ustifies the end, which is the good of the cause.

"Perhaps it is a good sign that people from the higher walks of life are
beginning to take notice of the workingman's problem, and maybe the
ideal leader will come from above, but even so I doubt if that will help
much. I have a feeling that all movements dependent on leaders must
necessarily fail. Of course, I know that the people of the 'higher life'
fear the stupidity and brutality of the mass of workers, and argue that
leaders are necessary to guide and restrain them. This is only partly
true; there is hardly any doubt about the stupidity of the mob, but they
are not at all so brutal. True, during times of strike they will throw
stones and slug strike-breakers, but they are not nearly as brutal as
the 'scabs,' who are incited, aided, and protected by the employers and
police, and who lack the emotional exaltation which often inspires the
workers to this violence.

"During the teamsters' strike I witnessed a scene where the strikers
hustled the scabs, overturned several huge wagons loaded with beef, in
the centre of one of the poorest districts of Chicago, where the people
were suffering from want of meat, but the wretches did not even have
sense enough to help themselves from this plentiful store which was left
on the street guarded only by one or two policemen. And there would have
been no danger of arrest, for the policemen could easily have been swept
aside by the rest of the mob. It made me mad. I felt like shouting at
them, 'you fools, why don't you help yourselves?' How differently a
hungry bunch of kids would have acted!"

Terry, in his very different way, wrote on the same subject:

"I never knew a sincere, not to say honest, labour leader, from business
agent up. Poor proletaire! forever crucified between two sets of
thieves--one rioting on his rights, the other carousing on his wrongs.
Labour plods while plunder plays, thus runs the world away. But if he
should take it into his thick head to be his own walking delegate some
day!"

This strange master of the "salon," this poetic interpreter of the
philosophy of the man who has nothing, has, in spite of his pessimisms,
a profound mystic hope. He wrote:

"That toiling humanity--the labour movement--to me is a thing so vast,
that whatever other movements try to exclude themselves from it, they
must be swallowed up in it. All other things are but the shadows cast
behind or before the ever-marching phalanx