ellow-citizens are confined there, six
of them boys, mere boys, dazed and penetrated with sorrow for their
folly--they meant no crime--I am not relieving them of the blame--the
other, a man, embittered with a long, hard fight against poverty,
injustice and cruel circumstance in another land, with distorted views
of life, crazed by drink, committed a crime which this morning fills him
with horror and grief. Late last night I was sent to the home of one of
my people. There I found an aged lady, carrying with a brave heart the
sorrows and burdens of nearly seventy years, waiting in anxiety and
grief and fear for her son, who was keeping vigil at what may well be
the deathbed of the girl he loves. You have just heard his plea for
peace. Some of you are inclined to lay the blame for the ills that have
fallen upon us upon certain classes and individuals in this community.
They have their blame and they must bear the responsibility. But,
gentlemen, a juster estimate of the causes of these ills will convince
us that they are the product of our civilisation and for these things
we must all accept our share of responsibility. More, we must seek to
remove them from among us. They are an affront to our intelligence, an
insult to our holy religion, an outrage upon the love of our brother man
and our Father, God. Let us humbly, resolutely seek the better way,
the way we have set before us this morning, the way of right doing, of
brotherly kindness and of brotherly love which is the way of peace."

It was a subdued company of men that listened to his appeal. In silence
they sat looking straight before them with faces grave and frowning, as
is the way with men of our race when deeply stirred.

It was a morning of dramatic surprises, but none were so startling, none
so dramatic as the speech of McGinnis that followed.

"This is a day for confessions," he said, "and I am here to make one for
myself. I have been a fighter, too much of a fighter, all my life, and
I have often suffered for it. I suffered a heavy loss last night and
to-day I am sick of fighting. But I have found this: that you can't
fight men in this world without fighting women and children, too. God
knows I have no war with the old, grey-haired lady the Padre has just
told us about. I have no war with that broken-hearted father and mother.
And I have no war with Annette Perrotte, dear girl, God preserve her."
At this point, McGinnis's command quite forsook him. His voice