le soil, came the long procession of revolting
farmers. There were no bands to lead them; no fluttering of gay flags;
no cheers from the bystanders. They rode in grim silence for the most
part, as if at a funeral of their dead hopes--as if their mere presence
were a protest.

Everywhere the same color predominated--a russet brown. Their faces
were bronzed and thin. Their beards were long and faded, and tangled
like autumn corn silk. Their gaunt, gnarled, and knotted hands held the
reins over their equally sad and sober teams. The women looked worn and
thin, and sat bent forward over the children in their laps. The dust
had settled upon their ill-fitting dresses. There were no smart
carriages, no touch of gay paint, no glittering new harnesses; the
whole procession was keyed down among the most desolate and sorrowful
grays, browns, and drabs.

Slowly they moved past. In some of the wagons, banners, rudely painted
on cotton cloth, uttered the farmers' protest in words.

"Good God!" said Davis, as he dashed away at his writing. "Did you ever
see such a funeral in your life? See that banner!"

DOWN WITH MONOPOLIES.

"All right, down with them; you're the doctor," muttered Davis as he
wrote.

FREE TRADE, FREE LAND,
MONEY AT COST,
TRANSPORTATION AT COST.

"Now you _are_ shouting, brother."

EQUAL RIGHTS TO ALL IS AS DEAR TO
THE HEART OF THE FARMER AS IT WAS IN
THE DAYS OF OUR FOREFATHERS.

"Well, now, sure you mean that--that's all. Stop talking, and act."

Bradley remained perfectly silent through it all. As these farmers
passed before his eyes, there came into his mind vast conceptions which
thrilled him till he shuddered--a realization that here was an army of
veterans, men grown old in the ferocious struggle against injustice and
the apparent niggardliness of nature,--a grim and terrible battle-line.
It was made up, throughout its entire length, of old or middle-aged men
and women with stooping shoulders, and eyes dim with toil and
suffering. There was nothing of lovely girlhood or elastic, smiling
boyhood; not a touch of color or grace in the long line of march. It
was sombre, silent, ominous, and resolute.

It appeared to him the most pathetic, tragic, and desperate revolt
against oppression and wrong ever made by the American farmer. It was
the Grange movement broadened, deepened, and made more desperate and
wide-reaching by changing conditions.

At Davis' suggestion they w