fl poet of ttye people apd 
 
 
 
 /}fter Sixty Years. 
 
 
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 >c & ^ c 
 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 By B. 0. 
 
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Three Works by B. 0. FLOWER, with Critical Press Opinion. 
 
 GERALD MASSEY: Poet, Prophet and Mystic. 
 
 A study of the life and thought of England's Poet of the People. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY LAURA LEE. 
 Price, extra cloth, $1.00. 
 
 Golden Opinions from Loading Critical Journals. 
 
 A SCHOLARLY WORK REVEALING THE INNER LlFE OF THE POET. Mr. B. O. Flower's 
 
 latest work is a scholarly discussion of the life and work of Massey, poet, prophet and 
 mystic. One of the feature chapters is that in which the author traces the points of re- 
 semblance between Massey and Whittier. There are frequent quotations from the poet, 
 but they are none too frequent, since they reveal to us the inner life of the man. Z>z7y 
 
 Advertiser, Boston Mass. 
 
 "*V 
 FINEST PRESENTATION OF THE POET'S CHARACTER WHICH HAS APPEARED IN THE 
 
 NEW WORLD. A most appreciative and tender tribute to one of England's lesser but 
 noble song writers. No such presentation of the poet's character and work has yet been 
 seen on this side the water. Daily Traveler, Boston. 
 
 A VOLUME WHICH WILL FIND A HIGH ^CHE AMONG THE ELECT. Mr B. O Flowers 
 
 appreciation of the beauty and strength of Gerald Massey's nature and work is so enthu- 
 siastic yet so spiritually true-tempered th^he is better qualified than almost any one to 
 deal with the subject as he has in his latest book : " Gerald Massey: Poet, Prophet and 
 Mystic." So true a soul as Mr. Massey's deserves just such direct and sympathetic 
 treatment as that here given by Mr. Flower, and it is a delight, as well as inspiration and 
 benefit, to contemplate the picture of his life as drawn by Mr. Flower from Mr. Massey's 
 own words and writings, conducted and interspersed with comments, facts and explana- 
 tions from Mr. Flower's pen. It is an uncommonly expressive delineation, and done 
 with a fidelity of color which keenly tells in the impressions conveyed to the reader's 
 mind. 
 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
 Daily Advertiser. 
 
 Dailv Traveler. 
 
 Boston Ideas. 
 
 Cincinnati, O. 
 
 Daily Commer- 
 cial Gazette. 
 
 Chicago, 111. 
 
 Daily 
 Inter-Ocean. 
 
 NewYork,N.Y. 
 
 New York World. 
 
 Mr. Massey has received appreciation from high sources for his masterly poetic power, 
 but Mr. Flower's book aims chiefly at bringing forth before the public the man's charac- 
 ter as a power among' the modern reform elements which rank in the lists of the broadly 
 fearless and true. Mr. Flower handles the subject admirably, and we thus gain the full 
 force of the exquisite beauty, the invincible strength and the lofty truth of, Mr. Massey's 
 clear vision and straightforward expressiveness. This volume will find a high niche among 
 the elect. It is handsomely and expensively printed. Boston Ideas. 
 
 A WORK AT ONCE BEAUTIFUL IN COMPOSITION AND FAULTLESS IN MECHANICAL EXE- 
 CUTION. "Gerald Massey: Poet, Prophet and Mystic," is the title Mr. B. O Flower 
 gives to a beautiful discussion of the life work of " One of England's Poets of the People." 
 The volume in its mechanical execution is a work of art. . . . The author illustrates 
 the three phases of Massey's mental and moral nature, as poet, prophet and mystic. It 
 is a charming book, written in a sympathetic spirit, in which the subject is appropriately 
 called upon to reveal his own character by his poems. It contains several elegant illus- 
 trations by Laura Lee. Commercial Gazette, Cincinnati, O. 
 
 A HANDSOME VOLUME DEALING WITH AN INTERESTING SUBJECT. A handsome 
 
 volume, both in print and illustrations, which presents briefly, but pointedly the life and 
 work of Gerald Massey. Our author finds a striking resemblance between Massey and 
 our own loved Quaker poet, Whittier. Both were tireless reformers, " passionately in 
 love with the beauty in common life." Both hated injustice with all their powers of 
 mind, with prophetic and intuitive insight as to coming events. They both " revealed 
 beauties within and without the homes of the humble," and were fearless in denunciation 
 of wrong doing. The work is handsomely illustrated, but the text alone makes it an 
 interesting and even charming book. Mr. Flower makes free quotations from the gems 
 of many of Massey's inspiring songs, and briugs out admirably the leading traits of 
 character that shaped his life and inspired his writing. Daily Inter-Ocean, Chicago. 
 
 Gerald Massey will be better known to the English-speaking people fifty years from 
 now than he is to-day. His genius is only just beginning to be recognized, and Mr. B. 
 O. Flower has done the world a service in his critical monograph, " Gerald Massey : Poet, 
 Prophet and Mystic." It is a tribute from the heart to a true prophet of freedom, frater- 
 nity and justice, ever loyal to-the interest of the oppressed. New York World. 
 
 
 The above are a few of the many appreciative criticisms which have greeted Mr. Flower's latest volume. This 
 w6rk is one that is needed at the present time, as it makes a powerful plea for justice, while it presents the storvof 
 Massey's life and the ideas which' have dominated his brain. In mechanical execution this work which is printed 
 in black and red, on heavy antique paper, illustrated with a few choice pictures, drawn by Miss Laura LeeT^H 
 talented Boston artist, is one of the finest examples of the modem revival of fine book-making. It is bound in 
 ornamental cloth, stamped in gold, and is a model of beauty as well as a volume of excellence. 
 
 It makes a charming presentation volume. 
 
 ARENA PUBLISHING COMPANY, Copley Square, Boston. 
 

 
 if- 
 
 

A POET OP THE PEOPLE, 
 i. 
 
 IN the present paper I wish to give a brief outline of the life 
 and work of the poet, composer, and singer, James G. Clark, 
 whose fine lyrical and reformative verses have been an inspira- 
 tion to thousands of lives. 
 
 Mr. Clark was born in Constantia, N. Y., in 1830. His 
 father was a man of influence in his community, being recognized 
 as intelligent and honorable, and possessing that cool, dispassion- 
 ate judgment which always commands respect. The mother gave 
 to her son his poetical gift and his intense love for humanity, 
 his all-absorbing devotion to justice and liberty, and a nature at 
 once refined yet brave. When but three years old, the little 
 poet had learned from his mother " The Star of Bethlehem," 
 sung to the air of " Bonny Doon," and could sing the entire piece 
 without missing a word or note. When twenty-one years of age 
 he was well known in his community as a concert singer of rare 
 ability. At this time Mr. Clark attracted the attention of Mr. 
 Ossian E. Dodge, who, in addition to publishing a literary jour- 
 nal in Boston, had under his management the most popular con- 
 cert quartette in New England. Mr. Dodge was a man of quick 
 perception ; he readily saw that the young poet and singer would 
 prove a valuable acquisition to his already famous troupe, and 
 promptly appointed him musical composer for his company. 
 Into this work Mr. Clark threw all the enthusiasm of youth, com- 
 posing such universally popular songs as " The Old Mountain 
 Tree," " The Rover's Grave," " Meet Me by the Running Brook," 
 and " The Rock of Liberty." " The Old Mountain Tree " was 
 for some time a reigning favorite through the land, it being sung 
 for months in theatres and concerts. At the Boston Museum, 
 then the leading theatre of Boston, it was no unusual thing for 
 it to be called for as many as three times in a single evening. 
 
 One day during this period of popularity, his mother, who was a 
 very religious woman, said to him, " James, why cannot you 
 write a hymn ? " He loved his mother devotedly. There was 
 between them more than the strong ties of mother and son. . She 
 had fostered and encouraged his^every poetical and musical aspi- 
 ration, and it was his most earnest desire to gratify her wish- but 
 
 i 
 
thought along this line came slowly, and almost a year elapsed 
 before the young man placed a pencilled copy of his hymn, 
 " The Evergreen Mountains of Life," in his mother's hand. She 
 read it through silently, too much overcome to speak, while great 
 tears coursed down her wrinkled cheeks. At this period he 
 composed several songs and hymns which have been univer- 
 sally popular, such as " Where the Roses Never Wither," 
 The Beautiful Hills," and The Isles of the By and By." Of 
 these poems Dr. A. P. Miller of San Francisco, himself a poet 
 of more than ordinary power and an admirable critic, writes : 
 " These songs have for thirty years been received by all classes 
 as forming a group of original and perfect lyrics adapted to every 
 platform and hall, whether sacred or secular. To say this," 
 continues Dr. Miller, " detracts nothing from his songs of love 
 and freedom. It is only saying that they are the St. Elias, the 
 Tacoma, the Hood, and the Shasta, which out- tower all other 
 song peaks and reach those heights where the sunshine is eternal 
 and the view universal." 
 
 It may be well to note at this time the singular fact that in his 
 poetical life Mr. Clark has appeared in three distinct roles, although 
 he has always been the poet of the people. During his youth 
 and early manhood the popular lyric and ballad claimed his 
 power. It was the work of this period which won for him the 
 name of the Tom Moore of America ; and had he not taken the 
 other upward steps, the appellation would not have been so pal- 
 pably inadequate to describe the man who for thirty years has 
 been the poet of reform and the prophet of the new day. W^hen 
 the sixties dawned, the first song epoch of his life was drawing 
 to a close, and the mutterings of the Rebellion were oppressing 
 age and stimulating youth throughout the North. Mr. Clark 
 had given his country a collection of songs and ballads destined 
 to live long after his body had returned to dust, and he had sung 
 his melody into the hearts of thousands who had listened to the 
 poet composer and singer with that rapt attention which is the 
 tribute of manhood and womanhood to genuine merit. The 
 clouds of rebellion were gathering around the horizon ; but ere 
 the shock of arms thrilled the nation, Mr. Clark was summoned 
 to the death bed of his mother. Sitting at her side as the spirit 
 was poising for flight, and catching inspiration from her words, 
 there came to him that exceedingly popular and touching poem, 
 " Leona," which was first published in the Home Journal of 
 New York, then edited by George Morris and N. P. Willis. 
 This poem, Mr. Morris afterwards declared, had been more 
 widely copied, admired, and committed to memory than any other 
 composition of its class ever published in America. As " Leona " 
 affords an admirable illustration of Mr. Clark's work at this time, 
 
and because it belongs to a class of poems always treasured by 
 the people, I will give several stanzas.* 
 
 Leona, the hour draws nigh 
 
 The hour we've awaited so long, 
 For the angel to open a door through the sky, 
 That my spirit may break through its prison and try 
 
 Its voice in an infinite song. 
 
 Just now, as the slumbers of night 
 
 Came o'er me with peace-giving breath, 
 The curtain, half lifted, revealed to my sight 
 Those windows which look on the kingdom of light 
 
 That borders the River of Death. 
 
 And a vision fell solemn and sweet, 
 
 Bringing gleams of a morning-lit land; 
 I saw the white shore which the pale waters beat, 
 And I heard the low lull as they broke at their feet 
 
 Who walk on the beautiful strand. 
 
 And I wondered why spirits should cling 
 
 To their clay with a struggle and sigh, 
 When life's purple autumn is better than spring, 
 And the soul flies away like a sparrow, to sing 
 
 In a climate where leaves never die. 
 
