forms of industry; the common law, that the common law has principles which may be applied to new events and circumstances; and the principle here applies, that if it is proved, so that a jury must, if they draw a reasonable conclusion, believe that the man who threw that bomb was acting under the influence of this advice, then the defendants are all guilty; and if so, if that is the law, then the instructions are all right."

I expect, if my article receives any attention from anarchists or their sympathizers, that it will be garbled, and that I shall be misrepresented. It is for that reason that I quote, and do not undertake to condense or polish, what I said. There shall be no ground to say that this paper contains, not the theories applied at the trial, but afterthoughts.

On the trial Spies, Schwab, Fielden, and Parsons had taken the stand as witnesses. Engel, Fischer, Lingg, and Neebe kept off; no doubt their counsel acted wisely in not putting them on.

After the motion for a new trial was denied, I said: "Prisoners at the bar: For the first time during this painful and protracted proceeding it is my duty to speak to you, and call upon you, individually and separately, now to say, whether you have anything to say why sentence should not be passed upon you, according to the verdict of the jury." And then. each of the defendants addressed me, occupying three days.

As Parsons, the last who spoke, sat down, I said: "I am quite well aware that what you have said, although addressed to me, has been said to the world; yet nothing has been said which weakens the force of the proof, or the conclusions therefrom upon which the verdict is based. You are all men of intelligence, and know that, if the verdict stands, it must be executed. The reasons why it shall stand, I have already sufficiently stated in deciding the motion for a new trial. I am sorry, beyond any power of expression, for your unhappy condition, and for the terrible events that have brought you to it. I shall address to you neither reproaches nor exhortations. What I shall say will be said in the faint hope that a few words from a place where the people of the State of Illinois have delegated the authority to declare the penalty of a violation of their laws, and spoken upon an occasion so solemn and awful as this, may come to the knowledge of, and be heeded by, the ignorant, deluded, and misguided men who have listened to your counsels and followed your advice. I say in the faint hope; for if men are persuaded that because of business differences, whether about labor or anything else, they may destroy property, and assault and beat other

men, and kill the police, if they, in the discharge of their duty, interfere to preserve the peace, there is little ground to hope that they will listen to any warning.

"Not the least among the hardships of the peaceable, frugal, and laborious poor, it is to endure the tyranny of mobs, who with lawless force dictate to them, under penalty of peril to limb and life, where, when, and upon what terms they may earn a livelihood for themselves and their families. Any government that is worthy of the name will strenuously endeavor to secure to all within its jurisdiction freedom to follow their lawful avocations in safety for their property and their persons while obeying the law.

"AND THE LAW IS COMMON SENSE.

"It holds each man responsible for the natural and probable consequences of his own acts. It holds that whoever advises murder, is himself guilty of the murder that is committed pursuant to his advice; and if men band together for forcible resistance to the execution of the law, and advise murder as a means of making such resistance effectual, whether such advice be to one man to murder another, or to a numerous class to murder men of another class, all who are so banded together are guilty of any murder that is committed in pursuance of such advice.

"The people of this country love their institutions. They love their homes. They love their property. They will never consent that by violence and murder those institutions shall be broken down, their homes despoiled, and their property destroyed. And the people are strong enough to protect and sustain their institutions, and to punish all offenders against their laws; and those who threaten danger to civil society, if the law is enforced, are leading to destruction whoever may attempt to execute such threats.

"The existing order of society can be changed only by the will of the majority.

"Each man has the full right to entertain, and advocate by speech and print, such opinions as suit himself; and the great body of the people will usually care little what he says; but if he proposes murder as a means of enforcing them, he puts his own life at stake; and no clamor about free speech, or evils to be cured, or wrongs to be redressed, will shield him from the consequences of his crime. His liberty is not a license to destroy. The toleration that he enjoys he must extend to others, and not arrogantly assume that the great majority are wrong, and may rightly be coerced by terror or removed by dynamite.

