Clearly every detail of that day is engraved on my mind. It is the sixth of July, 1892. We are quietly sitting in the back of our little flat-Fedya and I-when suddenly the Girl enters. Her naturally quick, energetic step sounds more than usually resolute. As I turn to her, I am struck by the peculiar gleam in her eyes and the heightened color. "Have you read it?" she cries, waving the half-open newspaper. "What is it?" "Homestead. Strikers shot. Pinkertons have killed women and children." She speaks in a quick, jerky manner. Her words ring like the cry of a wounded animal, the melodious voice tinged with the harshness of bitterness-the bitterness of helpless agony. I take the paper from her hands. In growing excitement I read the vivid account of the tremendous struggle, the Homestead strike, or, more correctly, the lockout. The report details the conspiracy on the part of the Carnegie Company to crush the Amalgamated Associatio...
A Voice of Ireland
Yes-tear down our homes! leave the hearthstone cold As the hearts of you who have laid it bare; And stone from stone let the walls be rolled, And our home be one with the outer air, Heap wrong on wrong! We have had to bear More wrongs than ever our tongues can tell; One right is left us-we still forbear, O England, to use it-the right to rebel! We have borne so much that a little more, You think, may be borne by us unrepaid? And our backs must bow as they bowed before, While on quivering flesh are the lashes laid? O England, are you never afraid Of us you have tortured so long and so well? Do you never doubt which the Fates would aid- Of us or you-if we rose to rebel? Do you ne... (From : AnarchyArchives.)