be.  Now that was a good and thoughtful idea for a child.