“Father,” cried the Governor, “will the 9th Regiment kill their own brothers if ordered to shoot?”

“My children will obey orders, sir,” quietly replied the priest.

“Then in heaven’s name, General, Marconi the order; if we wait longer everything is ruined.”

The Mayor’s eyes flashed fire; he seemed about to countermand—­the priest lifted his hand, “Brother, we must,” he said—­the Mayor hesitated; he saw many of his own constituents among the rioters; his face was like that of a corpse, then, “Order,” he gasped.

The General touched the keys before him, the Colonel of the 9th flinched as if struck by a bullet, then a quick command, the clear notes of the bugle sounded, the Irish soldiers hesitated, glanced at the cupola; the priest with outstretched arms confirmed the mandate; the repeating rifles were levelled, and crash upon crash went the volleys of bullets into the bosoms of the mob.  Again pealed the bugle note, and quick as a flash forward rushed the dandy Cadets and the Irish soldiers, shoulder to shoulder in a wild bayonet charge.

Screams, groans and curses rend the air, scores of the rioters are weltering in their gore, the rest broke, fled, leaving the streets strewn with the dead and wounded.

“Marconi the hospitals,” said the Governor; and in a trice the ambulances are bearing away the sufferers to be tenderly cared for, as if they were the best, instead of the worst of the human race.

“Brothers,” said the Governor, “shall we order the troops and police in every city to fire?  It will be merciful to end this horrible suspense.”  “Amen,” came the response from the bowed heads of his companions; instantly the command was Marconied to every place which was in a state of anarchy.

Suddenly came the crash of musketry from many parts of the city, accompanied by the grumbling bass of the gattling guns, then the defiant yells ceased, and all was quiet.

“Your Excellency,” calmly spoke the General, “here are Marconis from every city that the fight is over, the mobs have dispersed.

“Thank God,” came the chorus from each in this remarkable quintette who had co-operated in the carefully-considered plans which had so quickly brought peace to the distracted city and State.

“Brothers,” said the Governor, “we must feed the hungry, and give work to the people of our overcrowded cities:  there is but one way to accomplish this, we must colonize the unemployed upon the Southern and Western lands, the people must go back to the bosom of mother earth where they can have independent homes of their own; there are no public funds for this purpose, and the rich must furnish the necessary money for transportation, or the Republic is dead.  I will personally guarantee the funds necessary to furnish homes for all who will go from Massachusetts to cultivate the unimproved lands in Florida and Colorado, which, with others, I purchased years ago to provide for this crisis which many prophesied was sure to come.  I will at once telegraph to secure the co-operation of the Governors of all the States in our Union; the evening papers will announce our plans to the world.”