e may convert
it?

Rapidly he pictures the scenes of intimidation he has witnessed in the
west and northwest. Is New York chained to the wheels of the Plutocratic
chariot?

As the first sign of sympathy answers his appeal, he urges upon his
audience the necessity of declaring anew the independence of the people.
The fervor of his speech affects the crowd; the indescribable impulse to
yield to the will of a fellow-man who commands the power of oratory,
asserts itself. At the declaration of a principle of government which is
trite in itself, there is a scattered cheer; an apt epigram evokes a
storm of applause. Trueman wins the full sympathy of his audience; they
are his to command.

"I am expected to address an audience at the foot of Barclay street. It
will afford me unbounded pleasure if I may tell them that the meeting
will not be disturbed; that you have decided to apply to politics the
same spirit of fair play that you would demand in a street brawl."

"We're with you," cries a man. "You're all right." Trueman steps from
the music stand. The crowd gather about him, shouting and cheering for
him.

"This is an Independence parade," some one shouts.

"Forward, march, for Barclay street!" becomes the general shout. Trueman
is pushed on toward the edge of the Battery Park till the line of
carriages in which some of the members of the parade were to ride is
reached. He is lifted into one of the carriages and the march for the
West street stand is begun. The line of march leads along State street
to Battery Place; here it turns west to the river, and thence up West
street. The traffic which chokes that thoroughfare in the day is absent
and the broad expanse of street affords an excellent concourse.

With the clashing strains of three bands, the shouts of thousands of
men, the flickering lights of torches and Roman candles, Trueman
approaches the audience which has been impatiently awaiting him. Flushed
with the pride of his victory he mounts the stand to address ten
thousand m