"Our army of the unemployed, probably, will give thanks that the capitalists are so very prosperous. Poor, haggard women will give thanks over their weak tea and dry baker's bread that they have been allowed to lay up wealth for their employers. Factory children, who never see anything but the grim shop walls by daylight, will give thanks that they have been brought into this beautiful world, and hard-working day laborers lucky enough to have any kind of a job will give thanks that the cormorants of society have not taken the last mouthful away from them." Another article deals with the anti-Chinese movement on the Pacific coast, and urges the white working men to expel every greedy monopolist instead of persecuting the poor celestial. ANARCHISTIC LITERATURE AND WEAPONS. Before I proceed to inspect the curiously decorated walls my attention is called to an assortment of anarchistic literature spread on a large table. The most extraordinary productions of fever-brained revolutionists from all countries are here exposed for sale. The works of Herr Most occupy the most conspicuous place, and titles like "Gottespect und Religrionsenche," "Eigenthumsbestie," and "Elements of Revolutionary Warfare" embellish the title pages. I open the last book at haphazard and read: "The best of all preparations to be used for poisoning is curare. "By heating a dagger and then tempering it in oil of oleander, the infliction of a light wound would be sufficient to produce blood-poisoning and death. "The cheapest and least expensive way is to apply a mixture of red phosphorus and gum arabicum to the dagger, cartridge, etc. "This precious stuff (dynamite), which is able to blast a mass of solid rock, might also do good service at an assembly of royal or aristocratic personages, or at an entertainment patronized by monopolists." Herr Most, who had eyed me sharply, asked at last: "Would you like to join our circle, or perhaps it is only a few of your private enemies you contemplate doing up? All necessary information can be had by studying my 'Kriegswissencraft.'" The hint was a broad one, and I thought it the safest plan to spend a dime on the "murder pamphlet," thus propitiating the tiger in his den. The room might be considered at first glance an armory. There are revolvers of all constructions, daggers, rifles, infernal machines, and a big saber with a rusty scabbard. I could scarcely repress a laugh at this relic of the great French revolution, or some equally remote historic event. "You make a mistake by laughing," said Most, unsheathing the sword. "You will observe the blade is as sharp as a razor, and," he added with a certain pride, "the point is, by way of experiment, coated with a solution of cyanide of potassium."