Yonder in the Philippine Islands are seventy different tribes, speaking many languages.  How to mold them into one common whole, loyal to one flag is a mighty problem; and yet I am one of those who believe God intends this American republic shall be a standard-bearer of civilization to the darkest corners of the earth.  I do not mean by this that I advocate imperialism from the standpoint of wider domain.  Indeed I am disposed to dodge the question of imperialism, as I dodged the money question in Colorado when the question was the issue in politics.  I gave three addresses for the Boulder, Colorado, Chautauqua when the money question was the all-absorbing one in the west.  At the close of my second address I was introduced to the superintendent of the railroad that runs over the Switzerland trail.  He said:  “I understand your wife is here, and I will be pleased to have you and Mrs. Bain as my guests tomorrow.”  I knew that meant a free ride and I accepted.  The next morning we were at the station at the appointed hour and after a wonderful ride mid scenic grandeur up to where eagles nest, and blizzards hatch out their young, our host said:  “I want you to have the most thrilling ride you ever had, and at the next station be ready to leave the train.”  As the brakes gripped the wheels, and the train rested on the eye-brow of the mountain height, we stepped off.  A hand car was taken from the baggage car and the train moved on up the trail.  While Mrs. Bain was captivated by the mountains, I was looking at that hand car, without any handles on it, a flat truck with four wheels.  The superintendent said:  “Will you help me lift this on to the track?” I said:  “Yes, but what are you going to do with it?” When he said:  “Going down the mountain to where we came from,” I said, “What will we hold to?” “To each other,” he replied, and I could see he was enjoying Mrs. Bain’s placidness and my apprehension of trouble ahead.

Determined to sustain Kentucky’s reputation for courage I said no more, but hoped Mrs. Bain would come to my relief since she knew her husband was given to dizziness when riding backwards or swinging round sudden curves.  She said:  “Isn’t this a grand sight?” I said:  “Yes, it’s grand, but we are going down the mountain on this hand car.”  “That will be fine,” was all the comfort she gave me.

Though I have traveled close to a million miles behind the iron horse I cannot ride backwards on a railroad train.  In that respect I am like the husband who when about to die said to his wife:  “I want to make a special request of you, and that is, see that I am buried face down; it always did make me sick to travel backwards.”  When a boy I could not swing as could other boys.  My head is not level on my shoulders.  I have never crossed the ocean and never will.  I cannot ride the rolling waves.  Some years ago when out on a little coast ride for pleasure, (if that’s what you call it) I said to the captain:  “How long till we reach the shore?” When he answered forty minutes, I felt I couldn’t live that long.  But I did, and when the boat touched the wharf I felt as the old lady did who landed from her first ocean trip saying:  “Thank the Lord, I’m on vice-versa again.”