What honor was there when Little King Louis, so fearful of dying and blood, and gripped by a blinding-paroxysm of visions and pain, had breathed his last, and his worthless courtiers could only look stupidly ahead, and animalistically blink, “What a shame”? What honor and 'sacred national dignity,' is there to-day in America? Tens of millions of dollars raked in and spent, for the insolvent courtiers of a rotted leviathan, with wild and noisome parties and galas, all to elevate and show 'how beautiful and united we are, O God bless the Constiushun! and our lovely guberment and dear President!' As widows and cast-away veterans—melted down into vast financial dividends by that great terrible Steam-Engine of Technology churning forward on its inexorable way—starve and are buried beneath the tidal crest of GDP. Hundreds of millions of screaming, miserable mouths cry out for bread, for money, for stability! These poor wretches are so confined in their Great Insanity that any slippery grifting Demagogue may rally their disdain, for pennies and bones! They shout out their pain and anguish, as that great ugly voice of Populism, rising and shouting, grossly inarticulate and groaning, as the voice of Chaos over the Republic! The Angels of Lunacy blow brass trumpets over the Nation, and as these fatuous, insulated liars pontificate, 'Oh, but consider the aggregate! Yes, the aggregate, consider it! Consider the colored lines rising and elevating the Economy! it is good!' It would be good for ten-thousand baleful demons to rise up from the fiery fissure-mouth of the hoary earth, armed with burning-irons and thorn-bludgeons to crush the neck of this rotted Pluralism—O thou dread-fiend! Thou wretched Tyrant! Thou consumer of men and culture and history, the annihilator of heroism! Damn you! Let the Peace-Sleep be interrupted and let the Great Deep be split in two, so as to swallow the nation and be rid of this demonic hellscape, damn you!