 Leona, come close to my bed, 
 
 And lay your dear hand on my brow; 
 The same touch thrilled me in days that are fled, 
 And raised the lost roses of youth from the dead, 
 
 Can brighten the brief moments now. 
 
 We have loved from the cold world apart; 
 
 And your trust was too generous and true 
 For their hate to o'erthrow; when the slanderer's dart 
 Was rankling deep in my desolate heart, 
 
 I was dearer than ever to you. 
 
 I thank the Great Father for this, 
 
 That our love is not lavished in vain; 
 Each germ, in the future, will blossom to bliss, 
 And the forms that we love, and the lips that we kiss, 
 
 Never shrink at the shadow of pain. 
 
 By the light of this faith am I taught 
 
 That death is but action begun; 
 
 In the strength of this hope I have struggled and fought 
 With the legions of wrong, till my armor has caught 
 
 The gleam of Eternity's sun. 
 
 Leona, look forth and behold : 
 
 From headland, from hillside, and deep, 
 The day king surrenders his banners of gold; 
 The twilight advances through woodland and wold, 
 
 And the dews are beginning to weep. 
 
 * The selection from "Leona," " Fremont's Battle Hymn," and " The Voice of the 
 People," as well as the poems " Minnie Minturn " and " The Infinite Mother," are from 
 Mr. Clark's volume " Poetry and Song." Published by D. Lothrop & Co., Boston, Mass. 
 
The moon's silver hair lies uncurled, 
 Down the broad-breasted mountains away ; 
 Ere sunset's red glories again shall be furled 
 On the walls of the west, o'er the plains of the world, 
 I shall rise in a limitless day. 
 
 Oh, come not in tears to my tomb, 
 Nor plant with frail flowers the sod ; 
 There is rest among roses too sweet for its gloom, 
 And life where the lilies eternally bloom, 
 
 In the balm-breathing gardens of God. 
 
 II. 
 
 The divine afflatus which fills the poet brain, and weaves itself 
 into words which thrill and move the profound depths of human 
 emotions, was next manifested in Mr. Clark's soul-awakening 
 songs of freedom. The sweet ballads and lyrics of love and 
 home disappeared before stern Duty's voice. While Whittier, 
 Longfellow, and Lowell were tiring the heart of New England, 
 Mr. Clark sent forth " Fremont's Battle Hymn," one of the most 
 noteworthy poems of war-times, and a song which produced great 
 enthusiasm wherever sung. Some idea of the influence which 
 these stirring lines produced on an already awakened conscience 
 may be imagined by perusal of the following lines : 
 
 Oh, spirits of Washington, Warren, and Wayne! 
 
 Oh, shades of the heroes and patriots slain! 
 
 Come down from your mountains of emerald and gold, 
 
 And smile on the banner ye cherished of old; 
 
 Descend in your glorified ranks to the strife, 
 
 Like legions sent forth from the armies of life; 
 
 Let us feel your deep presence as waves feel the breeze 
 
 When white fleets like snowflakes are drowned in the seas. 
 
 As the red lightnings run on the black, jagged cloud, 
 Ere the thunder-king speaks from his wind-woven shroud, 
 So gleams the bright steel along valley and shore, 
 Ere the conflict shall startle the land with its roar; 
 As the veil which conceals the clear starlight is riven 
 When clouds strike together, by warring winds driven, 
 So the blood of the race must be offered like rain, 
 Ere the stars of our country are ransomed again. 
 
 The hounds of Oppression were howling the knell 
 
 Of martyrs and prophets at gibbet and cell, 
 
 While Mercy despaired of the blossoming years 
 
 When her harpstrings no more shall be rusted with tears; 
 
 But God never ceases to strike for the right, 
 
 And the ring of his anvil came down through the night, 
 
 Though the world was asleep and the Nation seemed dead, 
 
 And Truth into bondage by Error was led. 
 
 
Will the banners of morn at your bidding be furled, 
 When the day-king arises to quicken the world ? 
 Can ye cool the fierce fires of his heat-throbbing breast, 
 Or turn him aside from his goal in the west? 
 Ah! sons of the plains where the orange tree blooms, 
 Ye may come to our pine-covered mountains for tombs, 
 But the light ye would smother was kindled by One 
 Who gave to the universe planet and sun. 
 
 There is present in this poem much of the fire of the old 
 prophets of Israel, blended with that lofty faith in the power and 
 favor of God which gave peculiar force to many of the most 
 striking of Whittier's anti-slavery verses. 
 
 During the early days of the war the poet travelled from town 
 to town, singing the spirit of freedom into the hearts of the 
 people, and arousing to action scores and hundreds of persons in 
 every community visited, who had heretofore taken little interest 
 in the pending struggle. In this way he raised many thousands 
 of dollars for the Sanitary Commission and Soldiers' Aid societies. 
 In addition to " Fremont's Battle Hymn," this period called from 
 his pen a number of war songs and poems, such as " Let Me Die 
 with My Face to the Foe," "When You and I Were Soldier 
 Boj^s," "The Children of the Battle-field," and "Minnie Minturn." 
 The history of this last-mentioned poem is peculiarly interesting, 
 and reveals the fact that at times coming events have been 
 flashed with singular vividness on the sensitive mind of our poet. 
 The pathetic facts connected with the poem are as follows : Mr. 
 Clark was visiting a family by the name of Minturn. In the 
 home circle was a young lady named Maria, who had a lover in 
 the army. One day Mr. Clark said, " If your name were Minnie, 
 it would make a musical combination for a poem." The young 
 lady blushed and replied that her friends often called her Minnie, 
 and doubtless at this moment her thoughts went out to the soldier 
 boy for whom she daily prayed. Some months passed, when one 
 night, while the poet was riding in a sleeping- car, the words of the 
 ballad "Minnie Minturn" forced themselves upon his brain, so 
 haunting his mind that he could get no sleep until he had trans- 
 ferred them to paper. This was done by drawing aside the 
 curtain of his berth, and writing in the faint glimmer of the lamps, 
 which had been turned low for the night. It is probable that the 
 poet did not dream, as he pencilled the following lines, that he 
 was writing a prophecy which a year later was to become his- 
 tory. Yet such was in fact the case. 
 
 Minnie Minturn, in the shadow 
 
 I have waited here alone, 
 
 On the battle's gory meadow, 
 
 Which the scythe of death has mown, 
 
 I have listened for your coming, 
 
 Till the dreary dawn of day, 
 
But I only hear the drumming, 
 As the armies march away. 
 
 Minnie, dear Minnie, 
 
 1 have heard the angel's warning, 
 I have seen the golden shore ; 
 
 I will meet you in the morning 
 Where the shadows come no more." 
 
 III. 
 
 We come now to the third epoch in the history of Mr. Clark's 
 poetry. The war was over. His thoughts turned to the toiling 
 millions of our land, for from early manhood his heart had 
 ever kept rhythmic pace with the hopes, aspirations, and sorrows 
 of the masses. Now, however, the ballad singer who in the 
 nation's crisis became the poet reformer, becomes the prophet 
 poet of the dawning day. And with advancing years came added 
 power; for it is a notable fact that with the silver of age has come 
 a depth of thought, coupled with strength and finish in style not 
 found in his earlier work. Take, for example, the following- 
 stanzas from " A Vision of the Old and New." 
 
 'Twas in the slumber of the night 
 
 That solemn time, that mystic state 
 When, from its loftiest signal height, 
 
 My soul o'erlooked the realm of Fate, 
 And read the writing on the wall, 
 
 That prophesies of things to be, 
 And heard strange voices rise and fall 
 
 Like murmurs from a distant sea. 
 
 The world below me throbbed and rolled 
 
 In all its glory, pride, and shame, 
 Its lust for power, its greed for gold, 
 
 Its flitting lights that man calls fame, 
 And from their long and deep repose, 
 
 In memory and page sublime, 
 The ancient races round me rose 
 
 Like phantoms from the tombs of Time. 
 
 I saw the Alpine torrents press 
 
 To Tiber with their snow-white foam, 
 And prowling in the wilderness 
 
 The wolf that suckled infant Rome. 
 But wilder than the mountain flood 
 
 That plunged upon its downward way, 
 And fiercer than the she-wolfs brood, 
 
 The soul of man went forth to slay. 
 
 Kingdoms to quick existence sprang, 
 
 Each thirsting for another's gore, 
 The din of wars incessant rang, 
 
 And signs of hate each forehead wore. 
 
All nations bore the mark of Cain, 
 And only knew the law of might: 
 
 They lived and strove for selfish gain 
 And perished like the dreams of night. 
 
 *#**### 
 
 I woke ; and slept, and dreamed once more, 
 
 And from a continent's white crest, 
 I heard two oceans seethe and roar, 
 
 Along vast lands by nature blest: 
 All races mingled at my feet, 
 
 With noise and strange confusion rife, 
 And Old World projects incomplete 
 
 Seemed maddened with a new-found life. 
 
 The thirst for human blood had waned; 
 
 But boldly seated on the throne, 
 The grasping god of Mammon reigned, 
 
 And claimed Earth's product for his own. 
 He gathered all that toilers made, 
 
 To fill his vaults with wealth untold. 
 The sunlight, water, air, and shade 
 
 Paid tribute to his greed for gold. 
 
 He humbly paid his vows to God, 
 
 While agents gathered rents and dues. 
 He ruled the nation with a nod, 
 
 And bribed the pulpit with the pews ; 
 Yet, over all the regal form 
 
 Of Freedom towered, unseen by him, 
 And eagles poised above the storm 
 
 That draped the far horizon's rim. 
 At length, the distant thunder spoke 
 
 In deep and threatening accents; then 
 The long roll of the earthquake woke 
 
 From sleep a hundred million men. 
 
 * * * * * * # 
 
 I woke: and slept and dreamed again: 
 
 A softened glory filled the air, 
 The morning flooded land and main, 
 
 And Peace was brooding everywhere ; 
 From sea to sea the song was known 
 
 That only God's own children know, 
 Whose notes, by angel voices sown, 
 
 Took root two thousand years ago. 
 
 No more the wandering feet had need 
 
 Of priestly guides to Paradise, 
 And banished was the iron creed 
 
 That measured God by man's devise; 
 No more the high cathedral dome 
 
 Was reared to tell His honors by, 
 For Christ was throned in every home, 
 
 And shone from every human eye. 
 
 No longer did the beast control 
 
 And make the spirit desolate; 
 No more the poor man's struggling soul 
 
 Sank down before the wheel of Fate : 
 
And pestilence could not draw near, 
 
 Nor war and crime be felt or seen 
 As flames, that lap the withered spear, 
 
 Expire before the living green. 
 
 And all of this shall come to pass 
 
 For God is Love, and Love shall reign, 
 Though nations first dissolve like grass 
 
 Before the fire that sweeps the plain; 
 And men shall cease to lift their gaze 
 
 To seek Him in the far-off blue, 
 But live the Truth their lips now praise 
 
 And in their lives His life renew. 
 
 This poem was founded on a vivid dream which came to the 
 poet and so impressed him that he found no peace until he com- 
 mitted the verses to paper. In the following stanzas from the 
 " Voice of the People " we also find the clear note of the prophet. 
 
 Swing inward, O gates of the future ! 
 
 Swing outward, ye doors of the past! 
 For the soul of the people is moving 
 . And rising from slumber at last ; 
 The black forms of night are retreating, 
 
 The white peaks have signalled the day, 
 And Freedom her long roll is beating, 
 
 And calling her sons to the fray. 
 
