I Am Writing A Book About The

The Rich Arrived In Pairs And Also In Rolls Royces; They Talked Of Their Affairs In Loud And Strident Voices... The Poor Arrived In Fords, Whose Features They Resembled; They Laughed To See So Many Lords And Ladies All Assembled. The People In Between Looked Underdone And Harassed, And Our Of Place And Mean, And Horribly Embarrassed.

It Has Long Been Recognized By Public Men Of All Kinds. . . That Statistics Come Under The Head Of Lying, And That No Lie Is So False Or Inconclusive As That Which Is Based On Statistics.

Consider In What Way The Industrial System Developed Upon Capitalist Lines. Why Were A Few Rich Men Put With Such Ease Into Possession Of The New Methods? Why Was It Normal And Natural In Their Eyes And In That Of Contemporary Society That Those Who Produced The New Wealth With The New Machinery Should Be Proletarian And Dispossessed?

I Put My Pencil Upon The Paper, Doubtfully, And Drew Little Lines, Considering My Theme. But I Would Not Long Hesitate In This Manner, For I Knew That All Creation Must Be Chaos First, And Then Gestures In The Void Before It Can Cast Out The Completed Thing.

Wherever The Catholic Sun Doth Shine, There’s Always Laughter And Good Red Wine. At Least I’ve Always Found It So. Benedicamus Domino!