LAST DITCH OF DEMOCRACY - Majority Rights

When Cromwell betrayed the British race, unintentionally perhaps, but
at any rate, when he “had to speak to these men,” the religious sectaries
“in their own language,” as he said by way of his excuse to his cousin
Waller when he brought back the Jews, and when Bible reading became
prevalent on both sides of the Atlantic, the way was prepared for curious
fanaticisms, witch burnings, etc. And traces of religious mania, or
vagrant fantasy are still found. Wallace’s hallucinations come from Bible
reading, not from being pro-English. And of course the U.S. is being
had. The sanity of the 18th century is gettin’ snowed under. And it is
NOT the Jew that America loves.
It is merely the dialect of that curious King James translation that has
perturbed the mind of the simple hearted Americans. In fact has wormed
into the American popular mind for some time, though the effect has
considerably waned in the more sophisticated American circles. Post-
Christianity has set in, as one of your better writers has dubbed it. Of
course the minute a man says he accepts the decalog and the crucifix
simultaneously, he has got into a tangle. As was shown in Engand where
the crucifix went by the board, about the time Cromwell was committin’
mass [muder?] in Ireland. Old Crumwell feedin’ on powder an’ ball as
he appears in that touchin’ ballad, “Blarney Castle; me darlint.”
You have been singularly unconscious of that undermining and of
subsequent underminings. One of your writers who died a few years ago
made gallant efforts to awaken you. Her novels were not widely read.
She wrote one called “The Death of Felicity Taverner” that would pay
you to read, as sociological study. Dear Mary’s work rather distressed
one at times things came out with such a raw edge on ’em, and the style
was sometimes so jammed and elaborate. She presented a couple of
South Afrikanders in another book, more raw than the general reader
was used to. In Felicity Taverner she has gone under the surface. If your
people were painted by Holbein (the Lady Butts) and if your Great
Grandfather was a patron of Blake, you might conceivably want to
preserve something that Lord Beaverbrook hadn’t heard of, that the