energy, and force, unhampered by the splendid ruins of a past which, however great, does but encumber; the American people, it would seem, are called upon in a pre-eminent degree, to determine the form that the society of the future shall assume.

For a century past America has drawn to herself by an irresistible attraction, the boldest, the most masterful, the most practically intelligent men of Europe. And by the same law she has repelled the sensitive, the contemplative, and the devout. Over her unencumbered plains the Genius of Industry ranges unchallenged, naked, unashamed. In Europe it still has to fight for its supremacy; for there it is confronted with the debris of an earlier society, with ideals, habits, institutions, monument, traditions-alien to its achievements and incomprehensible to its aims, Cathedral churches, splendid palaces, manors, and parks, moss-grown cottages, perpetuate the tradition of ranks and orders, ancient, hereditary, and fixed. In Europe, in a word, the modern spirit has to contend with an ancient culture; in America it is free.

We stand at the parting of the ways. The question looms before us:-have the triumphs gained by our countrymen over matter and space-have their immense achievements in the development of the practical arts -have these been secured at the cost of finer feeling and force? Is that spirit which created religion, the arts, the speculation of the past-that spirit of unquenchable aspiration which has assumed, in its tireless quest for embodiment, forms so alluring, so terrible, so divine— which has luxuriated in the jungle of Hindoo myths,blossomed in the Pantheon of the Greeks,-suffered on the cross, perished at the stake, wasted in the cloister and the cell,—which has given life to marble,—substance

to color,-structure to fugitive sound,-is that spirit to urge as of old the reluctant wheels of our destiny? Or are we to fill our bellies with the husks of comfort, security, and peace? Are we to be spirits or intelligent brutes, men or mere machines?

The foundations of our future have barely been made; nay, the very plans of the building have not yet been drawn. But the lesson, the spirit of the past, should be our only guides in its construction. Then, and then only, will the beaten path to its portals become so familiar to our feet that, even while we pace it, we turn our gaze up to the eternal stars.

268.

LIFE THROUGH SOCIALISM

"A man may die for another man's life-work, but if he live he must live for his own.'

So says Ibsen, so cries every city, so rings every factory, every mill in this country. Living under the ban of a commercial oligarchy, we see on every side men who are dying for the life-work of the few whom luck has placed above them.

Can't you imagine way off yonder in Pittsburgh the fitful glare of the furnace as it catches the half-naked, starving bodies of the incessant toilers? Can't you imagine off to the South the little children trudging to the day's work at the mill? You ask, "Where are the older ones?" that you might give to them the burden. Ah! that's the pity of it all, these consumptive children of toil never grow old. Can't you see in New York the ten-by-ten room of a family, a family toiling as they await death? Can't you see all about the small business man crushed by a system of commercial monopoly held to be a necessity to the country?

Yes, railroad wreck, mine disaster, an appalling death rate in the South, daily thousands of children born consumptive in New York City,-point to the fact that today we can only live by dying for the life-work of others.

But there is hope. There has dawned in the sky in later years a new thought. Laughed at and scorned, crucified upon the bitter cross of public ridicule,-Socialism still struggles on, giving hope to those who now live only to die. Promises are all that it now brings, but, oh, what balm are these few words to the workingman of today. They foretell the end of clinging capital, the end of the unearned increment, the end of the insane accumulation of the country's force and life in the hands of the few.

Though we may laugh at this principle, though we may scorn it, yes, though we may hate it, yet we cannot but feel the pulse of the workingman when he cries, as he has cried, North, South, East, and West,

"We have died for the life-work of others, but by the grace of Socialism, we will live for our own."

They have now covered up our hot breath with earth. Why are you blinking at me with your bleared eyes, my brother? Are you not glad? Don't they envy us our sweet death? They have laid us out in picturesque rows, and you need only turn your head to rub against human flesh, and if you turn your hollow eyeball, you can see nothing but corpses in the twilight. One beside the other, that is how they are sleeping. And corpse upon corpse ever more of them, through the whole of the loose soil of the potato field, and we even fill the whole adjoining field of roots.

Wonder whether the sun still goes on shining above us?-Whether they still know how to laugh in the towns as we used to in our time? Wonder whether my wife still goes on remembering her dead husband—and my two kiddies-whether they have already forgotten their father? They were so tiny at the time.

We poor dead heroes! So do not disturb our last sleep. We had to die to enable others to live. We died for our native land in its straits. We are victorious now, and have won land and fame, land enough for millions of our brothers. Our wives have land, our children, our mothers, our fathers have land. And now our poor native land has air to breathe. It need no longer be stifled. They have cleared the air of us. They have got rid of us, of us who were far too many. We are no longer eating the bread away from other folks' mouths. We are so full-fed, so full-fed and quiet. But they have got land! Fertile land! And ore! Iron mines! Gold! And bread!

Come, brother philosopher, let us turn our faces to the earth. Let us sleep upon our laurels, and let us dream of nothing but our country's future.

270.

GOVERNMENT AND BUSINESS

At a public dinner in New York a year ago the subject for discussion was "The Relation of Government to Business." One of the speakers opened his address with the following striking sentence: "The most remarkable thing about the relations of the government to business seems to me to be that it is necessary to discuss them at all."

This statement expresses better than pages of description the attitude of many exponents of Big Business

today. Business must not be impeded in its triumphal progress. No wrong may be righted, no injustice may be checked, because such action would "disturb business." Years ago such an attitude was even more common, but in these days many of our industrial kings have seen the handwriting on the wall, and have amended their speech if not their practices. A large remnant, however, has not yet comprehended the message.

Such industrial survivals of past ages do not realize that they are living in a new world. They do not see that they are loudly proclaiming the divine right of kings to an age which has, decisively and finally, repudiated that doctrine. The story of King Canute conveys no meaning to them. We are told that this monarch set up his throne on the seashore and commanded the waves to refrain from approaching him. The waves wet the royal feet, and if the throne had not been removed would have drenched and overwhelmed the royal person. This happened 900 years ago, and similar commands to respect royalty are no more powerful today. Our Captain of Industry must come to realize this fact.

A condition exists. The great organizations are here, and in some form or other are likely to remain. Shall we see that they keep within the laws as thus far interpreted, meanwhile collecting all the facts which will enable us to make a final decision, or shall we allow them to go their own way except as they are restrained by the fear of the Attorney General? Surely there can be but

one answer.

271.

THE HILLS OF DEATH

Down there, if you have any blood, any brain,—if you have any heart, you can get to the depths of life. As