e name of the
Christ they betrayed and sold into crucifixion twenty centuries ago.

Jesus, after the most farcical trial and the most shocking travesty upon
justice, was spiked to the cross at the gates of Jerusalem and his
followers subjected to persecution, torture, exile and death. The
movement he had inaugurated, fired by his unconquerable revolutionary
spirit, persisted, however, through fire and slaughter, for three
centuries and until the master class, realizing the futility of their
efforts to stamp it out, basely betrayed it by pretending conversion to
its teachings and reverence for its murdered founder, and from that time
forth Christianity became the religion, so-called, of the pagan ruling
class and the dead Christ was metamorphosed from the master
revolutionist who was ignominiously slain, a martyr to his class, into
the pious abstraction, the harmless theological divinity who died that
John Pierpont Morgan could be "washed in the blood of the lamb" and
countless generations of betrayed and deluded slaves kept blinded by
superstition and content in their poverty and degradation.

Jesus was the grandest and loftiest of human souls--sun-crowned and
God-inspired; a full-statured man, red-blooded and lion-hearted, yet
sweet and gentle as the noble mother who had given him birth.

He had the majesty and poise of a god, the prophetic vision of a seer,
the great, loving heart of a woman, and the unaffected innocence and
simplicity of a child.

This was and is the martyred Christ of the working class, the inspired
evangel of the downtrodden masses, the world's supreme revolutionary
leader, whose love for the poor and the children of the poor hallowed
all the days of his consecrated life, lighted up and made forever holy
the dark tragedy of his death, and gave to the ages his divine
inspiration and his deathless name.

SUSAN B. ANTHONY: A REMINISCENCE

Socialist Woman, January, 1909.

Twice only did I personally meet Susan B. Anthony, although I knew her
well. The first time was at Terre Haute, Indiana, my home, in 1880, and
the last time shortly before her death at her home at Rochester, New
York. I can never forget the first time I met her. She impressed me as
being a wonderfully strong character, self-reliant, thoroughly in
earnest, and utterly indifferent to criticism.

There was never a time in my life when I was opposed to the equal
suffrage of the sexes. I could never understand why woman wa