have gone there will, I trust, soon put down that rebellion against the sovereignty of the United States."Moses at Vincennes, Ind., Oct. II, '99. It is a little thing, a trivial thing, a playful thing, the slaughter of all the hosts of the king of Bashan! "And we took all his cities at that time, there was not a city which we took not from them, threescore cities,.." Deuteronomy iii, 4. 'So the Lord our God delivered into our hands the king of Bashan.' Verse 3.

I do not think that any one has ever lived who could describe in words or limn on canvass the fraud and malice and iniquity of the American Saxon as these his deeds discover him. Senator Lindsay of Kentucky essayed it and succeeded in saying: "Commercial progress has no halting place. Commerce is not the servant, but the master of national policies." (Speech at Buffalo, Aug. 29.) Senator Manderson tried it on the same spot and his caitiff abortion was only this: "The period when nations will war no more is probably far in the dim and distant future. National jealousies, commercial competition, desire for expansion, imperialistic ideas, will not down while men, combating individually for supremacy, give to the states the same combative instincts and desire for advancing power." Our light and civilization and science, our annexations of Jesus and the Holy Ghost to the pirate God of Moses, have not carried us beyond that wandering guerilla one inch. Thou shalt not kill any but outsiders who have desirable land and property, engage the Lord to kill them with thy aid, and beware lest thou forget the Lord when thy barns and thy temple and thy stomach groan with the fulness of stolen things. This was the great commandment of Guerilla Moses and it is ours. Six thousand years have not elevated mankind. above the level of those nomad Hebrew women-murderers. Nurtured on that ancient mad-house defilement, Hebrew religion and morality, we kick and scream and rave in ravishing license of unbounded robbery murder

The

on the darling bosom of the loving Lord thy God. once great, brave, sweet, free, hopeful and yearning soul of the Anglo-Saxon, of those who fought for world-liberty, is now so dead that it stinketh to the outposts of the skies. The deeds of our royal masters in the East, permitted by us, have made the nation deserving of a rain of brimstone from above to cleanse the world of our contagion. But the Lord thy God delighteth in the stink, for He permitteth it to prevail.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Is Liberty to Die?

America then, the pure and beloved, the unsullied divine child of Destiny, is at death's door with vile diseases, caught by the pure child when it was going about nights seeing the world as fag of its envied instructors, the European Powers. It has drunk of the exudations of British scrofula, and who can live after that? In this place it caught the Dreyfus chancre, in that noisome alley the English Boer complaint, in a third the Russian tubercle of autocracy. The lovely offspring of liberty and manly revolution is ulcered from head to foot, and each ulcer is one of those mean malignant ones taken where honor and purity would not have been. Will America survive this? There seems to be just one hope—that the excess of foulness of the eating sores may arouse a reaction. The realization that we are the peerless hypocrites of the world, above our rivals the Franco-English, the DreyfusBoer Hag of the Planet, may stir the dregs of life in us, but is the good brain substance we had so eaten away that we cannot realize?

We can realize that France is a black-blooded JusticeKiller, and clearly see just why she is that; we can realize that visceral old England is a bloody Planet-Bloat, a never sober landlord harpy, with purple-red bottle nose, the decayed proud flesh of its face blotched hideously with the emblems of its excesses, that the bowelly old sot is dying of gluttony, a dropsical epicure and gormand that lives only to stuff its cancered belly and makes the whole world work to feed its insatiable sores. We can see

these loathsome realities, in others, and smell them, but not the same odious ugliness in ourselves. Is it possible to bring this sense of realization home, in time? Let us make one final effort, describing the last stages of the disease, as they are on October 18, 1899. Let us first show in the last light of those two rotten humbugs, England and France, that we do see through them at least, and lippingly abhor them, then that our Philippine jimjam is nothing but the Dreyfus-Boer snake turned over cu its back, then that our conscience and perception break off short just at the moment we should apply our abhorrence to ourselves, and having shown these things let us in honor of our pure childhood cease reviling FrancoEngland, make a tabula rasa of the flag, and where the stars and stripes were paint the lies that are now our national principles. France, England and America should now form cne triplet nation, for they rest on the same foundation sands, and they should have one triplet-flag. In the centre of this three-in-one cloth there should be a picture of George Washington's army shooting Filipinos; on one side General Mercier and George Washington should be sitting together torturing the body of Dreyfus and convicting him while drinking a toast of French wine to the proofs of his innocence; elsewhere Washington and his army of forefathers should be seen enlisting under Chamberlain, Salisbury and Rhodes, to go out to Africa and shoot freedom into the Boers. In various parts of the liberty-triplet flag, on a small scale, McKinley should be making speeches out of palace-car windows, eating dinners like an English queen, stroking the fur of returned volunteers, and kissing the babies of those who remained in Manila, dead.

One whole compartment of the grave-scented flag should be reserved for A History of His Lies, and, How a President Made Apaches of Yankees, the exact proportions of flattery, suppression, invention, bullion patriotism, political influence, Heaven-juice, and treason-threats,

used first to donkeyfy and then to Apachefy the astute Yankees, being accurately given. What McKinley Has Learned from Kaiser the Ego should be indicated on medals in the form of a composite tombstone of Dreyfus, President Kruger and Aguinaldo, the inscriptions thereon being our Ego's words of paternal chin-chucking to volunteers come home. "How I Stopped Their Mouths," will be the caption epitaph, "and prevented them from telling true stories by filling their mouths with the lard of Majesty." I at Fargo: I at Fargo: "I have come here especially that I might look into the faces of the North Dakota volunteers, who saw service in the battle line in Luzon. You did your duty and you filled MY heart with joy When you, with other volunteers, sent ME word that you would not quit the battle line in Luzon until I could create a new army and send it there. You refused to beat a retreat or shirk your duty in the presence of the enemy. No matter who wanted you to go home,.... No soldiers of any country ever had any more delicate or trying duty." 'I kiss you, good boys, don't talk any more about What Happened in Hell and How the Generals Concealed it.'

First, then, that our glass moral eyes can still perceive the imperishable nastiness of England and France, although charmed-blind to our own. A paper belonging to McKinley, the Chicago Inter-Ocean, says, "The issue is one of principle. The Boers are determined to be independent. For more than fifty years they have striven to keep British hands off their altars and their firesides... The declared purpose of the Boers is to resist this freebooters' raid to the end. So we have a great empire and a small republic on the brink of war simply because the republic will not yield up its constitution and its independence to Great Britain. On one side we see a religicus and patriotic people fighting for republican institutions; on the other side, a strong monarchy striving by force of arms to crush, rob, and imperialize that people;