e pleading that the women and children be
spared, takes on the robes of deity and joins the martyrs and heroes of
history. The rifle-butt that crushed his noble head and silenced his
brave and tender heart gave his soul to the cause he loved and his name
to the ages.

The lion-hearted Greek is at rest, but the cause he lived and died for
goes on forever!

Louis Tikas was educated, cultured and refined, a graduate of the
University of Athens; yea, he was more than that, he was a MAN! His
heart was true as his brain was clear; he followed the truth and he
loved justice; he sided with the weak and ministered to the suffering,
even as his elder brother had in the days when other pharisees crucified
the Son of Man for loving his despoiled and despised fellow-men.

_Louis Tikas made Ludlow holy as Jesus Christ made Calvary!_

He was the loyal leader of the persecuted colony; the trusted keeper of
the tented village. He was loved by every man, woman and child, and
feared only by the fanged wolves and hyenas that threatened to ravage
the flock.

Strong as a giant yet gentle as a child; utterly fearless yet without
bravado, this great and loving soul cast his lot with the exiled slaves
of the pits and kept his vigil over the defenseless women and children
of the village as a loving mother might over the fledglings of her
brood.

Is it strange that they loved him, trusted him, and that in the hour of
their deadly peril they looked to him to shield them from their brutish
ravishers?

In this tragic hour Louis Tikas measured up to the supreme stature of
his noble manhood. He knew his time had come and with a smile upon his
lips and without a tremor in his sinews, he faced his cruel fate. He
asked no quarter for himself, but only begged that mothers and babes be
spared; and with this touching plea upon his lips and the love of his
people in his soul and beaming from his eyes, he was struck down by the
hired assassins of the Arch-Pharisee and passed to martyrdom and
immortality.

THE LITTLE LORDS OF LOVE.

Progressive Woman, December, 1910.

The children are to me a perpetual source of wonder and delight. How
keen they are, how alert, and how comprehending!

The sweet children of the Socialist movement--the little lords of light
and love--keep my heart warm and my purpose true. The raggedest and
dirtiest of them all is to me an angel of light. I have seen them, the
proletarian little folks, swarming up out of t