thief--ay, and the thief is finer
than the receiver; he at least has the courage to run the risk. But the
good, kind people who don't do anything won't believe this, and the
assertion will make them angry--for a moment. They possess several magic
phrases, which are like the incantations of a voodoo doctor driving
devils away. The phrases that the good, kind people repeat to themselves
and to one another sound like "abstinence," "temperance," "thrift,"
"virtue." Sometimes they say them backward, when they sound like
"prodigality," "drunkenness," "wastefulness," and "immorality." They do
not really know the meaning of these phrases, but they think they do, and
that is all that is necessary for somnambulists. The calm repetition of
such phrases invariably drives away the waking devils and lulls to
slumber.

Our statesmen sell themselves and their country for gold. Our municipal
servants and state legislators commit countless treasons. The world of
graft! The world of betrayal! The world of somnambulism, whose exalted
and sensitive citizens are outraged by the knockouts of the prize-ring,
and who annually not merely knock out, but kill, thousands of babies and
children by means of child labour and adulterated food. Far better to
have the front of one's face pushed in by the fist of an honest
prize-fighter than to have the lining of one's stomach corroded by the
embalmed beef of a dishonest manufacturer.

In a prize-fight men are classed. A lightweight fights with a
light-weight; he never fights with a heavy-weight, and foul blows are not
allowed. Yet in the world of the somnambulists, where soar the
sublimated spirits, there are no classes, and foul blows are continually
struck and never disallowed. Only they are not called foul blows. The
world of claw and fang and fist and club has passed away--so say the
somnambulists. A rebate is not an elongated claw. A Wall Street raid is
not a fang slash. Dummy boards of directors and fake accountings are not
foul blows of the fist under the belt. A present of coal stock by a mine
operator to a railroad official is not a claw rip to the bowels of a
rival mine operator. The hundred million dollars with which a
combination beats down to his knees a man with a million dollars is not a
club. The man who walks in his sleep says it is not a club. So say all
of his kind with which he herds. They gather together and solemnly and
gloatingly make and repeat certain nois