The city is filled with unemployment and poverty; multitudes are literally starving; thousands of little children toil in the city’s factories and stores; its workers, a third of a million strong, have no workmen’s compensation law for their protection. Meanwhile the railroad interests which control the hard coal fields are reaping exorbitant profits; the traction company exacts the highest fares paid by the people of any American city; the manufacturers, intrenched at Harrisburg, are fighting tooth and claw to prevent the passage of up-to-date labor laws, and the vested interests are placing property rights above men’s souls. These monstrous offenses against humanity—this defiance of the spirit of Christ’s gospel—exist today in the city which hears your message. And further: the well-fed people, whose ease and luxury are built upon this poverty, child labor and exploitation, sit in your congregation, contribute to your campaign funds, entertain you socially, and invite you to hold prayer meetings in their homes. These are they that bind grievous burdens on men’s shoulders, that make clean the outside of the cup and the platter—the devourers of widows’ houses, against whom Christ hurled His curses. Here is Dives; yonder is Lazarus. And it is Dives who has made your campaign financially possible. Make no mistake! The chief priests, scribes and Pharisees of Philadelphia will never crucify you while you deal in theological pleasantries. Has it occurred to you that their kindness is a return for your services in helping them to divert attention from real, pressing worldly injustice to heavenly bliss? Turn your oratorical brilliancy for a moment against low wages, over-work, unemployment, monopoly and special privilege. Before you leave Philadelphia will you speak these truths? We pray “Thy Kingdom come on earth.” While men are underpaid, while women are overworked, while children grow up in squalor, while exploitation and social injustice remain, the Kingdom of God never can come on earth and never will. It was after the publication of this blasphemy that our interlocking trustees decided that Scott Nearing must go. They knew that the young professor’s colleagues were solidly behind him, and they also knew that there had been no room in Logan Hall big enough to hold the crowds of students who thronged to his lectures. So they must be cunning, and wait until both instructors and students had scattered to the country, and there was no longer a chance of organized action. On June 14 they voted not to reappoint Nearing, and the provost wrote him a brief note advising him of this action; at the same time the trustees voted privately that they would make no statement on the subject—regular gum-shoe work, such as they were accustomed to use when they put a bill through their city council, stealing the socks off the feet of William Penn’s statue!