 And woe to the rule that has plundered 
 
 And trod down the wounded and slain, 
 While the wars of the Old Time have thundered, 
 
 And men poured their life-tide in vain; 
 The day of its triumph is ending, 
 
 The evening draws near with its doom, 
 And the star of its strength is descending, 
 
 To sleep in dishonor and gloom. 
 
 The soil tells the same fruitful story, 
 
 The seasons their bounties display, 
 And the flowers lift their faces in glory 
 
 To catch the warm kisses of day; . 
 While our fellows are treated as cattle 
 
 That are muzzled when treading the corn, 
 And millions sink down in life's battle 
 
 With a sigh for the day they were born. 
 
 Ah, woe to the robbers who gather 
 
 In fields where they never have sown, 
 Who have stolen the jewels from labor 
 
 And builded to Mammon a throne ; 
 For the snow-king, asleep by the fountains, 
 
 Shall wake in the summer's hot breath, 
 And descend in his rage from the mountains, 
 
 Bearing terror, destruction, and death. 
 
 For the Lord of the harvest hath said it, 
 
 Whose lips never uttered a lie, 
 And his prophets and poets have read it 
 
 In symbols of earth and of sky: 
 
That to him who has revelled in plunder 
 
 Till the angel of conscience is dumb, 
 The shock of the earthquake and thunder 
 
 And tempest and torrent shall come. 
 
 Swing inward, O gates of the future! 
 
 Swing outward, ye doors of the past! 
 A giant is waking from slumber 
 
 And rending his fetters at last; 
 From the dust where his proud tyrants found him, 
 
 Unhonored and scorned and betrayed, 
 He shall rise with the sunlight around him, 
 
 And rule in the realm he has made. 
 
 The poet's loyalty to the toilers is voiced in most of his latest 
 poems and songs. " The People's Battle Hymn," * published last 
 autumn, was sung with great effect at the industrial gatherings 
 throughout the West. Of this song General J. B. Weaver, the 
 candidate of the People's Party for president in 1892, said: "It 
 is the song we have been waiting for. It is an Iliad of itself." 
 
 The following stanzas from this song will give an idea of the 
 exaltation of thought which, when accompanied by Mr. Clark's 
 soul-stirring music, arouses an almost indescribable enthusiam 
 among the people wherever it is sung : 
 
 There's a sound of swelling waters, there's a voice from out the blue, 
 
 Where the Master his arm is revealing, 
 Lo ! the glory of the morning lights the forehead of the New, 
 
 And the towers of the Old Time are reeling. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Lift high the banner, break from the chain, 
 
 Wake from the thraldom of story; 
 Like the torrent to the river, the river to the main, 
 
 Forward to liberty and glory ! 
 
 There is tramping in the cities where the people march along, 
 
 And the trumpet of Justice is calling; 
 There's a crashing of the helmet on the forehead of the Wrong, 
 
 And the battlements of Babylon are falling. 
 
 He shall gather in the homeless, he shall set the people free, 
 
 He shall walk hand in hand with the toiler, 
 H shall render back to labor, from the mountains to the sea, 
 
 The lands that are bound by the spoiler. 
 
 There is doubt within the temples where the gods are bought and sold, 
 
 They are leaving the false for the true way; 
 There's a cry of consternation where the idols made of gold 
 
 Are melting in the glance of the New Day. 
 
 O ! the Master of the morning, how we waited for his light 
 In the old days of doubting and fearing! 
 
 "The People's Battle Hymn." Words and music by J. G. Clark. Published by 
 Oliver Ditson & Co., Boston, Mass. 
 
10 
 
 How we watched among the shadows of the long and weary night 
 For his feet upon the mountains appearing. 
 
 Let the lightning tell the story to the sea's remotest bands, 
 
 Let the campfires of Freedom be flaming; 
 While the voices of the heavens join the chorus of the land, 
 
 Which the children of men are proclaiming. 
 
 In another recent poem, entitled " A Song for the Period," we 
 catch a glimpse of the deep sympathy ever felt by this poet for 
 the people. I have only space for two stanzas. 
 
 I cannot join with the old-time friends 
 
 In their merry games and sports 
 While the pleading wail of the poor ascends 
 
 To the Judge of the Upper Courts ; 
 And I cannot sing the glad, free songs 
 
 That the world around me sings, 
 While my fellows move in cringing throngs 
 
 At the beck of the gilded kings. 
 
 The scales hang low from the open skies, 
 
 That have weighed them, one and all, 
 And the fiery letters gleam and rise 
 
 O'er the feast in the palace hall; 
 But my lighter lays shall slumber on 
 
 The boughs of the willow tree 
 Till the king is slain in Babylon, 
 
 And the captive hosts go free. 
 
 Mr. Clark was married early in life to a lady of his native 
 home. Three children came to bless this union. One, however, 
 was recalled by the infinite Father. In memory of this child the 
 stricken father composed a touching little gem entitled " Beauti- 
 ful Annie." 
 
 Mr. Clark is not only a poet, musical composer, and singer of 
 rare ability, he is a scholarly essayist, and, during recent years, has 
 contributed many papers of power and literary value to the lead- 
 ing dailies of the Pacific coast. A fair specimen of his work in 
 this line will be found in the following criticism on Robert Burns, 
 which I take from a recent contribution to one of the most influ- 
 ential dailies in Southern California. In speaking of Robert 
 Burns, Mr. Clark says : 
 
 True, he was not compelled to affect the peculiar dialect in which 
 was written his most characteristic and enduring verse, because it was 
 the dialect in which he was born and reared ; but, nevertheless, in and 
 through it he has made not only all Scotland love him as no other poet 
 is loved to-day, but he won the homage of lovers of humanity, democ- 
 racy, and religious freedom wherever the English language is spoken 
 
 It was through his songs and poems, written in the homely Scotch 
 dialect of his times, that the common Scotch people became a nation of 
 poets. It was through Burns, who found poetry in the most common 
 and lowly objects, even the little "mouse," whose nest had been 
 
11 
 
 wrecked by the poet's plow, that the most unlettered Scotchman dis- 
 covered the poetry lying latent in his own heart and mind ; and at a period 
 when "poetic art," so called, was claimed as the exclusive inheritance 
 of the self-elected and cultured few, he restored to the uneducated 
 peasant and cotter his lawful birthright. 
 
 There is no such thing as estimating the extent to which the better 
 and higher qualities of Scotch character have been quickened, developed, 
 and refined through the lyrics of Robert Burns, more especially those 
 lyrics that appeal directly to the hearts and every-day lif e of his country- 
 men. This is why the true Scotchman, while admiring Scott, loves and 
 worships Burns. 
 
 The wealth of poetic imagery, strength, and deep penetration 
 which characterizes the recent work of Mr. Clark is very notice- 
 able in some of his later poems, and reaches altitudes of sublimity 
 in thought rare among modern poets. This characteristic is well 
 illustrated in " The Infinite Mother," which I give below. It is 
 considered by many critics as Mr. Clark's masterpiece. 
 
 THE INFINITE MOTHEK. 
 
 I am mother of Life and companion of God! 
 
 I move in each mote from the suns to the sod, 
 
 I brood in all darkness, I gleam in all light, 
 
 I fathom all depth, and I crown every hight; 
 
 Within me the globes of the universe roll, 
 
 And through me all matter takes impress and soul. 
 
 Without me all forms into chaos would fall ; 
 
 I was under, within, and around, over all, 
 
 Ere the stars of the morning in harmony sung, 
 
 Or the systems and suns from their grand arches swung. 
 
 I loved you, O earth ! in those cycles profound, 
 
 When darkness unbroken encircled you round, 
 
 And the fruit of creation, the race of mankind, 
 
 Was only a dream in the Infinite Mind ; 
 
 I nursed you, O earth ! ere your oceans were born, 
 
 Or your mountains rejoiced in the gladness of morn, 
 
 When naked and helpless you came from the womb, 
 
 Ere the seasons had decked you with verdure and bloom, 
 
 And all that appeared of your form or your face 
 
 Was a bare, lurid ball in the vast wilds of space. 
 
 When your bosom was shaken and rent with alarms 
 I calmed and caressed you to sleep in my arms. 
 I sung o'er your pillow the song of the spheres 
 Till the hum of its melody softened your fears, 
 And the hot flames of passion burned low in your breast 
 As you lay on my heart like a maiden at rest; 
 When fevered, I cooled you with mist and with shower, 
 And kissed you with cloudlet and rainbow and flower, 
 f Till you woke in the heavens arrayed like a queen, 
 In garments of purple, of gold, and of green, 
 From fabrics of glory my fingers had spun 
 For the mother of nations and bride of the sun. 
 
12 
 
 There was love in your face, and your bosom rose fair, 
 And the scent of your lilies made fragrant the air, 
 And your blush in the glance of your lover was rare 
 As you waltzed in the light of his warm yellow hair, 
 Or lay in the haze of his tropical noons, 
 Or slept 'neath the gaze of the passionless moons: 
 And I stretched out my arms from the awful unknown, 
 Whose channels are swept by my rivers alone, 
 And held you secure in your young mother days, 
 And sung to your offspring their lullaby lays, 
 While races and nations came forth from your breast, 
 Lived, struggled, and died, and returned to their rest. 
 
 All creatures conceived at the Fountain of Cause 
 
 Are born of my travail, controlled by my laws ; 
 
 I throb in their veins and I breathe in their breath, 
 
 Combine them for effort, disperse them in death; 
 
 No form is too great or minute for my care, 
 
 No place so remote but my presence is there. 
 
 I bend in the grasses that whisper of spring, 
 
 I lean o'er the spaces to hear the stars sing, 
 
 I laugh with the infant, I roar with the sea, 
 
 I roll in the thunder, I hum with the bee ; 
 
 From the centre of suns to the flowers of the sod 
 
 I am shuttle and loom in the purpose of God, 
 
 The ladder of action all spirit must climb 
 
 To the clear hights of Love from the lowlands of Time. 
 
 'Tis mine to protect you, fair bride of the sun, 
 
 Till the task of the bride and the bridegroom is done ; 
 
 Till the roses that crown you shall wither away, 
 
 And the bloom on your beautiful cheek shall decay ; 
 
 Till the soft golden locks of your lover turn gray, 
 
 And palsy shall fall on the pulses of Day ; 
 
 Till you cease to give birth to the children of men, 
 
 And your forms are absorbed in my currents again 
 
 But your sons and your daughters, unconquered by strife, 
 
 Shall rise on my pinions and bathe in my life 
 
 While the fierce glowing splendors of suns cease to burn, 
 
 And bright constellations to vapor return, 
 
 And new ones shall rise from the graves of the old, 
 
 Shine, fade, and dissolve like a tale that is told. 
 
 Like Victor^ Hugo, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Robert Browning, 
 and, indeed, a* large proportion of the most profoundly spiritual 
 natures of the nineteenth century, Mr. Clark, while deeply relig- 
 ious, is unfettered by creeds and untrammelled by dogmas. In 
 bold contrast to the narrow-minded religionists who, like the 
 Pharisees of Jesus' time, worship the letter, which kills, and who 
 are to-day persecuting men for conscience' sake, and seeking to 
 unite church and state, Mr. Clark's whole life has been a protept 
 against intolerance, persecution, and bigotry. Living in a pureij 
 spiritual realm, HE LOVES, and that renders it impossible to cher- 
 ish the spirit of bigotry and persecution manifested by the Ameri- 
 
13 
 
 can Sabbath Union and other persecuting and unchristian bodies, 
 whose leaders have never caught a glimpse of the real spirit or 
 character of Jesus. He is a follower of the great Nazarene in 
 the truest sense of the word, and thus cannot understand how 
 professed Christians can so prostitute religion and ignore their 
 Master's injunctions as to persecute their fellow-men for opin- 
 ion's sake. On this and kindred subjects he has written very 
 thoughtfully and with great power. 
 
