poleon he said: "The finances? I will arrange
them."

Robert Owen erected schoolhouses, laid out gardens, built mills,
constructed tenements, traveled, lectured, and wrote books. His
enthusiasm was contagious. He was never sick--he could not spare the
time--and a doctor once said, "If Robert Owen ever dies, it will be
through too much Robert Owen."

Owen went over to Dublin on one of his tours, and lectured on the ideal
life, which to him was Socialism, "each for all and all for each."

Fourier, the dreamer, supplied a good deal of the argument, but Robert
Owen did the thing. Socialism always catches these two classes, doers
and dreamers, workers and drones, honest men and rogues, those with a
desire to give and those with a lust to get.

Among others who heard Owen speak at Dublin was the young Irish
engineer, John Tyndall. Tyndall was the type of man that must be common
before we can have Socialism. There was not a lazy hair in his head;
aye, nor a selfish one, either. He had a tender heart, a receptive brain
and the spirit of obedience, the spirit that gives all without counting
the cost, the spirit that harkens to the God within. And need I say that
the person who gives all, gets all! The economics of God are very
simple: We receive only that which we give. The only love we keep is the
love we give away.

These are very old truths--I did not discover nor invent them--they are
not covered by copyright: "Cast thy bread upon the waters."

John Tyndall was melted by Owen's passionate appeal of each for all and
all for each. To live for humanity seemed the one desirable thing. His
loving Irish heart was melted. He sought Owen out at his hotel, and they
talked, talked till three o'clock in the morning.

Owen was a judge of men; his success depended upon this one thing, as
that of every successful business must. He saw that Tyndall was a rare
soul and nearly fulfilled his definition of a gentleman. Tyndall had
hope, faith and splendid courage; but best of all, he had that hunger
for truth which classes him forever among the sacred few.

During his work out of doors on surveying trips he had studied the
strata; gotten on good terms with birds, bugs and bees; he knew the
flowers and weeds, and loved all the animate things of Nature, so that
he recognized their kinship to himself, and he hesitated to kill or
destroy.

Education is a matter of desire, and a man like Tyndall is getting an
education wherever he is. Al