Aye, vive le roi. The King is dead-- So move our lives from day to day. The triumph of to-morrow's lord Meets for our former chief's decay. Then love and live and laugh and sing-- The world is good and life is free-- There's not a single care I know That's worth a single tear from me. What's love or fame or place or power? What's wealth when we shall come to die? What matters anything on earth So long as only I am I? The Joy or grief or love or shame That holds its little hour of sway Is only worth its destined time-- What use to try to make it stay? Aye, let it go. The monarch dead, A better king our shouts may hail And if a worse--well, still be glad; He too will pass behind the vail. They all must pass--fame, joy and love, The sting of grief, the blot of shame; The only thing that really counts Is how we bear the praise or blame. I'll take the good the while it lasts And when it goes I'll learn to sing, All eager for the coming joy-- "The king is dead, long live the king." Reflections of A Rich Man +If God were not in existence+ we would have to order one from the Professors of Theology. The fear, instilled in the majority of the poor, with the God, Devil, Heaven and Hell idea, is greater than their dread of a hundred thousand policemen. Had we not given God the place of Chief Gendarme of the Universe, we would need twice as many soldiers and police as we have to-day. * * * * * +A poor devil+ who owns but one million dollars said to me the other day: "I, in your place, would rather contribute money towards art and literature than to donate it to the Baptist Church." What an impracticable fellow! Art and literature, among the common people, only tends to cause mischief. They are to remain our privilege. We know the demands of good taste and we can afford to pay for the aesthetic pleasures of life. The majority is unable to do that; besides, to teach them the beauty of art only means to make them discontented and rebellious against our authority. * * * * * +I frankly admit+ I never had a great admiration for Jesus of Nazareth. A man of disordered circumstances arouses my disgust. Jesus was neither engaged in any kind of a business, nor did he possess as much as a bank account, nor even a steady home. He preached to the poor. What for? The poor should work and not philosophize. The Scriptures tell nowhere that Jesus returned the mule, upon which he made his entry into Jerusalem, to the owner, or that he paid him for it. I strongly suspect he did not do it. One thing is certain, I never would have taken this dreamer of the abolition of profits as my business partner. * * * * *