 The light of another world has already silvered and glorified 
 the brow of this poet of the dawn ; and as I have before observed, 
 with advancing years comes intellectual and spiritual strength 
 rather than a diminution of power. Such men as Mr. Clark 
 wield a subtle influence for good in the world. Their lives and 
 thoughts are alike an inspiration to thousands ; their names live 
 enshrined in the love of the earnest, toiling, struggling people - 
 the nation's real nobility. 
 
AFTER SIXTY YEARS. 
 
 The snow of age is on my head, 
 But eternal Spring is in my heart. 
 
 Victor Hugo. 
 
 Of the many who enter life strong and enthusiastic in the 
 cause of justice and humanity, only a few persevere to the 
 end, without faltering, if that end be deferred until the 
 snows of age crown the brow. Some centre their energies 
 on a single reform and battle unceasingly for the despised 
 cause, patiently and dauntlessly braving the contumely and 
 persecution of conventionalism. They are usually very, 
 finely strung natures; indeed, I think the reformer who bat- 
 tles for the weak and oppressed, is always almost super- 
 sensitive; hence, the abuse, the sneers and social ostracism 
 he is compelled to endure for the weak, ignorant, and 
 oppressed, whose cause he makes his own, cut into his 
 very soul in a manner little dreamed of by the careless 
 masses. At length, however, the reform is accomplished; 
 the minority becomes the majority, and he who was 
 yesterday denounced as a shallow agitator, an insufferable 
 crank, and a hysterical emotionalist is hailed as a prophet, 
 hero, and sage by that same soulless and shallow conven- 
 tionalism which scorned him so long as the cause for which 
 he battled was unpopular. 
 
 When this hour arrives it carries perils with it for the 
 reformer; it is now so easy to rest on well-earned laurels 
 and enjoy the sweeter melodies of life. The cause is won 
 nay, not the cause, but one battle in the ceaseless warfare 
 by which man rises to nobler heights; but conventionalism 
 will have it that the cause is won, and often the reformer at 
 this point falls by the wayside, ceasing to be a reformer, 
 although he may continue to utter high, sweet, and noble 
 thoughts. The poet Whittier is an example of this class. 
 After the war the despised agitator who for so long had 
 suffered social ostracism, was welcomed into the arms of 
 the conventionalism which had endeavored to slay him. 
 All that was asked of him was that he would rest on his 
 laurels, in so far as aggressive reform work was concerned, 
 and turn his muse to greener and more restful pastur/^. 
 He naturally hated conflict and loved peace. He chose tj 
 velvet, grass-lined banks and rested by the wayside, while 
 Wendell Phillips from the cause of the oppressed black 
 
15 
 
 man turned to that of the enslaved white man and dealt 
 giant blows for freedom, justice and progress so long as 
 his silver-toned voice could utter a protest against inhuman- 
 ity, injustice and oppression. 
 
 Another class of reformers becomes discouraged by the 
 ingratitude and ignorance of those they seek to aid. They 
 find themselves misjudged, misrepresented and maligned 
 by the demagogues who, influenced by the capital of the 
 oppressors or consumed by love of self and petty jealousy, 
 discredit the high, pure unselfishness of single-hearted men 
 and women ; and the latter too often, after being made the 
 target for those they would help, become discouraged and 
 lapse into, silence; their voices like the powerful guns of 
 a battle ship are stilled, but the spiking is due to traitors on 
 board, rather than to the fire from the enemy. 
 
 Still another class who enter life strong, aggressive, 
 brave, and determined to consecrate their best energies 
 to the cause of human brotherhood, gradually fall under 
 the spell of conventionalism; the multitudinous disappoint- 
 ments which beset their pathway slowly dampen the ardor 
 which impelled them onward. Hope, courage and deter- 
 mination give way to a painful and oppressive pessimism. 
 The " Locksley Hall " of youth, which is the story of 
 strength, hope and determination, is changed into the 
 "Locksley Hall Sixty Years After," which is a tale of 
 despair. This is the saddest of all sights, save that of open 
 betrayal or treachery. 
 
 In broad contrast with those who aggressively enter the 
 warfare for eternal justice and human brotherhood, but 
 who becoming tired, disheartened, or asphyxiated fall by 
 the wayside, w r e find a few r a chosen band of lofty spirits 
 who persevere in the cause until the night comes upon them, 
 and they fall with their armor on, like Victor Hugo, who 
 was a conspicuous representative of this order of nature's 
 royalty. They can exclaim, "The winter is on our heads, 
 but eternal spring is in our hearts." They are prophets 
 they are more than prophets, for the prophet may only 
 discern the signs of the times and point out the luminous 
 truth he beholds. They are warriors they are more than 
 warriors, for a w r arrior may fight for self or in an evil cause. 
 They are heroes they are more than heroes, for the hero 
 may win glorious victories but afterward rest on his laurels 
 mid the plaudits of an admiring world. They are the ser- 
 ants of progress, the apostles of light, who think only of 
 serving the race, shedding forth the light of justice, dis- 
 pelling the darkness, and enabling the race to move forward. 
 
16 
 
 Among those who belong to this select band of truly 
 royal souls, who are Poets of the people, William Morris, 
 Gerald Massey and our own James G. Clark are inspiring 
 figures which are still among us. Mr. Clark, like Whit- 
 tier, battled for the emancipation of the black man. 
 With pen and voice he performed valiant service for 
 the slaves, and when the clash of arms came, as poet, 
 composer and singer he became a threefold inspira- 
 tion in the struggle for liberty and a broader justice. But 
 unlike W T hittier, after the war was over this poet refused 
 to lay down his armor; he knew the victory was an incident 
 in the history of progress. The enfranchisement of the 
 negroes was not the only enfranchisement to be accom- 
 plished; indeed, the black man had only been freed from one 
 form of slavery; he still remained ignorant, and his soul 
 had never been warmed into life by justice and kindliness. 
 Moreover, the war, while it had broken the chains of chattel 
 slavery, had promoted special privileges, and led to the 
 enactment of class laws as gigantic in character as they 
 were multitudinous in number; these evils, tolerated at 
 first owing to the exigencies of the time, and because the 
 attention of statesmen and patriots w T as occupied with the 
 immediate life of the Union, carried with them a potential 
 serfdom more far-reaching and essentially tragic than the 
 slavery which had hitherto been recognized in the New 
 World. Far-seeing minds, when the stress of the war was 
 past, beheld in this growing conventionalism, fostered by 
 special privilege, a menace to the rights of individuals, 
 which threatened to make the republic what the patricians 
 through the power of wealth made of the ancient common- 
 wealth of Rome the republican shell, under cover of which 
 the most hopeless oppression flourished. Against the 
 aggressiveness of wealth in the hands of shrewd, cunning 
 and soulless men and corporations Mr. Clark raised his 
 clarion voice, even more eloquent than in the old days w r hen 
 he w T rote, composed and sung for freedom and the Union 
 before the black man had been freed. It is difficult to con- 
 ceive a picture more inspiring than this patriarch of Free- 
 dom, whose brow is already lighted with the dawn of 
 another life, fronting the morning with eyes of fire and 
 voice rich, full and clear, now persuasive, now imperious, 
 but never faltering, as he delivers the messages of eternal 
 truth, progress, and justice. ^ 
 
 I know of no singer of our time to whom the following^ 
 words, penned by James Russell Lowell in 1844 when writ- 
 ing of Whittier, are so applicable as to the poet we are now 
 
17 
 
 considering. By changing the word Whittier to this poet 
 in the following we have a more graphic and concise char- 
 acterization of James G. Clark than it would be possible for 
 me to give: 
 
 He has not put his talent out at profitable interest by cater- 
 ing to the insolent and pharisaical self -esteem of the times, nor 
 has he hidden it in the damask of historical commonplaces, 
 or a philanthropy too universal to concern itself with par- 
 ticular wrongs, the practical redressing of which is all that 
 renders philanthropy of value. Most poets are content to 
 follow the spirit of their age as pigeons follow a leaking 
 grain cart, picking a kernel here and there out of the dry 
 dust of the past. Not so with [this poet]. From the heart 
 of the onset upon the serried mercenaries of every tyranny, 
 the chord of his iron-strung lyre clangs with a martial and 
 triumphant cheer.-' 
 
 Mr. Clark, like William Morris, Mr. Howells, and many 
 others of our finest contemporary thinkers, has become an 
 ardent social democrat. Perhaps he is not quite so extreme 
 in his views as the English poet, but I imagine he holds 
 opinions much the same as those entertained by Mr. 
 Howells, and he is even more aggressive than the Ameri- 
 can novelist, which is saying much, when one considers Mr. 
 Howells' fine and brave work of recent years, and especially 
 his bold satire on present-day injustice, in "A Traveller 
 from Altruria." 
 
 In the present paper I wish to group together a few poems 
 of humanity, written by Mr. Clark since he passed his 
 sixtieth mile-post. They are timely utterances, impressing 
 the great truth so nobly presented by Mazzini that "Life 
 is a mission," "Life is duty,'' and similarly expressed by 
 Victor Hugo when he declares that "Life is conscience." 
 
 Mr. Clark is one of the poets of the people, and he clothes 
 the eternal verities of which he speaks in simple and 
 effective imagery, sometimes turning to nature, sometimes 
 to the Bible, for his figures. Here is a really noble creation, 
 a poem well worthy of living in the patriotic heart : 
 
 Freedom's RcrclUc. 
 
 The time has passed for idle rest: 
 
 Columbia, from your slumber rise! 
 Replace the shield upon your breast, 
 
 And cast the yeil from off your eyes, 
 And view your torn and stricken fold- 
 By prowling wolves made desolate- 
 Tour honor sold for alien gold 
 By traitors in your Halls of State. 
 
18 
 
 Our mothers wring their fettered hands; 
 
 Our sires fall fainting by the way; 
 The Lion robs them of their lauds, 
 
 The Eagle guards them to betray: 
 Shall they who kill through craft and greed 
 
 Receive a brand less black than Cain's? 
 Shall paid "procurers" of the deed 
 
 Still revel in their Judas gains? 
 
 O daughter of that matchless Sire, 
 
 Whose valor made your name sublime, 
 Whose spirit, like a living fire, 
 
 Lights up the battlements of Time, 
 The World's sad Heart, with pleading moan, 
 
 Breaks at your feet as breaks the main 
 In ceaseless prayer from zone to zone 
 
 And shall it plead and break in vain ? 
 
 Fling off that golden garb of lace 
 
 That knaves have spun to mask your form, 
 And let the lightning from your face 
 
 Gleam out upon the gathering storm- 
 That awful face whose silent look 
 
 Swept o'er the ancient thrones of kings, 
 And like the bolts of Sinai shook 
 
 The base of old established things. 
 
