he entertained a contempt which he was seldom at pains to conceal.  North Carolina had many clergymen of the more progressive type; these men chuckled at Page’s vigorous characterization of the brethren, but those against whom it had been aimed raged with a fervour that was almost unchristian.  This clerical excitement, however, did not greatly disturb the philosophic Page.  The hubbub lasted for several years—­for Page’s Greensboro speech was only the first of many pronouncements of the same kind—­but he never publicly referred to the attacks upon him.  Occasionally in letters to his friends he would good-naturedly discuss them.  “I have had several letters,” he wrote to Professor Edwin Mims, of Trinity College, North Carolina, “about an ‘excoriation’ (Great Heavens!  What a word!) that somebody in North Carolina has been giving me.  I never read these things and I don’t know what it’s all about—­nor do I care.  But perhaps you’ll be interested in a letter that I wrote an old friend (a lady) who is concerned about it.  I enclose a copy of it.  I shall never notice any ‘excoriator.’  But if you wish to add to the gaiety of nations, give this copy to some newspaper and let it loose in the state—­if you care to do so.  We must have patience with these puny and peevish brethren.  They’ve been trained to a false view of life.  Heaven knows I bear them no ill-will.”

The letter to which Page referred follows: 

     MY DEAR FRIEND: 

I have your letter saying that some of the papers in North Carolina are again “jumping on” me.  I do not know which they are, and I am glad that you did not tell me.  I had heard of it before.  A preacher wrote me the other day that he approved of every word of an “excoriation” that some religious editor had given me.  A kindly Christian act—­wasn’t it, to send a stranger word that you were glad that he had been abused by a religious editor?  I wrote him a gentle letter, telling him that I hoped he’d have a long and happy life preaching a gospel of friendliness and neighbourliness and good-will, and that I cared nothing about “excoriations.”  Why should he, then, forsake his calling and take delight in disseminating personal abuse?

And why do you not write me about things that I really care for in the good old country—­the budding trees, the pleasant weather, news of old friends, gossip of good people—­cheerful things?  I pray you, don’t be concerned about what any poor whining soul may write about me.  I don’t care for myself:  I care only for him; for the writer of personal abuse always suffers from it—­never the man abused.

I haven’t read what my kindly clerical correspondent calls an “excoriation” for ten years, and I never shall read one if I know what it is beforehand.  Why should I or anybody read such stuff?  I can’t find time to do half the positive things that I should like to do for the broadening of my own character and