"It only remains that for the crime you have committed, and of which you have been convicted after a trial unexampled in the patience

W

HEN the long winter had closed down around Sunset City, stopping the railroad trains, cutting it off from the world, and leaving it like an island in the great shifting sea of snow, the available, active,circulating cash capital was estimated by Judge Longsby at $240. True, there was more money than this in the ambitious city of Sunset. Untold wealth was said to nestle in the vaults of the Bank of the Metropolis; H. R. Dodge, the proprietor of the Red-Front Dry-Goods Emporium, was reputed to have a safe bursting with money; Mrs. Stebbins of the Frontier Hotel was said to have a tin coffee-pot full of the most genuine and unmistakable money: but this capital was tied up,-withdrawn from circulation, and in the hands of capitalists and other dangerous members of society,-and $240 remained, on the closest estimates, as the actual amount of the circulating medium available for business purposes at the Two Orphans, the popular liquor and gaming establishment conducted by Mr. Mart Hawkins. Perhaps this amount was not so discreditable to Sunset when we remember that the city, though lusty and ambitious, was scarcely six months old.

a

The winter shut down on Sunset City with snap. The people arose one dark December morning, and found an east wind sifting down great flakes of soft snow. The air was damp and chilly, and the clouds hung only a little way above the low buildings. There was a nameless, homesick feeling in the air. The nearest town by railroad, which, although thirty miles away, had always seemed so close and neighborly, now seemed to be far away, and to lose, as it were, its personality. After a while people began to speak of it in a vague, general way, as of a place they had heard of and believed to exist, but had never seen, like Pekin or Calcutta; and in time some found themselves wondering if, after all, their nearest neighbors did not lie to the west, across the two hundred miles of uninhabited Indian reservation.

The first day of the snow wore away, but it never ceased to fall, and quick, angry gusts of wind, now more from the northeast,.gradually began to dart around the corner, and to toss up the snow in sullen little eddies. Every inhabitant of Sunset knew in his heart that the regular tri-weekly "mixed" train on the Great Western road, due that afternoon at four o'clock, would not come; but nobody said so,

and many consoled themselves with the observation that they" guessed she'd pull through all right," or they "reckoned it was 'most too early yet for sure-enough winter." So, when four o'clock came, nine tenths of the men of Sunset were at the railroad station, whereas usually there were only three fourths of them present. They sat about in the waiting-room in easy attitudes for an hour, and lied on whatever subject came up, but nobody said anything about the train. Occasionally a man would glance furtively out of the window at the snow and the gathering darkness, and then he would look unconcerned, as if he had had no particular object in view. At five o'clock the telegraph instrument in the next room began to click, and a hush fell upon the little group around the stove. In a moment it ceased, and the operator was heard arranging papers and books. A few of the weaker ones looked toward his window with its sign of "Tickets," but nobody spoke. Then the operator looked out and said," Train suspended," and shut down his window with a bang. The men rose up, and started for the door. Clay Morgan was the only one that said anything. I take the liberty to soften considerably the strength of his remark.

"Sufferin' Moses!" said Mr. Clay Morgan, with an emphasis which swept everything before it, "of course the train 's suspended. We're the blankest set of fools that ever looked through a collar. We'll see that 'ere train about March; that's when we 'll see her."

Two or three attempted to laugh feebly; then they went out. It was dark now, and the snow was still falling, but it was finer. It was growing colder, and the wind pounced around the corner upon the helpless snow with greater frequency. The men waded along in single file toward the cheerful lights of the Two Orphans. They went in at the door, and in ten minutes they were lost in the calm, restful game of draw-poker, and the cash capital of Sunset City had begun its local travels.

When the great, grim winter closed around the little defenseless city of Sunset, it impris oned all sorts and conditions of people-those who had passed through Dakota winters before, and those who knew nothing about them; those who had roughed it on the frontier, and slept in tents, and in covered wagons, and under the stars, and those who had never known anything except good beds and warm rooms. Among others shut in by the winter was a young woman with dark hair, with a touch of premature gray about the temples, who was