 The promise of an age to be 
 
 Has touched with gold the mountain mist, 
 Its white fleets plow the morning sea, 
 
 Its flags the Morning Star has kissed. 
 But still the martyred ones of yore 
 
 By tyrants to the scaffold led 
 Transfigured now, forevermore, 
 
 Gaze backward from the ages dead, 
 
 And ask: "How long, O Lord! how long 
 
 Shall creeds conceal God's human side, 
 And Christ the God be crowned in song 
 
 While Christ the man is crucified? 
 How long shall Mammon's tongue of fraud 
 
 At Freedom's Prophets wag in sport, 
 While chartered murder stalks abroad, 
 
 Approved by Senate, Church and Court?" 
 
 The strife shall not forever last 
 
 'Twixt cunning Wrong and passive Truth 
 The blighting demon of the Past, 
 
 Chained to the beauteous form of Youth ; 
 The Truth shall rise, its bonds shall break, 
 
 Its day with cloudless glory burn. 
 The Right with Might from slumber wake, 
 
 And the dead wrong to dust return. 
 
 The long night wanes; the stars wax dim; 
 
 The Young Day looks through bars of blood; 
 The air throbs with the breath of Him 
 
 Whose Pulse was in the Red-Sea flood; 
 
19 
 
 And flanked by mountains, right and left, 
 The People stand a doubting horde 
 
 Before them heave the tides uucleft, 
 Behind them flashes Pharaoh's sword. 
 
 But lo! the living God controls, 
 
 And marks the bounds of slavery's night, 
 And speaks through all the dauntless souls 
 
 That live, or perish, for the right. 
 His face shaU light the People still, 
 
 His Hand shall cut the Sea in twain, 
 And sky and wave and mountain thrill 
 
 To Miriam's triumphant strain. 
 
 Mr. Clark is a profoundly religious man, but he is singu- 
 larly free from that dogmatism and creedal idolatry, that 
 narrow and fanatical bigotry and pharisaisni which have 
 made the church odious to thousands of the finest, truest 
 and most religious natures of the century, and which have 
 led many of the noblest natures to turn from Christianity 
 as something hateful and repugnant to that which is truest 
 and most profoundly divine in man's nature. He is reli- 
 gious, as Jesus was religious, which is not saying that he 
 would be welcomed into fashionable conventional churches 
 to-day any more than Jesus in His time was welcomed 
 among the orthodox religionists of Judaism. 
 
 Here is a fine piece of work which might be termed 
 
 A Voice in the Night. 
 
 I have come, and the world shall be shaken 
 
 Like a reed at the touch of my rod, 
 And the kingdoms of Time shall awaken 
 
 To the voice and the summons of God; 
 No more through the din of the ages 
 
 Shall warnings and chidings divine, 
 From the lips of my prophets and sages, 
 
 Be trampled like pearls before swine. 
 
 Ye have stolen my lands and my cattle; 
 
 Ye have kept back from labor its meed; 
 Ye have challenged the outcasts to battle, 
 
 When they plead at your feet in their need; 
 And when clamors of hunger grew louder, 
 
 And the multitudes prayed to be fed, 
 Ye have answered w r ith prisons or powder 
 
 The cries of your brothers for bread. 
 
 I turn from your altars and arches, 
 And the mocking of steeples and domes, 
 
 To join in the long, weary marches 
 Of the ones ye have robbed of their homes; 
 
20 
 
 I share in the sorrows and crosses 
 Of the naked, the hungry and cold, 
 
 And dearer to me are their losses 
 Than your gains and your idols of gold. 
 
 I will wither the might of the spoiler; 
 
 I will laugh at your dungeons and locks; 
 The tyrant shall yield to the toiler, 
 
 And your judges eat grass like the ox; 
 For the prayers of the poor have ascended 
 
 To be written in lightnings on high, 
 And the wails of your captives have blended 
 
 With the bolts that must leap from the sky. 
 
 The thrones of your kings shall be shattered 
 
 And the prisoner and serf shall go free; 
 I will harvest from seed that I scattered 
 
 On the borders of blue Galilee; 
 For I come not alone, and a stranger 
 
 Lo! my reapers will sing through the night 
 Till the star that stood over the manger 
 
 Shall cover the world with its light. 
 
 In the following we have a prophetic picture, and with 
 the insight of a true prophet Mr. Clark shows that the dan- 
 ger of bloodshed and ruin does not lie where the paid hire- 
 lings of plutocracy are ever seeking through the capitalistic 
 press to make the masses think danger lies; the supreme 
 menace of liberty no less than of justice lies primarily where 
 Mr. Clark points it out in the citadel of lawless and con- 
 scienceless wealth- 
 
 The Fall of New Babylon. 
 
 "Be still, and know that I am God!" 
 
 This message fell distinct and low 
 While wealth, with steel and iron shod, 
 
 Crushed out the cries of want and woe; 
 And from the scourged and bleeding throng, 
 
 As if to the end the age-long tryst, 
 With eyes rebuking gilded Wrong, 
 
 Shone forth the wondrous face of Christ. 
 
 Man heeded neither voice nor look 
 
 For Mammon's vampires asked for blood 
 And what were signs and omens took 
 
 The forms of conflict, flame and flood; /i^ 
 
 The tempest down the mountains whirled; "* 
 
 The lightnings danced among the crags; 
 And far below the breakers curled 
 
 And raised on high their battle-flags. 
 
21 
 
 The ocean's heart wih angry beats- 
 Swayed by the earthquake's fiery breath- 
 Uplifted cities, troops and fleets 
 
 And hurled them down to wreck and death; 
 Then rose the death-yell of the Old 
 The old, dark Age of ruthless gain, 
 Of crouching thieves and warriors bold 
 Who slew the just and robbed the slain. 
 
 For he who led the hordes of Night 
 
 The Monarchs of marauding bands 
 W T ent down before the Sword of Light 
 
 That flashed upon the plundered lands; 
 And stretched upon his mighty bier, 
 
 With broken helmet on his head, 
 And hands still clutching brand and spear, 
 
 The King at last lay prone and dead. 
 
 The birds of conquest o'er him swooped 
 
 In baffled rage and terror wild ; 
 The silent Fates around him stooped 
 
 To deck with flowers their fallen child; 
 And where the powers of shore and wave 
 
 Together clashed in border wars, 
 With systems piled upon his grave, 
 
 They left the meteor-son of Mars. 
 
 The cruel rule of craft and pelf 
 
 Had vanished like a midnight pall; 
 The cold, hard motto, "Each for Self," 
 
 Had melted into "Each for All." 
 For every human ear and heart 
 
 Had heard the message, "Peace, be still!" 
 And sought through Freedom's highest art 
 
 For oneness with the Perfect Will. 
 
 The star of strife had ceased to reign, 
 
 And Venus woke with tender grace 
 Between the lids of sky and main 
 
 And smiled upon a nobler race; 
 And as a brute foregoes its prize 
 
 And cowers before the gaze of day, 
 With backward look from baleful eyes 
 
 The wolf of Usury slunk away. 
 
 From ocean rim to mountain height 
 
 All Nature sang of glad release; 
 The waters danced in wild delight 
 
 And waved a million flags of peace; 
 For he who held the world in thrall 
 
 Through greed and fraud and power of gold, 
 Had seen the "writing on the wall," 
 
 And died like Babylon's King of old. 
 
 When the wealth-producers of the nation learn that the 
 welfare of all is more important than the selfish interests 
 
of a few petty men who divide industry into warring camps, 
 and by the aid of demagogues who secretly serve the gold 
 power, prevent the concerted action of all wealth-pro- 
 ducers; when the toilers come to understand that if they 
 unite but once and speak at the ballot-box, the power of 
 plutocracy will be broken and the dawn of a truer democ- 
 racy than the world has ever known will become an accom- 
 plished fact; when the breadwinners of earth realize that 
 the man who urges them not to actively enter poli- 
 tics is in reality the most valiant voice that the despot- 
 ism of avarice and greed can invoke, then we shall have 
 reached a point where the rule of the few will vanish and 
 the laws of equal justice will be felt throughout all the rami- 
 fications of government. This is the supreme lesson for 
 labor to learn. Karl Marx appreciated it, and the most far- 
 seeing, single-hearted apostles of humanity since his day 
 have insisted upon it. Toilers everywhere, unite your 
 hope lies in union; know r no creed, party, nation, or race. 
 Let humanity be your family, and justice your guiding star. 
 The motto of the American Railway Union breathes the 
 spirit of this new slogan, and Mr. Clark, quick to appreciate 
 its significance, penned these lines suggested by the motto 
 
 "All for One and One for All." 
 
 All for one and one for all. 
 
 With an endless song and sweep, 
 So the billows rise and fall 
 
 On the bosom of the deep; 
 Louder in their single speech, 
 
 More resistless as they roll. 
 Broader, higher in their reach 
 
 For their union with the whole. 
 
 Wheeling systems sink and rise, 
 
 In one shoreless universe, 
 And forever down the skies 
 
 Myriad stars one hymn rehearse; 
 Countless worlds salute the sun, 
 
 Planets to each other call, 
 Ages into cycles run, 
 
 All for one and one for all. 
 
 Kissed by sunshine, dew and shower, 
 
 Leaping rill and living sod, 
 Sea and mountain, tree and flower 
 
 Turn their faces up to God; /^ 
 
 And one human Brotherhood, K x 
 
 Pulsing through a thousand lands, 
 Reaches for one common good 
 
 With its million, million hands. 
 
23 
 
 Through all warring seas of life 
 
 One vast current sunward rolls, 
 And within all outward strife, 
 
 One eternal Right controls, 
 Right, at whose divine command 
 
 Slaves go free and tyrants fall, 
 In the might of those who stand 
 
 All for one and one for all. 
 
 Legislation is very largely responsible for the multi-mill- 
 ionaires of this republic, while special privileges of some 
 kind or another have in almost all instances with which I am 
 acquainted been the creators or the chief feeders of the 
 colossal fortunes in our midst. It would therefore seem 
 very clear that to minify the dangers which all thoughtful 
 people admit to-day threaten the republic through the influ- 
 ence of plutocracy, it w r ill be necessary to abolish special 
 privilege and class legislation. This, moreover, is 
 demanded by the quickened conscience of the times, because 
 it meets the requirements of justice. If government has any 
 legislative function it is to foster justice and extend as far as 
 possible the prosperity, happiness and advancement of all 
 the people, instead of lending its influence to a few in such 
 a manner as to enable them to enslave the many. 
 
 Furthermore, if, as can be clearly demonstrated, the gov- 
 ernment has by grants and privileges rendered possible the 
 acquiring of untold millions by a few^ of the people w^ho have 
 been the beneficiaries of these privileges, it is not so absurd 
 or idiotic as the mouthpieces of the government-fostered 
 plutocracy would have us believe, to insist that the power 
 which has heretofore been exerted by the government for 
 the aggrandizement and benefit of the few, be henceforth 
 exerted impartially toward all the citizens of the republic, 
 and that the enormous disparity of fortunes resulting from 
 iniquitous class legislation and partial and therefore 
 vicious governmental paternalism be in a measure righted 
 by a graduated income tax and a rigid inheritance tax; 
 these claims of industry are eminently just, and were it not 
 for the tremendous power already exerted by the usurer 
 class, they would scarcely be called in question; but the 
 gold of wealth is liberally expended to uphold the tyranny 
 of capitalism, and there alw r ays have been and doubtless 
 for many generations to come w y ill be men w r ho will act as 
 sophists" in upholding injustice and befogging the minds of 
 people who have never learned to think independently; 
 hence the urgent need of the sincere and conscientious 
 prophets, poets and reformers. 
 
