George N. McLean

Eulogy to the police. Boldly they fought and well. Contrast between capital and labor. The anarchists’ fatal delusion. The United States National Anthem.

EULOGIZING THE POLICE.

What peace-loving citizen of Chicago desiring her commercial prosperity and the perpetuity of American institutions, with all it means of home and protection for free-born American citizens to behold our starry banner still proudly floating from the citadel of the most free country upon God’s green earth, but will with me thank God for the blessings of peace secured to us by the prompt and steady action of our brave and noble police on the night of May 4, 1886. When forgetful of their own personal safety in their devotion to the cause of liberty, over the prostrate forms of mangled and dying comrades they charged this treacherous band of alien outlaws, beating down the red hand of anarchy which was reaching out its tentacles to usurp the birthright of this nation bequeathed to it by our ancestors and made sacred to every loyal heart by a baptism of the blood of our sires and grandsires in 1776.

Not one ray of light from one single star upon our grand old flag shall ever tarnish its glory or dim its radiance in the shadow of the crimson flag of anarchy.

With reference to that terrible night who will not with me adopt the following language:

“When can their glory fade?”

It was to us a blood fought victory, and every officer who poured out his life on that eventful night is deserving of a monument in the hearts of a grateful people and a prominent place among the wreath-crowned martyrs in the cause of liberty. Chicago’s entire force who respond so promptly to a call, discharging their duty so faithfully, are worthy the name of heroes as justly as those who have spilled rivers of blood upon the ensanguined field of Marathon or Waterloo.

What matters it now to Officer Degan and his slaughtered comrades that “boldly they fought and well.” Their widowed wives and orphan children tell the price they paid for the blessings of peace we to-day enjoy.

The maimed and suffering officers we daily behold as the result of that direful night speak plainly of what it cost them in the protection of our blood-bought privileges of 1776.

Verily, a monument of marble should be erected to their memory upon the spot where they fell, bearing the names of that gallant band who so bravely turned back the incoming tide, whose black and seething waters threatened to wreck the foundations of our social, civil and national institutions.

CAPITAL AND LABOR.

Two young men from the same flourishing little town, and bosom friends graduate from the same school, each with aspirations lofty as the pinnacle of fame. Each one chooses an art or craft, or profession. Each man has the same chance to succeed. The avenues of trade and commerce are open alike to all. One of these young men well knowing that there is no royal road to wealth and fame, and that his success depends solely upon his economy and industry, wisely adopts a code of laws by which his life is to be regulated and governed, and his future of success or failure determined. He remembers that his preceptor once remarked to him thus: “Raymond, remember this: If you ever expect to become wealthy, spend each day less than you earn,” and he had adopted it. He husbanded each week, and month, and year a portion of his earnings; years pass on and his coffers are filling with that yellow god which sways the destinies of men and empires. He engages in manufacturing enterprises or mercantile pursuits, and his happiness is complete in his palatial home, with a lovely wife and children as a keystone crowning the arch which spans the dark and turbid stream of life.

Let us follow the other young man who started in the race at the same time and under the same auspicious circumstances. He has taken a different course. He has not been idle but a spendthrift, working during the week earning money to spend among his boon companions during Sunday, and is always in debt and trouble as he is spending more than he earns. He has availed himself of the privilege of rejoicing in the days of his youth, walking in the ways of his heart and the sight of his eyes, forgetting that for all these things he will be brought into judgment, as no law of our physical nature or social standing can be violated with impunity, there is no appeal from the self-inflicted punishment of an accusing conscience for extreme prodigality and reckless expenditure in riotous living. To-night he is standing upon the corner of the street shivering under the biting blast which is sifting the early snow of winter amid his prematurely grizzled hair. He is not at peace with himself or the world. He hates himself for being poor and others for being rich. At this juncture the elegantly equipped carriage of his former classmate rolls past. Its owner is now a millionaire by earnest, honest and persevering endeavor. He is a homeless pauper and the self-constituted architect of his own misfortunes, yet he is willing to offer himself as a representative of the terrible contrast between capital and labor.

THE ANARCHIST’S FATAL DELUSION.

Under the fascination of rose-tinted delusion whose fatal mists obscure the mental and moral realm of thought, many become criminals, goaded on by blind infatuation which persevered in becomes a passion all-absorbing in its nature. In the blindness of their infatuation they seek to immortalize their names by a bold and base attempt at the subversion of law and order.

Having by the mad misrule of anarchy rendered themselves amenable to law, and by crime forfeited not only their liberty but their lives, they stubbornly refuse to ask for executive clemency, choosing death in the error of their ways, and in the language of Patrick Henry demanding unconditional “liberty or death.” These anarchists under the delusion that they were becoming martyrs, courted death, and from the gallows raised a defiant shout for the perpetuity and progress of anarchy which they fondly hoped would go ringing down the corridors of time, increased by tributaries until anarchy as a mighty torrent should bear away law, order and civilization by the fury of its resistless force, until bombs, dynamite and treason should triumph. Under the sophistry and insidious teachings of the nefarious Herr Most, anarchy developed rapidly in Chicago, and his minions were willing to offer up wives and children, liberty, even life if necessary, in the interest of the cause they had espoused. They raised their voice publicly in denouncing imaginary wrongs and the plaudits of the admiring ignorant lower classes amounted to an inspiration to them which urged them on to openly advocate deeds of violence and blood. Herr Most has stated that the gibbet upon which these anarchist murderers paid the penalty for their crimes will in the ages to come be looked upon with the same veneration that the cross is by the Christian.

Now, that the majesty of the law has been maintained in their execution, their sympathizing followers seek to erect a monument to perpetuate their memory, the most fitting tablet over their grave should be, “Here lies anarchy in her shameful tomb.” “Oh! Torquemada, from thy fiery jail,” and thou “George Jeffries, from underneath the altar which seeks with Christian charity to hide thy hated bones,” with the long line of hideous cruel monsters from the dead, come and compare thy deeds in contrast with thy lesser light and knowledge.

“Come seek thy equals here.”