--if anarchists, young and old, are not taught that they must
obey or suffer--there is nothing ahead but tumult, heart-burning, and
wreck.

_March, 1889._

_BAD COMPANY_.

There has been much talk about the insensate youth who boasted that he
had squandered half-a-million on the Turf in a year. The marvellous
journalists who frequent betting resorts printed hundreds of paragraphs
every week explaining the wretched boy's extravagances--how he lost ten
thousand pounds in one evening at cards; how he lost five thousand on
one pigeon-shooting match; how he kept fifty racehorses in training; how
he made little presents of jewelry to all and sundry of his friends; how
he gaily lost fifteen thousand on a single race, though he might have
saved himself had he chosen; how he never would wear the same shirt
twice. Dear boy! Every day those whose duty compels them to read
newspapers were forced to see such nauseous stuff, so that a lad's
private business became public property, and no secret was made of
matters which were a subject for grief and scorn. Hundreds of grown men
stood by and saw that boy lose a fortune in two hours, and some forty
paragraphs might have been collected in which the transaction was
described in various terms as a gross swindle. A good shot was killing
pigeons--gallant sport--and the wealthy schoolboy was betting. When a
sign was given by a bookmaker the shooting-man obeyed, and won or lost
according to orders; and every man in the assembly knew what foul work
was being carried on. Did one man warn the victim? The next day the
whole country knew what had happened, and the names of the thieves were
given in almost every sporting print; but the mischief was done, and the
lookers-on contented themselves with cheap wrath. A few brief months
flew by, and every day saw the usual flock of tributes to the mad boy's
vanity; and now the end has come--a colossal fortune, amassed by half a
century's toil, has gone into the pockets of all sorts of knaves, and
the fatal _Gazette_ showed the end. The princely fortune that might have
done so much good in the world has gone to fatten the foulest flock of
predatory birds that ever cumbered the earth. Where are the glib
parasites who came to fawn on the poor dolt? Where are the swarms of
begging dandies who clustered around him? Where are the persons who sold
him useless horses? Any one who has eyes can see that they point their
fingers and shrug. Another victim g