(American novelist and poet, 1870-1900) These stupid peasants, who, throughout the world, hold potentates on their thrones, make statesmen illustrious, provide generals with lasting victories, all with ignorance, indifference, or half-witted hatred, moving the world with the strength of their arms, and getting their heads knocked together, in the name of God, the king, or the stock exchange--immortal, dreaming, hopeless asses, who surrender their reason to the care of a shining puppet, and persuade some toy to carry their lives in his purse. An Italian Restaurant (_From "A Bed of Roses"_) BY W. L. GEORGE (Contemporary English novelist) They sat at a marble topped table, flooded with light by incandescent gas. In the glare the waiters seemed blacker, smaller and more stunted than by the light of day. Their faces were pallid, with a touch of green: their hair and moustaches were almost blue black. Their energy was that of automata. Victoria looked at them, melting with pity. "There's a life for you," said Farwell, interpreting her look. "Sixteen hours' work a day in an atmosphere of stale food. For meals, plate scourings. For sleep and time to get to it, eight hours. For living, the rest of the day." "It's awful, awful," said Victoria. "They might as well be dead." "They will be soon," said Farwell, "but what does that matter? There are plenty of waiters. In the shadow of the olive groves tonight in far-off Calabria, at the base of the vine-clad hills, couples are walking hand in hand, with passion flashing in their eyes. Brown peasant boys are clasping to their breast young girls with dark hair, white teeth, red lips, hearts that beat and quiver with ecstasy. They tell a tale of love and hope. So we shall not be short of waiters." Tonight BY CARLOS WUPPERMAN (Contemporary American poet) Tonight the beautiful, chaste moon From heaven's height Scatters over the bridal earth Blossoms of white; And spring's renewed glad charms unfold Endless delight. Such mystic wonder the hushed world wears, Evil has fled Far, far away; in every heart God reigns instead.... Tonight a starving virgin sells Her soul for bread. A South-Sea Islander BY FRANCIS ADAMS (English poet and rebel, 1862-1893; his life, a brief struggle with poverty and disease, was ended by his own hand) Aloll in the warm clear water, On her back with languorous limbs She lies. The baby upon her breast Paddles and falls and swims. With half-closed eyes she smiles, Guarding it with her hands; And the sob swells up in my heart-- In my heart that understands. _Dear, in the English country, The hatefullest land on earth, The mothers are starved and the children die And death is better than birth!_ Out of the Dark BY HELEN KELLER (America's most famous blind girl, born 1880, who has come to see more than most people with normal eyes)