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the back is broken. They possess neither conscience nor sentiment, and they will kill for half a sovereign, without fear or favor. . .

But they are here, alive,

And woe the day when trench, and her ableFor on that day they

The dear soft people of the golden theatres and wondermansions of the West End do not see these creatures, do not dream that they exist. very much alive in their jungle. England is fighting in her last bodied men are on the firing line! will crawl out of their dens and lairs, and the people of the West End will see them, as the dear soft aristocrats of Feudal France saw them and asked one another, "Whence come they?" "Are they men?"

But they were not the only beasts that ranged the menagerie. They were only here and there, lurking in dark courts and passing like grey shadows along the walls; but the women from whose rotten loins they spring were everywhere. They whined insolently, and in maudlin tones begged me for pennies, and worse. They held carouse in every boozing den, slatternly, unkempt, bleary-eyed, and tousled, leering and gibbering, overspilling with foulness and corruption, and, gone in debauch, sprawling across benches and bars, unspeakably repulsive, fearful to look upon.

And there were others, strange, weird faces and forms and twisted monstrosities that shouldered me on every side, inconceivable types of sodden ugliness, the wrecks of society, the perambulating carcasses, the living deaths -women, blasted by disease and drink till their shame brought not tuppence in the open mart; and men, in fantastic rags, wrenched by hardship and exposure out of all semblance of men, their faces in a perpetual writhe of pain, grinning idiotically, shambling like apes, dying

with every step they took and every breath they drew. And there were young girls, of eighteen and twenty, with trim bodies and faces yet untouched with twist and bloat, who had fetched the bottom of the Abyss plump, in one swift fall. And I remember a lad of fourteen, and one of six or seven, white-faced and sickly, homeless, the pair of them, who sat upon the pavement with their backs against a railing and watched it all. . . .

The unfit and the unneeded! The miserable and despised and forgotten, dying in the social shambles. The progeny of prostitution of the prostitution of men and women and children, of flesh and blood, and sparkle and spirit; in brief, the prostitution of labor. If this is the best that civilization can do for the human, then give us howling and naked savagery. Far better to be a people of the wilderness and desert, of the cave and the squatting place, than to be a people of the machine and the Abyss.

A Night's Lod ging

BY MAXIM GORKY

(A true voice of the Russian masses, born 1868; by turns pedler, scullery-boy, baker's assistant and tramp, he became all at once the most widely known of Russian writers. In this play he has portrayed the misery of the outcasts of his country. The scene is in the cellar of an inn, the haunt of thieves and tramps. Luka, the aged pilgrim, is talking to a young girl)

L

UKA:-Treat everyone with friendliness-injure no

one.

NATASHA: HOW good you are, grandfather! How is it that you are so good?

LUKA: I am good, you say. Nyah-if it is true, all right. But you see, my girl-there must be some one to be good. We must have pity on mankind. Christ, remember, had pity for us all and so taught us. Have pity when there is still time, believe me, that is right. I was once, for example, employed as a watchman, at a country place which belonged to an engineer, not far from the city of Tomsk, in Siberia. The house stood in the middle of the forest, an out-of-the-way location; and it was winter and I was all alone in the country house. It was beautiful there-magnificent! And onceI heard them scrambling up!

NATASHA:-Thieves?

LUKA: Yes. They crept higher, and I took my rifle and went outside. I looked up two men, opening a window, and so busy that they did not see anything of me at all. I cried to them: Hey, there, get out of that! And would you think it, they fell on me with a hand ax! I warned them. Halt, I cried, or else I fire! Then I aimed first at one and then at the other. They fell on their knees saying, Pardon us! I was pretty hot-on account of the hand ax, you remember. You devils, I cried, I told you to clear out and you didn't! And now, I said, one of you go into the brush and get a switch. It was done. And now, I commanded, one of you stretch out on the ground, and the other thrash him. And so they whipped each other at my command. And when they had each had a sound beating, they said to me: Grandfather, said they, for the sake of Christ give us a piece of bread. We haven't a bite in our bodies. They, my daughter, were the thieves who had fallen upon me with the hand ax. Yes, they were a pair of splendid fellows. I said to them, If you had asked for bread!

Then they answered: We had gotten past that. We had asked and asked, and nobody would give us anything. Endurance was worn out. Nyah-and so they remained with me the whole winter. One of them, Stephen by name, liked to take the rifle and go into the woods. And the other, Jakoff, was constantly ill, always coughing. The three of us watched the place, and when spring came, they said, Farewell, grandfather, and went awayto Russia.

NATASHA:-Were they convicts, escaping?

LUKA: They were fugitives-they had left their colony. A pair of splendid fellows. If I had not had pity on them-who knows what would have happened? They might have killed me. Then they would be taken to court again, put in prison, sent back to Siberia-why all that? You can learn nothing good in prison, nor in Siberia. But a man, what can he not learn!

The Menagerie

(Night in a County Workhouse)

BY UPTON SINCLAIR

H come, ye lords and ladies of the realm,

OH

Come from your couches soft, your perfumed halls, Come watch with me throughout the weary hours. Here are there sounds to thrill your jaded nerves, Such as the cave-men, your forefathers, heard, Crouching in forests of primeval night;

Here tier on tier in steel-barred cages pent

The beasts ye breed and hunt throughout the world.

Hark to that snore- some beast that slumbers deep;
Hark to that roar-some beast that dreams of blood;
Hark to that moan-some beast that wakes and weeps;
And then in sudden stillness mark the sound-
Some beast that rasps his vermin-haunted hide!

Oh come, ye lords and ladies of the realm,
Come keep the watch with me; this show is yours.
Behold the source of all your joy and pride,
The beasts ye harness fast and set to draw
The chariots of your pageantry and pomp!
It is their blood ye shed to make your feasts,
It is their treadmill that moves all your world.
Come gather now, and think how it will be
When God shall send his flaming angel down
And break these bars-so hath he done of yore,
So doeth he to lords and ladies grand-

And loose these beasts to raven in your streets!

A Sentiment on Social Reform

BY EUGENE V. DEBS

(American locomotive engineer; born 1855; president of his union, and later the best known of American Socialist lecturers)

HILE there is a lower class, I am in it.

WHILE

While there is a criminal element, I am of it.

While there is a soul in jail, I am not free.

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