alone, sitting on the fallen sycamore. But such things are not lost; he has uttered as great things to men who seemed as trees, but some day these same men will move as though a tornadic wind was upon them and then they will remember when and where they heard the first great words that inspired them. It was near six o’clock when we came home and the toil-stained workers were going in all directions to their cottages, huts, hovels, boat-houses and tents. I shall never forget the look of compassionate understanding that came into his face as he reiterated some of the things he had so eloquently uttered in their behalf to the Wabash sycamore that afternoon, but now his words find open ears and go clear and welcome to hungry hearts. The words of this great comrade are finding lodgment and bearing fruitage, and the time of emancipation is not far off. You comrades do not mistake the significance of events. I know a million men and women are alive in America today, and millions more will soon be ready to help create the Co-operative Commonwealth, where men and women, great in soul and mind and strong in bodies and sure in life, shall be industrially free and realize the beneficence and uplifting power of Industrial Democracy. In that day we can know more of and better understand “Debs at Home,” for now he is tireless and literally a wandering agitator, an apostle of truth, an awakener of the dead in spirit. What would humanity be without such men, produced from their longings and aspirations? When you see him, give him the best love of your heart; inspire and encourage him for yet better efforts in your behalf. His life is of yours, ye toilers; his heart, his brain, his body, his soul are aflame with truth in your cause. Go the journey with him for your own sake. He is bone and marrow, flesh and blood of and for you. You will not soon see his like again. There are everywhere now, in all countries of the world, other great comrades, but nature will not soon conspire again to produce another Debs. STEPHEN MARION REYNOLDS. Terre Haute, Indiana, July 28, 1908. WRITINGS [Illustration: MARGUERITE MARIE DEBS ] Where Daisy Sleeps _To Mother! Sweetest to us of all the earth. We called her “Daisy.”_ Terre Haute, Ind., May, 1906 The grass grows green Where Daisy sleeps; The Mulberry tree its vigil keeps Where Daisy sleeps. The wind blows soft Where Daisy sleeps; The modest, blue-eyed violet peeps Where Daisy sleeps. The birds sing sweet Where Daisy sleeps; The mournful willow bends and weeps Where Daisy sleeps.