“A poor people, you New Yorkers, spite of your money—poorly educated, bodily and mentally; poor in physique; poor sportsmen who tolerate professionalism as your popular sport; too poor in spirit to submit to universal service for the common weal.
“So poor that your laws are made for you by the most recently settled and most ignorant section of the nation.
“The ‘Centre of Population,’ with its incubus of half educated women, prescribes your bodily and your moral menu. And you become a metropolis of moonshiners.
“What are you, Manhattan? Ruins already, alas, to build upon—the Yankee Ninevah trodden by an ass less wild.
“And yet the endless caravans continue. Still, to New York come all things, all people. And, alas, Youth comes too, and all afire to see and learn and achieve. High ideals, high hopes, vigour, courage, face to face with the Great American Ass enthroned amid the débris.
“Youth floundering in the dump-heap bares a clean sword to hew its way to beauty. And strikes a shower of ashes. There is no sympathy; no audience for beauty in New York.
“Dull eyes look on, dull minds weary. There is official inquiry as to the purpose of ‘these here art artists.’ The waiter, taxi-driver, janitor, gambler of yesterday are the arbiters of Art on Broadway to-day.
“It is not a sword that Youth needs in New York; it is a gas-mask. And, somewhere, Destiny is already mixing mortar and Fate is baking bricks for that coming temple that shall stand upon the futile ruins where, some day, shall be disinterred the fossil bones of the Great American Ass.”
Annan sent it to Coltfoot with a note: