Nome industrial worker., 1908-02-21

symbol of the relentlessness of author ity against even the gentlest and meekest advocate of universal love. The victims of authority in the polit- ical world are all that vast army of the unknown whose heads have fallen, whose limbs have been crushed, whose lives have routed out in dun geons since the battle between Free dom and Authority began.
 Algernon Sidney! Papers were found in his possession in his hand writing declaring that the people, the plain masses of the plain people, were the source and authority of all law. For this he trod the gallows' steps, deserted by evsry friend. And the rule of men by the divine right of kings triumphed; there was no ohe left bold enough to repeat his words. But the truth that Sidney saw did not die; being Truth it could not die. And in the progress of time we find that stern, round headed English gentleman, Oliver Cromwell, going up and down the land with his regiment of Ironsides, sweeping it clean of the falsity of this right of the few to rule the many; and wrote upon the parch- ment of Parliament as the law of the land, '"The source of all law under God is the people,
 John Brown! He, too, trod the gal lows steps alone; and for him the gentlest and most charitable words that could be found were, "He is a fanatic!" A crazy visionary!'' The earth took back the body which she had given and he was forgotten. Slavery was triumphant. Peace reigned. Force and authority had stamped out the lie that man was born to be free. But was it lie? Was 1t stamped out? It was part of the eter- nal and immortal truth that man must and will be free. The poor, broken body of John Brown lay mouldering in the grave, but his soul was march ing on.
 And the soul of each one of US, if it has grasped even so much as the hem of the garment of Truth, will go on forever. Some of us are great temp ests which toss the ocean of mankind into storms, and others are heavy boulders which plunge from the mountain side into the lake; but the most of us are only insignificant peb- bles which make few nipples in our little placid pond. But though we be forgotten, what of that? The sun shines and the waters glisten and the leaves rustic not alone for you and for me, but for the race. Nature Is as careless and indifferent to the name of Alexander, Caesar or Plantagenet- aye, Socrates, Cromwell or Darwin, - as it is to your name or mine. The world has been moved not only by the famous leaders of men, but by the AOoIS WAOS CoAbuMC0 with hunger for truth and loyal unto death, have gone down into oblivion.
 On these bright June mornings the bees radiate from their hives to the honied pastures, and each thoughtless of herself plundeps the fragrant blooms that the hives may live. If some tall by the wayside, if some are overtaken by the frost of night, if some meet death in the midst of their labors, the hive huns on. What is it to the, hive that this one has died, or that? The hive exists not for this bee or that bee, or any number of bees, nor for all the bees of the hive; it exists that the race may live. So it is with us. Climb the topmost pinnacle of fame. write your name in letters of light among the stars; and yet in the dull