abour-saving invention.
Nor does the Constitution of the United States appear so glorious and
constitutional to the working-man who has experienced a bull-pen or been
unconstitutionally deported from Colorado. Nor are this particular
working-man's hurt feelings soothed by reading in the newspapers that
both the bull-pen and the deportation were pre-eminently just, legal, and
constitutional. "To hell, then, with the Constitution!" says he, and
another revolutionist has been made--by the capitalist class.

In short, so blind is the capitalist class that it does nothing to
lengthen its lease of life, while it does everything to shorten it. The
capitalist class offers nothing that is clean, noble, and alive. The
revolutionists offer everything that is clean, noble, and alive. They
offer service, unselfishness, sacrifice, martyrdom--the things that sting
awake the imagination of the people, touching their hearts with the
fervour that arises out of the impulse toward good and which is
essentially religious in its nature.

But the revolutionists blow hot and blow cold. They offer facts and
statistics, economics and scientific arguments. If the working-man be
merely selfish, the revolutionists show him, mathematically demonstrate
to him, that his condition will be bettered by the revolution. If the
working-man be the higher type, moved by impulses toward right conduct,
if he have soul and spirit, the revolutionists offer him the things of
the soul and the spirit, the tremendous things that cannot be measured by
dollars and cents, nor be held down by dollars and cents. The
revolutionist cries out upon wrong and injustice, and preaches
righteousness. And, most potent of all, he sings the eternal song of
human freedom--a song of all lands and all tongues and all time.

Few members of the capitalist class see the revolution. Most of them are
too ignorant, and many are too afraid to see it. It is the same old
story of every perishing ruling class in the world's history. Fat with
power and possession, drunken with success, and made soft by surfeit and
by cessation of struggle, they are like the drones clustered about the
honey vats when the worker-bees spring upon them to end their rotund
existence.

President Roosevelt vaguely sees the revolution, is frightened by it, and
recoils from seeing it. As he says: "Above all, we need to remember that
any kind of class animosity in the political world is, if possible, even