24 
 
 The following poem of Mr. Clark will awaken an echo in 
 thousands of the most earnest hearts of our land w r ho long 
 to join in the songs of the happy, but who hear so clearly 
 the cries of the victims under the wheels that their hearts 
 grow heavy and their voices fail to utter a sound in the 
 chorus of joy. 
 
 A Song of the Period. 
 
 "Oh! weave us a bright and cheerful rhyme, 
 
 Of our land where the fig tree grows, 
 And the air is sweet in the New-Year time 
 
 With the breath of the new-born rose." 
 This message fell while the engine roared 
 
 By the wharf at the city's feet 
 Where the white-winged birds of trade lay moored 
 
 In a vast, unnumbered fleet. 
 
 It filled my ears as we moved away, 
 
 And the iron wheels rolled on 
 From the noisy town and the sobbing bay . 
 
 To the wilds of Oregon, 
 Where the mountain cloud and the mossy sod 
 
 Are kissed by the self -same rills, 
 And the torrents beat like the pulse of God 
 
 In the hearts of the ancient hills. 
 
 And I sung of the broad and generous fields 
 That were fresh with a promise rare; 
 
 Of the mother-breast that sweetly yields 
 All life to the people's prayer. 
 
 But my soul grew sad with a minor tone 
 From the souls of the outcast poor 
 
 Who begged for work and received a stone- 
 As they tramped o'er the lonely moor. 
 
 Then I thought of the Innd whose faith was sealed 
 
 By the blood of the brave and great, 
 Of the strong, fierce bird and the starry shield 
 
 That guarded the halls of state; 
 But the Eagle watched o'er the idle gold 
 
 That was heaped on the rich man's floor, 
 While the gaunt wolf leered at the toiler's fold 
 
 And howled by the poor man's door. 
 
 I cannot join the old-time friends 
 
 In their merry games and sports 
 While the pleading wail of the poor ascends 
 
 To the Judge of the Upper Courts; 
 And I cannot sing the glad, free songs 
 
 That the world around me sings 
 While my fellows move in cringing throngs 
 
 At the beck of the gilded kings. 
 
The scales hang low from the open skies 
 
 That have weighed them, one and all 
 And the fiery letters gleam and rise 
 
 O'er the feast in the Palace Hall, 
 But my lighter lays shall slumber on 
 
 The boughs of the willow tree 
 Till the King is slain in Babylon, 
 
 And the captive hosts go free. 
 
 I will close this paper with one of the finest and noblest 
 poetic creations which our silver-headed prophet-poet of 
 the people has composed since he passed beyond his sixtieth 
 year. It is brave, bold and severe, as the articulate voice 
 of justice is wont to be, when confronting injustice, but 
 through it, as through all this poet's writings, we note the 
 presence of that abiding faith which is entertained by those 
 who believe, nay more, who know that man is fronting the 
 dawn, and that eternal justice broods over the world. 
 
 Justice to "Liberty Enlightening the World." 
 
 O Liberty! whose searching eyes 
 
 Are fixed upon the distant blue 
 As if to pierce the veil that lies 
 
 Betwixt the Old World and the New 
 What seekest thou in other climes, 
 
 And isles that gem the salt sea foam? 
 What findest thou of woes and crimes 
 
 That dwell not in thy chosen home? 
 
 Child of the rainbow and the star, 
 
 Around whose path the whirlwind sings, 
 Recall thine eagles from afar 
 
 And answer to my questionings! 
 Call down thy colors from the clouds 
 
 And nail them o'er the city marts, 
 And let thy beacon cheer the crowds 
 
 Of darkened lives and weary hearts. 
 
 "And what art thou? to question one 
 
 Whose impulse every bosom warms, 
 Whose eagles soar athwart the sun, 
 
 And rock their young upon the storms; 
 And who art thou? to ask me why 
 
 I stand upon the New World strands 
 And bid my eagles outward fly 
 
 To probe the ills of other lands!" 
 
 Men call me "Love" when bending down 
 
 I kiss the tears from sorrow's face, 
 And "Mercy" when I change the frown 
 
 Of judgment to a smile of grace; 
 They call me "Justice" when I shift 
 
 Thp weak man's burdens to the strong. 
 But "Vengeance" when my earthquakes lift 
 
 The tidal waves that drown the wrong. 
 
26 
 
 I fix the headland bounds of Fate 
 
 Against which Error frets in vain; 
 I watch by Truth's eternal gate, 
 
 And balance every loss and gain; 
 I hover o'er the Lethean deep 
 
 Where Progress mourns her murdered braves, 
 I touch the waters where they sleep, 
 
 And lo! they wake from honored graves. 
 
 The empty boasts of power and pelf 
 
 Like fleeting vapors round me meet; 
 The star of destiny itself 
 
 Climbs from the throne to reach my feet; 
 The nations poise upon my scales 
 
 Like cloudlets on the midday air; 
 I stand erect where Empire fails, 
 
 And wait serene amidst despair. 
 
 "O! thou whose fire-winged w r ord descends 
 
 Like lightning from unclouded zones 
 At whose decree oppression ends, 
 
 And despots tremble on their thrones 
 I bow to thy divining life 
 
 Which every perfect life fulfils: 
 My warring factions cease from strife, 
 
 My thunders die among the hills. 
 
 "Full well I know the deeds of shame 
 
 That nations in my name have done, 
 Whose record lingers on my fame 
 
 Like spots upon the morning sun; 
 But while my conquering legions stand 
 
 With sabres sheathed and banners furled, 
 Pray tell me of my chosen band 
 
 Whose star and torch illume the world." 
 
 I see a land so broad and fair 
 
 So free from titled lords and kings 
 That all the tribes seek refuge there 
 
 As young birds seek the mother-wings; 
 The fig-tree, orange, grape, and palm 
 
 Grow wild upon her southern plains. 
 Where summer breezes drift in balm, 
 
 And blooms caress the winter rains. 
 The oceans of the east and west 
 
 Along her borders laugh and roar; 
 The mountains sleep upon her breast, 
 
 And vast lakes down her north lines pour. 
 
 I see a nation half in chains; 
 
 The mingled blood of all the earth 
 Is surging through her fevered veins. 
 
 And striving for a nobler birth; 
 The New World's warp, the Old World's web 
 
 In all her garments come and go, 
 While from her life the old taints ebb 
 
 And new ones rush with fiercer flow; 
 
Her snowy sails, her keels and helms 
 Go forth with stores of fruit and bread 
 
 To all the kingdoms, climes, and realms 
 Where man is asking to be fed. 
 
 Her star-crowned head proclaims the light 
 
 That seers and poets long have sung, 
 Her feet and skirts are wrapped in night 
 
 Where Wrong is old and Hope is young; 
 No more the lion treads her coast 
 
 In war's red pomp and force arrayed; 
 He leads a far more cruel host 
 
 That plunders by the laws of trade. 
 
 Her soldier band, whose sabre stroke 
 
 Released from bonds four million lives, 
 Are burdened by a usurer's yoke 
 
 More galling than the black man's gyves; 
 Though gone the auction block of old, 
 
 The soul of slavery lingers still; 
 The chains are forged of power and gold 
 
 To bind the white serf's brain and will. 
 
 The poor man, robbed of lands he earned, 
 
 Goes wandering homeless o'er the moor; 
 And eagles, into vultures turned, 
 
 Stand guard beside the rich man's door; 
 The masses move with fettered feet; 
 
 The classes feast on Labor's toil, 
 The eagles w T ith the lions meet, 
 
 To gather and divide the spoil. 
 
 I am not blind; I see and feel, 
 
 While Mammon rules the broad domain, 
 And stretches forth his hand to steal 
 
 The garnered sheaves of ripened grain. 
 I am not deaf, I am not dead, 
 
 Though mercy groans in travail pain, 
 While chartered Murder rears its head, 
 
 And children wail for fathers slain. 
 
 No longer shall my arm be stayed, 
 No more my trumpet call retreat 
 
 When Truth, by lying lips betrayed, 
 Is dragged before the judgment seat; 
 
 The line is crossed, the doom draws nigh; 
 Lo! Justice wakes with lifted hand 
 
 To write her mandate in the sky, 
 And not upon the shifting sand. 
 
 "But Justice, listen; and behold; 
 
 My star upon the darkness gleams, 
 My upraised torch has not grown cold; 
 
 The world is moaning in her dreams; 
 In dreams of grander conflicts won, 
 
 She yearns for freedom, light and air; 
 And can the child of Washir ton 
 
 Be dumb to her unanswered prayer?" 
 
28 
 
 The ages cannot pause to wait 
 
 The counter-moves of Mammon's horde. 
 While Labor lingers at the gate 
 
 To beg the crumbs from Dives' board; 
 The world shall onward, sunward swing 
 
 Till torch and star are merged in light. 
 And all the nations rise and sing 
 
 Their triumph o'er the powers of night. 
 
 I see a mighty feast outspread, 
 
 Where gilded Lords their honors wear; 
 The banquet king sits at their head; 
 
 The guests are drunk on vintage rare; 
 And far below on every side, 
 
 No more by cringing fear subdued, 
 And murmuring like a rising tide, 
 
 I see the countless multitude. 
 
 As rivers to the ocean roll, 
 
 All tongues and races join the throng, 
 One purpose burning in each soul, 
 
 And on their lips a single song; 
 One common cause, one flag unfurled, 
 
 They kneel to neither king nor clan; 
 Their country is the round, wide world, 
 
 Their creed the brotherhood of man. 
 
 The feast goes on; the proud rejoice; 
 
 They hear a sound of distant waves; 
 They think it but the torrent's voice 
 
 Complaining through the highland caves; 
 It is no mountain stream, that leaps 
 
 Rebellious from its rocky bands; 
 It is the lifting of the deeps, 
 
 The sinking of the ancient lands. 
 
 Resistless as the pulse of doom, 
 
 The ocean swings from shore to shore: 
 And frightened kings flit through the gloom, 
 
 Like stars that fall to rise no more. 
 The high sea-walls of caste are gone, 
 
 The pent-up floods their chains have burst, 
 The toilers face the golden dawn, 
 
 The first are last, the last are first. 
 
 The Old goes down, the New ascends, 
 
 Its sunny isles in glory rise; 
 A rainbow o'er the defuge bends, 
 
 And Labor's curse dissolves and dies; 
 The gods of gold no more hold sway, 
 
 The people bow to truth alone, 
 And He whose voice the tides obey 
 
 Remains forever with His own. 
 
 t 
 
 tv_ 
 
from $5.00 lo $3.00 Per Annum. 
 
 PROSPECTUS OF THE ARENA FOR 1896. 
 
 The Arena is a magazine which no person 
 can afford to ignore if we would keep up with 
 the struggle of the progressive party in Amer- 
 ica.- WILLI AM T. STEAD, in English "Re- 
 view of Reviews." 
 
 The Arena, 
 
 The People's Review. 
 Free, Frank, Fearless, Un- 
 muzzled, and Unsubsidized. 
 
 Recognized as the Leading Progressive, Liberal, and 
 Reformative Review in the English-Speaking World. 
 
 * * * 
 
 For 1896 will be stronger, brighter, abler, and 
 more attractive than ever. 
 