seldom seen to smile, and had made few friends, but was liked by those that did know her. She had come in September, and said her name was Mrs. Grey. She had lived from the first with Mrs. Stebbins, and had done what little work there was to do at dressmaking in Sunset. No one knew her when she came, but she had explained that she had a husband, who had expected to come with her till the last moment, when he had been detained by important business, so she had come on alone. Her husband was, she said, a young lawyer, anxious to find a growing town in which to practise his profession. He would come to Sunset, meet her, and perhaps remain. It was the firm but mistaken belief of Sunset City that it needed a lawyer, and delegations of prominent citizens immediately called upon Mrs. Grey, urging her to use her best endeavors to influence her husband to open a law office in their city. "Mr. Harland H. Grey, a leading attorney of Peoria, Ill.," "The Sunset City Banner" announced that week, "has wisely decided to leave the effete East, and locate in our beautiful city. He will open law offices in the Parkinson Block in about a month. Mrs. Grey, his charming and accomplished wife, is already in the city, the guest of Mrs. Stebbins, the able and amiable hostess of the Frontier Hotel. The boom is only just beginning to boom."

the wind came in where it could, and sifted in the fine snow, about windows, under doors, even through keyholes; and the snow that came down the chimneys melted, and stained the walls. All day it roared, and the cold increased as the night approached, and, if possible, the wind became more savage; signs which all day had swung and creaked were carried away. The half darkness of the day early gave place to the black, bewildering darkness of the night, and the young woman, who had sat all day by the little stove with a shawl drawn tightly about her shoulders, fighting back the tears, now threw herself on the bed, tired out with the struggle, weak, sick, discouraged. But mind (that is, the powerful masculine mind) is ever superior to matter, and the puny warfare of the elements did not interfere with the noble American game as expounded at the Two Orphans. When the wind and the cold were at their cruelest, and wrenched away, with a crash and a wild scream, the very sign of the Two Orphans itself, Mr. Clay Morgan remained unmoved, and in these familiar but ever eloquent words addressed four fellowcitizens, "Gentlemen, how many cards are you takin'?"

But despite the optimistic utterances of "The Banner," Mr. Grey did not arrive. Sometimes he was expected, and the young woman waited for the train at the station; but he never came, and she would go back to her sewing. So when the east wind began to blow, and scattered the snow gently, almost lovingly at first, and then grew angry, and took it up, and swirled it about wildly, madly, the quiet, dark-haired woman looked out at the storm from the little window of her room, still alone. And the next morning, when she awoke and heard the mighty, overpowering roar of the storm, which had now come in earnest, she felt that she never before had been so much alone. For the roar of this prairie storm came like the roar of the sea; and the wind caught up the snow, as fine as powder, and hurled it past the windows like great sheets of spray; and it howled, and shrieked, and whistled as if it were blowing on knife-blades. The cold was intense, and the frost piled up on the window-panes, except in some places near the edges where the wind crept in and kept it back like foam. All day the strange roar kept up till the young woman was dizzy and sick. The wind swept down one side of the street, and left it bare and frozen, and even took up the sand and gravel, and carried it away with the snow. On the other side it piled up the snow till the houses were almost covered. No one ventured out; but

Nor did the next day in any way disturb the progress of the play at the Two Orphans. It was colder, but without a breath of wind, and with no cloud in sight, and with a sun brighter than that of midsummer shining down through the cold air, with its myriad-colored frost crystals on the great billowy sea of dazzling white (packed by the force of the wind almost as firmly as the frozen earth itself), and with its struggling wreaths of smoke from scattering settlers' houses half buried in the snow. To the young woman with the sad eyes and the touch of gray about the temples it seemed a little more cheerful, but only a little; the feeling of being on an island in a sea more terrible than the sea itself could not be shaken off. So day after day she sat close to her little round coal-stove, with the shawl drawn about her shoulders, and waited.

Other storms came, followed by other calms, but the great work of settling the ownership of the $240 went on. At one time Bill Peters had over $200 of it, but the next day he played recklessly, and at midnight borrowed two bits from a friend with which to buy a drink of whisky at the bar. And here the reader with a strong business sense may well ask why, since the $240 was the total amount in circulation, it was not gradually absorbed by the bar, thus leaving the community absolutely without a circulating medium for purposes of legitimatetrade in the game of draw-poker. The question is natural, and this calamitous state of affairs might well have overtaken the unfortunate city had it

not been for a beautiful provision of nature whereby the proprietor of the Two Orphans, Mr. Hawkins, was the most inveterate, and the unluckiest, gambler of them all. It was seldom that the struggling morning light found Mr. Hawkins with any considerable balance of bar receipts over and above his losses at the pokertables, though it is certain that during the winter the little Spartan $240 must have passed over his bar to his till several dozen times. As for the purchases of food and other luxuries at the stores, the transactions were invariably carried out on a credit basis.

