For are there not, confined in our dense towns,
And scattered over our most fertile fields,
Millions of men who live a lower life—
Lower in physical and moral health—
Than the Red Indian of these trackless wilds?
Have we not thousands too who live a life
More low, through eager longing after gold,—
Whose thoughts, from morn to night, from night to morn,
Are—how to get more gold?
What know such men of intellectual joys?