the benefit of the German the stirring measures from the
Scotch-German John Henry Mackay's Sturm:--

Das ist der Kampf, den allnaechtlich
Bevor das Dunkel zerrinnt,
Einsam und gramvoll auskaempt
Des Jahrhunderts verlorenes Kind.

Yetta waved her long and beautifully shaped hands--they were her
solitary vanity. The audience became still. She addressed them at first
in deliberate tones, and Arthur noted that the interest was genuine--he
wondered how long his fat-witted club friends could endure or
appreciate the easy manner in which Yetta Silverman quoted from great
thinkers, and sprinkled these quotations with her own biting
observations.

"Richard Wagner--who loved humanity when he wrote Siegfried and
regretted that love in Parsifal!

"Richard Wagner--who loved ice-cream more than Dresden's
freedom--Wagner: the Swiss family bell-ringer of '48!

"To Max Stirner, Ibsen, and Richard Strauss belongs the twentieth
century!

"Nietzsche--the anarch of aristocrats!

"Karl Marx--or the selfish Jew socialist!

"Lassalle--the Jew comedian of liberty!

"Bernard Shaw--the clever Celt who would sacrifice socialism for an
epigram.

"Curse all socialists!" she suddenly screamed.

Arthur, entranced by the playful manner with which she disposed of
friend and foe, was aghast at this outbreak. He saw another Yetta. Her
face was ugly and revengeful. She sawed the air with her thin arms.

"Repeat after me," she adjured her hearers, "the Catechism of Sergei
Netschajew, but begin with Herzen's noble motto: 'Long live chaos and
destruction!'"

"Long live chaos and destruction!" was heartily roared.

The terrific catechism of the apostle Netschajew made Arthur shake with
alternate woe and wrath. It was bloody-minded beyond description. Like
a diabolic litany boomed the questions and answers:--

"Day and night we must have but one thought--inexorable destruction."
And Arthur recalled how this pupil of Bakounine had with the assistance
of Pryow and Nicolajew beguiled a certain suspected friend, Ivanow, into
a lonely garden and killed him, throwing the body into a lake. After
that Netschajew disappeared, though occasionally showing himself in
Switzerland and England. Finally, in 1872, he was nabbed by the Russian
government, sent to Siberia, and--!

_Ugh!_ thought Arthur, what a people, what an ending! And Yetta--why did
she now so openly proclaim destruction as the only palliative for social
crime when she h