One of the most industrious of the players at the tables of the Two Orphans was Clay Morgan. Mr. Morgan was a tall, broad-shouldered man, about thirty-five years old, with reddish brown hair and blue eyes. He was an old settler in the country, having for ten years had a little herd of stock along the Missouri River bottoms, and much of the time on the Indian reservation, in defiance of a vague institution said to exist, and known as the "Gover'ment." Since the railroad and inhabitants had come he had maintained a ferry across the river in the summer. He was a man who had

originally had a fair education, though it had largely, in his own words, "worn off" since his residence on the edge of civilization. He was much respected in the community, having established his right to this distinction six months before by shooting a railroad contractor and two graders who had insulted his wife. a lady, be observed in passing, who could trace it may half of her lineage to that noble and haughty race that first possessed this land, but which had been, in Mr. Morgan's own words, "unlucky in the draw, and did n't have anything when it come to the show-down." Mr. Morgan laid claim to the land on which Sunset City stood, though it was disputed by the railroad company. The matter was before the United States Land Office, and had been referred to the Department of the Interior. "You will keep on fightin' 'em?" remarked Mr. Hawkins to Morgan one day. "I shall fight 'em," remarked Mr. Morgan, "till the infernal regions freeze over, and then," he added, as he wiped the ashes off his cigar on the edge of the bar, "get out and fight 'em on the ice."

One day in January, when another blizzard was seeking to blot out the little city of Sunset, the door of the Two Orphans suddenly opened, a cloud of snow swirled in and up to the ceiling, and around the red-hot stove, on which it sputtered and hissed; and when the door closed, and the snow spray settled, Morgan stood shaking himself, and turning down the great collar of his fur coat. The games had not yet begun for the afternoon, but a dozen or more citizens leaned against the bar in rest

ful attitudes. As Morgan advanced to the group, he was seen to have a copy of "The Sunset City Banner" in his hand.

"Have you seen to-day's 'Banner'?" he asked.

"No," answered Judge Longsby for the crowd.

"You're behind the times," said Morgan. "I just got one off the press."

He sat down on the edge of a card-table, and unfolded "The Banner." This influential sheet for several weeks had been printed on wrapping-paper secured at H. R. Dodge's Red-Front Dry-Goods Emporium, "owing," in its own words, "to the sickening and repeated failure of the Great Western Railroad Company to deliver our ready-prints." Morgan turned to the top of the first column, and read:

IMPORTANT ARRIVAL!

THE GREAT SUNSET BOOM! COLD WEATHER CANNOT STOP IT. failure of the Great Western Railroad Company to Notwithstanding the cowardly and disgusting operate its trains, we have this morning to record an important arrival in the city. We refer to the birth of a fine son to the wife of Mr. Harland H. Grey, the brilliant young lawyer who is on the point of opening legal parlors in the Parkinson Block. This being the first birth in Sunset, the little stranger is of course entitled to the deed to the corner lot offered by the City Improvement is a boom that booms the year around. Mother Society in the case of such an event. Our boom and child, under the skilful care of the cheery and whole-souled Mrs. Stebbins, are doing well.

As he laid down the paper there was a hearty and spontaneous cheer from the crowd in front of the bar. Judge Longsby brought his glass down so hard that it was shattered into a hundred pieces. Mr. Mart Hawkins reached for a bottle of his choicest whisky, and invited all to "drink to the little youngster," which was done with enthusiasm. Then Mr. Morgan felt impelled to ask those present to drink with him to the health and prosperity of the new ar rival; after which others followed his example till it was found that no one was in a condition to begin the struggle for the $240. So the little newcomer, all unwittingly, stopped the games in the Two Orphans for the only day they had been stopped thus far during the winter, albeit the glorious cause of temperance was made to fall by the wayside in so doing.

Incidents of even small importance were scarce, and topics of conversation, aside from the somewhat narrow range afforded by the requirements of the game, were very few. The single telegraph wire which connected Sunset with the outside world went down early,