O horrible.... Thou God who seest these things Help us to blot this terror from the earth.” ... No, I see it is “To the Czar,”[3] after all. But there are those who would say it fits me—and rather snugly, too. “Ripe brutality.” They would say the Czar’s isn’t ripe yet, but that mine is; and not merely ripe but rotten. Nothing could keep them from saying that; they would think it smart. “This terror.” Let the Czar keep that name; I am supplied. This long time I have been “the monster”; that was their favorite—the monster of crime. But now I have a new one. They have found a fossil Dinosaur fifty-seven feet long and sixteen feet high, and set it up in the museum in New York and labeled it “Leopold II.” But it is no matter, one does not look for manners in a republic. Um ... that reminds me; I have never been caricatured. Could it be that the corsairs of the pencil could not find an offensive symbol that was big enough and ugly enough to do my reputation justice? [_After reflection_] There is no other way—I will buy the Dinosaur. And suppress it. [_Rests himself with some more chapter-headings. Reads_] Footnote 3: Louise Morgan Sill, in _Harper’s Weekly_. “More mutilation of children.” (Hands cut off.) “Testimony of American Missionaries.” “Evidence of British Missionaries.” It is all the same old thing—tedious repetitions and duplications of shop-worn episodes; mutilations, murders, massacres, and so on, and so on, till one gets drowsy over it. Mr. Morel intrudes at this point, and contributes a comment which he could just as well have kept to himself—and throws in some italics, of course; these people can never get along without italics: “It is one heartrending story of human misery from beginning to end, and _it is all recent_.” Meaning 1904 and 1905. I do not see how a person can act so. This Morel is a king’s subject, and reverence for monarchy should have restrained him from reflecting upon me with that exposure. This Morel is a reformer; a Congo reformer. That sizes _him_ up. He publishes a sheet in Liverpool called “The West African Mail,” which is supported by the voluntary contributions of the sap-headed and the soft-hearted; and every week it steams and reeks and festers with up-to-date “Congo atrocities” of the sort detailed in this pile of pamphlets here. I will suppress it. I suppressed a Congo atrocity book there, after it was actually in print; it should not be difficult for me to suppress a newspaper. [Illustration: “The only witness I couldn’t bribe” ]