 THIS Review, which one critic characterizes as ' the leading literary, progressive 
 and reformative Review published in the English-speaking world," will, during the en- 
 suing year, be invaluable to all people who think, and especially indispensable to those 
 who desire to investigate root problems which affect civilization. 
 
 We have perfected arrangements with leading thinkers of America and Europe 
 which enable us to say that THE ARENA for 1896 will be absolutely indispensable to 
 thoughtful people who love purity, who think below the surface, and who are inter- 
 ested in all the great fundamental 
 
 I. Social, III. Economical, V. Educational, VII. Religious, 
 
 II. Ethical, IV. Political, VI. Scientific, VIII. Psychical 
 
 problems which are challenging the attention of the most thoughtful minds of the 
 world to-day. For obvious reasons, at present it is only wise or possible to make a 
 preliminary announcement of the good things in store for our readers. We desire to 
 state before mentioning a few of the strong attractions which will appear in early num- 
 bers, that we have arranged for many striking features which will greatly add to the 
 intrinsic value and to the attractiveness of THE ARENA, and which will be announced 
 from time to time. 
 
 SOME EMINENT WRITERS WHO WILL CONTRIBUTE 
 TO EARLY ISSUES OF THE ARENA. 
 
 ' 
 
 we give a partial list of some eminent thinkers who have prepared 
 for early issues of THE ARENA, in order to let our readers see how rich 
 in interest THE ARENA will be. A number of eminent thinkers are preparing 
 special papers which will be duly announced ; but the following are among the 
 many brilliant writers whose contributions will appear within the next three 
 months. 
 
11 THE ARENA 
 
 UNITED STATES SENATOR JOHN T. MORGAN, of Alabama. tno 
 
 REV. MINOT J. SAVAGE, of Unity Church, Boston, Mass. ^ ' 'O 
 
 PROF. RICHARD T. ELY, of University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. 
 
 REV. LYMAN ABBOTT, of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
 PROF. FRANK PARSONS, of Boston University School of Law, Boston. 
 
 REV. EDWARD EVERETT HALE, of Boston. 
 
 HELEN H. "GARDENER, of Boston. 
 
 PROF. GEORGE D. HERRON, of Iowa College. 
 
 HON. WALTER CLARK, LL. D., of the Supreme Bench of North Carolina. 
 
 REV. JOHN W. CHADWICK, D. D., of Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
 POSTMASTER GENERAL WILLIAM L. WILSON. 
 
 PROF. JOSEPH RODES BUCHANAN, M. D. 
 
 JAMES G. CLARK, the people's poet. 
 
 UNITED STATES SENATOR MARION BUTLER, of North Carolina. 
 
 J. HEBER SMITH, M. D., of Boston. 
 
 SOME SPECIAL FEATURES. 
 
 Among the important' series of papers which will appear during the ensuing year, we 
 mention the following : 
 
 * I. The Relation of Jesus to Social Problems of To-day ; by Prof. 
 George D. Herron, of Iowa College. 
 
 A series of papers dealing with this problem, by the modern Savonarola of Prot- 
 estantism. 
 
 II. Justice Walter Clark, LL. D., of the Supreme Bench of North 
 
 Carolina, on Mexico and the Silver Question 
 
 in Our Sister Republic. 
 
 A series of magnificently illustrated papers. 
 
 So many confusing statements have been made on this subject that we realize the 
 importance of obtaining the absolute facts relating to the question, gathered by a gen- 
 tleman who possesses the qualifications for weighing the pros and cons, judicially and 
 calmly, and who enjoys the confidence of the people. We have made special arrange- 
 ments with this leading American jurist to visit Mexico and give our readers the bene- 
 fit of a careful survey of the question. It will be remembered that Justice Clark after 
 honorable service on the Supreme Bench of his State so won the confidence of the 
 people that he was reflected by the combined vote of all parties in North Carolina 
 at the last election. These important papers will be rendered doubly attractive by 
 fine illustrations, and will be indispensable to thoughtful people interested in the money 
 question. 
 
 III. Natural Monopolies and the People. 
 
 Should the Government own the Telegraph ? will be ably discussed by a number of 
 our leading thinkers in early issues of THE ARENA, including such thinkers as Prof. 
 Richard T. Ely, Prof. Frank Parsons, Justice Walter Clark, Postmaster-General Wil- 
 son, and Rev. Lyman Abbott. This discussion will be followed by equally able and 
 interesting discussions on other leading problems relating to the people and natural 
 monopolies. In this connection we desire to state that Prof. Frank Parsons, of the 
 Faculty of the Boston University School of Law, will contribute a series of papejjs to 
 THE ARENA for 1896 on the Rights and Duties of the people in regard to MunF>J, 
 State, and Government ownership of natural monopolies, which will be of great* " ,' 
 to all thoughtful people who desire to see the era of plunder and political debauchery 
 superseded by a democracy in something more than an empty name. 
 
 IV. Exhaustive Bibliographies of Vital Social, Political, and Eco- 
 nomic Problems. 
 
 Beginning with the December issue, we have arranged to publish monthly carefully 
 compiled bibliographies which will give our readers a complete list of the most valua- 
 
PROSPECTUS FOR 1896. Hi 
 
 ble works and discussions on the great questions now uppermost in the minds of 
 social reformers. Thus, for example, the opening paper will deal with the Land 
 Question, and will be compiled for THE ARENA by Prof. Thomas E. Will, A. M. It 
 will be followed by an equally exhaustive bibliography dealing with the literature relat- 
 ing to the Swiss innovations or ideal republican measures so successfully inaugurated 
 by the little Alpine Republic. The third will deal with the literature of Socialism. 
 Each issue will contain carefully prepared bibliographies which will be invaluable to 
 all students of political, social, and economic problems, and which no thoughtful man 
 or woman of the present time can afford to be without. 
 
 V. Why the Wealth-Producers are Opposed to the Worship of 
 
 the Golden Calf. 
 
 A series of papers of great value from America's leading statesmen and thinkers, 
 showing why the wealth-producers are irrevocably opposed to the policy of the Bank 
 of England and the American Tories. The opening paper of this series has been 
 prepared by United States Senator John T. Morgan, of Alabama, and is entitled Why 
 the South Wants Free Silver. 
 
 This will be followed by a historical paper exposing the conspiracy of the Wall- 
 Street gamblers and the usurer class of Europe and America against the prosperity of 
 the wealth-producers of America, by the most eminent and popular living American 
 historian, Dr. John Clark Ridpath, LL.D. Senator Marion Butler, of North Carolina, 
 and other representative statesmen who have refused to take their orders from the 
 gamblers of Wall Street, will ably present the cause of sound and honest finance 
 versus the selfish and essentially dishonest policy of the usurer class. These papers 
 will be of great value to patriotic Americans during the momentous struggle now at hand 
 between the Bank of England and her rllies, and the home-makers and wealth-pro- 
 ducers of the Republic. 
 
 VI. Thinking Women in the Arena. 
 
 THE ARENA for next year will contain papers each month from representative 
 thinkers among our leading women on vital and fundamental issues which affect 
 present-day life. The subject of women's enfranchisement will also be exhaustively 
 discussed in a series of brilliant papers. 
 
 VII. Biographical, Historical, and Reminiscent Papers, 
 
 Dealing with great lives, thrilling passages in history, and memorable moments 
 spent with the moulders of thought and builders of civilization by leading thinkers of 
 America and Europe, will constitute a delightful and educational feature of THE 
 ARENA for 1896. In this connection we desire to mention a series of striking PEN 
 PICTURES OF THE GREAT SOCIAL AND POLITICAL CRISES OF THE CENTURY IN THE 
 ENGLISH-SPEAKING WORLD, BY RICHARD J. HINTON, WITH PERSONAL REMINIS- 
 CENCES. 
 
 These papers will give graphic pictures of the great Corn Law agitation in England 
 and the triumph of the people in a surprisingly short time after all seemed hopeless. 
 Incidentally they will contain thumb-nail sketches of Gerald Massey, Charles Mackay, 
 John Bright, and other shining lights of that great conflict. The Boston of the Fifties 
 will be another subject discussed, with pen pictures of Emerson, Phillips, Sumner, 
 Garrison, Parker, and other leading lights of the great moral crusade for abolition. 
 Other papers dealing with conflicts scarcely less interesting will also be features of this 
 series. These articles will be properly illustrated. 
 
 VIII. The New Psychology and Psychic Research. 
 
 The progress being made in the realm of psychical science by the demonstrations 
 of rejy^j years made by such leading scientists as Prof. Oliver Lodge of England and 
 otb' ^jnikers no less eminent have corroborated in a large way the claims of Dr. 
 Al^iiffflussel Wallace, Prof. Croekes and other pioneer psychical scientists who 
 blazed the way in the field of psychical research. As this realm, more than any other, 
 promises to furnish proofs which will neutralize the soul-deadening materialism of the 
 church and society of to-day, we have ever given space to psychical research, and in 1896 
 purpose to publish a series of papers of special value to thoughtful men and women. 
 Metaphysical and occult studies by eminent thinkers will also be features of THE 
 ARENA for the coming year. A SERIES OF PAPERS OF SPECIAL INTEREST and value 
 
THE ARENA. 
 
 has been promised by the scholarly physician, J. Heber Smith, M. D., of Boston, on 
 Man and his relation to the Solar System as a subject for natural research and scien- 
 tific inquiry. 
 
 IX. Papers by Mr. Flower. 
 
 On the conclusion of his series of papers on ""Wellsprings and Feeders 
 of Immorality," the Editor of THE ARENA will give a series of discussions under 
 the general heading, " Wellsprings of Life," which it is believed will be in- 
 spiring and helpful at the present crisis. Among the first papers of this series 
 will be: I. THE POWER OF THE IMAGINATION AND THE IMPORTANCE OF HIGH 
 IDEALS. II. THE REDEMPTIVE POWER OF LOVE. III. TRUE EDUCATION AND WHAT 
 IT CAN ACCOMPLISH. IV. CRIME AND OUR TREATMENT OF CRIMINALS. 
 
 X. The Battle for "Higher Morality jfc* 
 
 Will be vigorously carried on, during the ensuing year, against the crying evils and 
 crimes which are debasing and debauching our people. 
 
 XI. Educational, Ethical, and Religious 
 
 Questions, using these terms in their broad and true sense as they relate to 
 the development of the highest in man, the elevation of morals and the supremacy of 
 the divine over the animal, will be presented in a masterly manner by broad-minded 
 scholars of the new time. 
 
 XII. Fiction. 
 A brilliant Novel by WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE. 
 
 A novel of great interest and strength opens in the December ARENA and will run 
 for the first half of the year. It is entitled A VALLEY PATH and is a story of 
 Tennessee. There will also be charming short stories and sketches in each number 
 which will interest all members of the families into which THE ARENA goes. 
 
 XIII. Illustrations. 
 
 The portraits of eminent thinkers with their autographs which have proved 
 such a popular feature of this review in the past will be rendered especially attractive 
 in the future, as our arrangements are such that the pictures will be executed with 
 superior excellence and will prove a feature of great interest to all our readers. In 
 addition to these portraits and autographs, we have arranged for one handsomely 
 illustrated paper for each issue of THE ARENA. 
 
 BOOK REVIEWS. 
 
 The popular reviews of important works will continue a feature of THE ARENA 
 for 1896, and in a word, no money, time, or care will be spared in making THE ARENA 
 a review that every man and woman who desires to keep abreast of the live and vital 
 problems of our age will find indispensable, and a magazine which all the friends of 
 justice, morality, and progress will be proud of. 
 
