managed to elbow his way through the crowd to the lorry which was in readiness for the speakers of the evening to “orate” from; but at last, amidst loud cheering, he-mounted the “platform” along with the others. The sight was one calculated to cheer the heart of any enthusiast who longed to see the workers strive for a higher social level than the one they now occupied. The lorry stood some fifty yards from the footpath, in the centre of a large block of land where several immense stores had stood only a few months before. On both sides and behind, were thousands of working men, many of whom had their wives and children with them; and away in front, stretching right across Flinders Street, until traffic was well-nigh impeded, the immense ocean of proletaires stretched forth in its rugged grandeur. Harry felt strange sensation pass over him as he beheld this extraordinary sight. Here and there were policemen mixing up in the crowd and preserving “order,” while down the street were a few dozen mounted troopers. But these were; such a mere handful, compared with the great mass of working people present, that they attracted little attention. On the lorry were about twenty other men besides Harry, and a remarkable assortment of physiognomies they presented. One big fellow, with firm set limbs, rather dark complexion and heavy frowning brow, was perhaps the most noticeable of all; but alongside him was a remarkable little fellow, fussing about and gesticulating to those about him, and acting as though he fancied himself the host of those present. This strange personage caught one's eye at a glance—his peculiar attire, somewhat resembling that of the French peasantry, his small limbs, his big bullet head out of all proportion to the rest of the body, and his bull-like neck, all showed him to he a man of unusual characteristics, and did not favorably impress a spectator upon first seeing him; but when one looked closer into his face, and saw the cunning, piercing little eyes, the big, sharply-cut and thin-lipped mouth, and the strained effort at a permanent smile, which, like Harte's Heathen Chinee, was “child-like and bland” to a degree, the interest in this little individual became intense, and made one almost forget the presence of the Herculean agitator beside him. On the precise moment that the Post Office clock in Elizabeth Street chimed seven o'clock, the big man arose to his feet to address the meeting. Loud applause and ringing hurras greeted him from thousands of throats. When the deafening noise had subsided he addressed them as follows:—“Comrades, in the war of labor against the tyranny of capital (loud applause), it is with pleasure that I can't express that I open this mighty meeting, a meeting which I hope and believe will never be forgotten in the history of human progress (hear, hear, and bravo), a meeting that is not summoned like its predecessors to talk, and talk, and never do more than talking, but a meeting that is resolved to strike the final blow at the monster of capitalism which is devouring us (vociferous applause). We are here to-night, friends, not to ask our rights—we have done that too long already—we are here to take our stand as men and women, and to enter into a fight to the death for a world which has been stolen from us and which awaits us under our very feet” (tremendous cheering and hooraying interrupted the speaker, who
