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INTRODUCTION.

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In introducing myself to my readers I believe I can do no better than to insert the following clipping, taken from a recent newspaper; for I am answering the cry that is going out to those who are able to work out the problem, of finding employment for willing hands to do:

“THE RIGHT TO WORK.”

Is there such a thing as the “right to work?” If so, why isn’t it enforced on behalf of the great army of unemployed?

It does seem that there should be something for every willing pair of hands in this great country to do. We have unbounded, unmeasured natural resources. We have billions of idle wealth. Ought we not to have wisdom enough to bring the idle wealth and natural opportunities and the idle hands together?

Think of the suffering women and children who are cold and hungry because the husband and father cannot find work for his willing hands.

Think of this, you well-to-do, you statesman; yes, and you workingman.

Here is a black, horrid blemish on the Christian civilization of the Twentieth Century. To wipe it out is a work far grander in the possibilities of its results than to construct wonderful subways, build libraries and monuments or to perform any of the wonderful things of which we boast.

And, bear this in mind, if every man will do his duty by his fellow man, the time will come when the piteous cry, “I cannot find work,” will be heard no more in this fair land.

You will see, as you read this book, that I believe—as do many others—that there are other worlds that are inhabited, as well as this; but that is not the point after all. This is a story taken from every day life as it is. Many events will be recognized, though no real characters have been given.

If my ideas are carried out, it means freedom to the oppressed. It means wealth for all industrious people, in fact, the society I picture in these pages will be able to confer not only wealth but honors upon all deserving members. All thinking people know that we are in the midst of the most awful crisis that this world has ever known; that the Trusts have us hemmed in on all sides, that we seem to be helpless. I say “seem to be,” for we are not helpless, only stunned by the immense power which money has enabled the Trusts to use against us in taxing our necessities.

I have written this book believing I could give some practical ideas that will help to win the battle that is going against us as a people.

The Trusts are not our enemies in reality; they are only the whips that have been used to draw us into line and show us how to manage our affairs as a Nation instead of in the individual way, with its wasteful competition.

In all the ages past, when nations were menaced, a leader came to their aid; but in this age we need many leaders along many lines to take hold, for all people have been guilty of a crime that few even know was a crime.

It was money that gave the Trusts their power over us, and it was money that has been the root of evil in all the ages. It is hard to know when it was established as the world’s idol, but as an Idol it rules the virtuous as well as the depraved. “Thou shalt have none other gods before Me,” the Lord of Heaven has said. Down with the money Idol, or destruction shall fall on your head, we say as we look around and see the consequences of its power. It rules our lives, and is it necessary after all? is the subject upon which I have written.

I believe in justice to all, and I have written this book because I have something to say in it that will help to bring prosperity for all.

I have done my best, and, if I have not done the best that can be done, my only wish is that others will take up the ideas I have given here, until all humanity can clasp hands and say: Thank the good power of united action that has shown us how to secure homes and our necessities independent of the money powers.

May all who read it, choose evolution and safety and not wait for war and its attending calamities that the money rulers are bringing, is my greatest wish.

HOW I HAPPENED TO WRITE “OTHER WORLDS.”

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’Twas evening. I was sitting in my parlor alone in the home, not a soul was near.

A strike was in full blast and had been for a year.

Lives had been lost and mourners would weep

As funerals passed slowly down the street.

Watching at the window as a procession passed,

Mentally I asked the question: how long O God! how long shall this thing last?

Is the Idol of the Nation—aye, the Idol of the earth—

That thing, that is called money;—oh—is it of greater worth

Than the creatures thou hast created?

Not knowing I had uttered a prayer, in the fullness of my heart

I sat in the gloaming, and in time it became quite dark.

I was resting—sitting passive—not even trying to think,

When an angel stood before me! Perhaps ’twas—a dream; who knows?

Who can tell when a dream commences or when we doze,

Or when imagination creates a thing; if practical, why need we care?

To me it was a vision and the angel was most fair,

As she pointed to the stars in the heavens, shining there:

“They too, are worlds,” she whispered, “struggling to the light,

Gaining wisdom by experience and power by their might.

Go write and tell the world about them and how they won:

When powers and principalities seemed greater than the sun.

This monster called ‘money,’ that all love so well;

Has opened wide the very floodgates of hell,

Until you have a toiling, struggling mass called humanity.

Go, now, write the story; I bid you make haste

For your homes are menaced! Your country will be laid waste

By the Trusts who weave webs, as a spider to catch flies;

The Nation may be throttled until it dies.”