 FROM FIVE DOLLARS TO THREE DOLLARS. 
 
 Beginning with our December issue the price of the ARENA 
 
 will be Reduced from $5.00 to $3.00. 
 
 We have received hundreds of letters from all sections of the country urging us 
 to reduce the price of our review. Friends have urged that while it was the one 
 review in America which was entitled to the name of the PEOPLE'S REVIEW, and 
 although they fully appreciated the fact that it was always true to the cause of the 
 wealth-producers, tens of thousands of ardent admirers of THE ARENA were un 
 to purchase it, owing to its price. We, therefore, last summer sent out a trial propos 
 tion to test the point and see whether the increase of circulation woFM, uistify 
 us in reducing the price to $3.00. The results have more than met ow . ^ ;nds' 
 expectations. We, therefore, will begin Volume XV. at $3.00, and will receive all 
 orders beginning with December at this rate. 
 
 ARENA PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 
 Copley Square, Boston. 
 
The New Time: 
 
 New York. 
 
 5 
 
 Herald, 
 
 "J* 
 
 St. Louis, Mo. 
 
 Christian 
 Evangelist. 
 
 A Plea for the Union of the Moral Forces 
 for Practical Progress. 
 
 Extra cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 5O cents. 
 A'worthy companion to "Civilization's Inferno." Constructive in character and abounding 
 
 in helpful suggestions. 
 Current opinion of leading American journals. 
 
 It is a fervent plea for the union and practical co-operation of all those who are 
 interested in the welfare of humanity, and who believe that it is their duty to do their 
 utmost toward alleviating the sufferings of their less fortunate fellow mortals. Mr. Flower 
 is a firm believer in the ultimate triumph of the spirit of fraternity and justice, and in this 
 little book he suggests how this spirit may be fostered throughout the United States. 
 There are many loving souls, he claims, in every city, town and village, who would fain 
 spend most of their lives in aiding their fellows, and he maintains that a wondrous 
 amount of good would be the result if only these scattered children of light could be 
 properly organized. Undoubtedly he is right, and it would not surprise us if this idea 
 took root. We may not all possess Mr. Flower's enthusiasm, but we must all admire the 
 eloquence with which he pictures the " new time" for which he yearns, the time when all 
 men will be brothers and justice will rule the earth. New York Herald. 
 
 The inspiration of a new social order seems to have suddenly assumed the proportions 
 of a contagion. Prophets are springing up all over the land, aud new books from every 
 quarter of the globe. The real import of God's love for the world seems to be dawning 
 upon the mind of thinkers for the first time in social history, and reformers are just 
 beginning to catch the inspiration of the Christ-life. These books are by no means 
 accordant as yet, but they are sufficiently harmonious in design to impress the student 
 with the fact that the kingdom of heaven is about to begin on earth. Almost all modern 
 writers on social conditions are so imbued with the altruistic spirit that altruism seems to 
 be the "Elias'' of the new era. 
 
 So prominent indeed is this spirit in the above work that one almost feels that its 
 author is the John the Baptist of the time about which he prophesies, and that he should 
 at once demand baptism at his hands that is, a baptism of his spirit. We cannot have 
 too many such books as this at this time. It was not written for the sake of the book nor 
 its author, but of humanity. It is a plain yet earnest and vigorous presentation of some 
 of our social conditions, with suggestions, not a few of which are entirely practical and 
 full of promise. It has little of the visionary and speculative in it and proposes imme- 
 diate action upon practical grounds for the purpose of the earliest possible relief and 
 solution of our troubles. Christian Evangelist, St. Louis, Mo. 
 
 It has a pertinence and value for all who have read and thought about the social prob- 
 lems of our day; and the information which the author puts into such a moderate com- 
 pass will also serve admirably to interest many in social literature who have been 
 deterred by rumor from touching these "fantastic theories.'' "It is facts, facts, facts, 
 which ' The New Time ' marshals before the reader, facts of the everyday, common- 
 place, humdrum life about us." The reader will find in this book much food for solid, 
 hard thinking. Here are put into a small compass a body of concrete remedial measures 
 for an immediate and practical organization of social reform agencies. It shows homj 
 existing evils can be modified, and gives the trend of contemporary, social thought ana" 1 
 its evolutionary process toward its ultimate goal of the highest social good. Boston foiK 
 Journal, Boston, Mass. 
 
 Like whatever Mr. Flower writes, the book has to do with z. practical , immediaJE 
 means, of helping humanity in the throes of its upward struggle. Humanity as a rnass,J 
 course contains the leavening lump of spirituality which will ultimately express itself 4JH 
 nutter of course in the very reforms we so much desire. Equally of course do the c^H 
 sciously-spiritual workers assist in this process this forms one of the pleasures as well 
 as duties of the enlightened state. 
 
 In such a cause we know of no one who does more valiant work than Mr. Flower. 
 Convinced of -its " righteousness," he will pursue it to its ultimate personally, and arouse 
 in hosts of others both desire and determination to do likewise. Such work is of inesti- 
 mable value and in this connection everyone should realize that every person is helping 
 
 |* his fellow if he but live on the highest plane of which he is conscious, also striving con- 
 
 stantly to get still higher by helping to raise others. Boston Ideas, Boston, Mass. 
 
 Mr. Flower takes Ins stand on the sidetof human progress. In the book " The New 
 Time," he enters a vigorous, earnest and touching plea for the union of warring sects in the 
 great cause of the amelioration of human misery, whether it arises from poverty or guilt. 
 
 Without being, in any respect, a sermon, Mr. Flower's work has all the force and con- 
 vincing power of the pulpjt Indeed it has more, for the pulpit is often enough the 
 vehicle of the denunciation of opposing sects a fact which occasionally mars it useful- 
 ness in the eyes of every reflecting man. Mr. Flower's book touches briefly on the 
 cause^ of much of human suffering and crime, and proceeds to show how a real and per- 
 ma:u:;ii union of Christian workers of all denominations can be achieved and what noble 
 MBRsults will spring from such a union. Daily Item, Philadelphia, Pa. 
 
 I ARENA PUBLISHING COMPANY, Copley Square, Boston. 
 
 Boston, riass. 
 
 Boston 
 Journal. 
 
 Boston Ideas. 
 
 
 l\alv Itet. 
 
Civilization's inferno; Or, Studies in the Social Cellar, 
 
 Price, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 the sub-cellar, 
 
 
 This work contains vivid pen pictures of the social cellar as Mr. Flower found.it. and is o 
 less and able presentations of the condition of society's exiles which has ever been made. 
 
 It carries the reader into the social cellar where uninvited poverty abounds, and from there 
 or the world of the criminal poor. 
 
 It is rich in suggestive hints, and afcould be in the hands of every thoughtful man and woman in America. 
 
 Absorbingly interesting and at time^jjfvrilling, no one can read its pages without being made better for tlu 
 
 rusal. 
 
 CRITICAL OPINION FROM REPRESENTATIVE AMERICAN JOURNALS. 
 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
 Traveler, 
 
 Christian Leader. 
 
 Chicago, III. 
 
 rimes. 
 
 Louisville, Ky. 
 
 I Lourier-Journal. 
 
 tlanta, Qa. 
 
 Constitution. 
 
 troit, 
 
 MiCh 
 
 Princeton Uni= 
 versity. 
 
 A'assan Literarv 
 Magazine. 
 
 It is a truthful and graphic delineation of the condition of tlu 
 dertow. Mr. Flower has a keen and profound sympathy with the dit 
 are laboring under, and he describes what he has seen with his ovy mis that I 
 
 chill one's blood. He does not hesitate to call things by their right names, and points out| 
 the magnitude of the peril, showing that no palliative measures will satisfy the people. 
 
 Daily Herald, Boston. 
 
 A book which should b,^ read and studied by*all. Mr. Flower's high enthusiasm, th 
 artistic impulse which has guided his pen, "together with his intimate knowledge 
 by personalinvestigation of the matter, make his book most admirable. Bosto < 
 
 A volume of remarkable interest and power, and merits the careful attention of 
 students of social problems.- -Boston Daily Traveler. 
 
 He literally uncaps the pit, the hell on earth ; and if there are " the pleasures of sir 
 for a season," it will be seen that the season is not a long one. The author dejects the 
 scenes he has witnessed, and has the moral purpose the passion fora better stau 
 which, enlivening his pages, makes the book as wholesome as it is inciting to practice 
 endeavor. Christian Leader, Boston. 
 
 Society, as it ib now constituted, is nothing less than a sleeping volcano. Who dare 
 to say how soon the upheaval will come, or whether it can be evaded by- the adoption 
 promjit measures of relief? Certainly the condition of the lower social strata rails fc 
 immediate action on the part of those whose safety is at stake. Mr. F.lower has accor 
 plished a sre.at work, in setting forth the exact truth of the matter, without any effort 
 palliation. It will be well indeed for the prosperous classes ^THift ^iMfftimflity K ube} f ar 
 warned in time. Boston Beacon. 
 
 It is not only the record made of discoveries during a period of systematic sluit 
 ming, but it is also a philosophical view of the dangers of the condition* which he 
 cusses. Chicago Times. 
 
 The work is a masterly prei-'jutation of social conditions around us. These mal 
 vast problem, and it is by such earnest thinkers as M " >M yer that ttes.'will be soh 
 
 Chicago Herald. 
 
 A thoughtful work by a thjgHPnul nufti. and. slv.iud turn the mur 4 . of many wh*, 
 now ignorant or careless to the* condition of th^'co: .u'.ess thousands w, o live in the 
 cial cellar." No one can read the book without 'teeliiig- that the author's d,iagjjosis of 
 case is true and gives each me his own personal responsibility . t ti al. Lt 
 
 m.///,. Ky. .<r*L 
 
 Wh.,1 mci-ar Boot! has done for London, and Mr. Ja\^ ', ! ^ii^ f-- .>, A Vork, 
 ' done for cultured Hoston. He is a professional ^rhai, <$l letters* aJ 
 
 Flower 'ia 
 
 -toiy with the skill and knack of liis craft. Daily Constitution, . ' . \ni.-n, Gfcr 
 
 - A powerfully written book, presenting facts which 'oughlifco move UsMniost sluejg 
 
 * 
 
 soul to resolve and action. Its whole jcs.-on, sad as i* ' ,-,, is P .; that r.eevs^o be learfcv 
 and we will noi. detract from its complete i tin. tin fragments; but, 
 
 sire to call special attention to the author's exposhi, ,. o! tin.- t.. .*, concerning \vh : *> th 
 has been so much scepticism, that the rich an: -r.)\, - nclu_r~ai^L t'"> poor podrer. 
 there is any lingering belief or hope in the mind 0! '.anybody 'that h:s : ^ Uemeiyis a 
 ]>artisan bugaboo, as it has sometimes been styled, Mr. Flower's book Wf.^oc'./e tix- 
 
 -- *, Detroit, Mich. 
 
 In this book the great social problem of the day" is laid before the '< 
 portance.its increasing dangers are pointed- out, and p'-actii 
 that is as interesting as thoughtful. We are glad to see tHPfc' 
 and vices of the class that assumes A>r itself the title of "' 
 demnatioft'they deserve. It is a wv/rk that has long been needt 
 go far toward the end it looks forward to sohbpefull 
 
 ARENA PI 
 
 .ANY, 
 
 \RK.