peace of every one but the condoner; by pitilessly crushing out of their natures every sentiment and aspiration unconnected with accumulation of property, these civilized savages and commercial barbarians attained their sordid end.  Before they had rounded the first half-century of their existence as a nation they had sunk so low in the scale of morality that it was considered nothing discreditable to take the hand and even visit the house of a man who had grown rich by means notoriously corrupt and dishonorable; and Harley declares that even the editors and writers of newspapers, after fiercely assailing such men in their journals, would be seen “hobnobbing” with them in public places.  (The nature of the social ceremony named the “hobnob” is not now understood, but it is known that it was a sign of amity and favor.) When men or nations devote all the powers of their minds and bodies to the heaping up of wealth, wealth is heaped up.  But what avails it?  It may not be amiss to quote here the words of one of the greatest of the ancients whose works—­fragmentary, alas—­have come down to us.

“Wealth has accumulated itself into masses; and poverty, also in accumulation enough, lies impassably separated from it; opposed, uncommunicating, like forces in positive and negative poles.  The gods of this lower world sit aloft on glittering thrones, less happy than Epicurus’s gods, but as indolent, as impotent; while the boundless living chaos of ignorance and hunger welters, terrific in its dark fury, under their feet.  How much among us might be likened to a whited sepulcher:  outwardly all pomp and strength, but inwardly full of horror and despair and dead men’s bones!  Iron highways, with their wains fire-winged, are uniting all the ends of the land; quays and moles, with their innumerable stately fleets, tame the ocean into one pliant bearer of burdens; labor’s thousand arms, of sinew and of metal, all-conquering everywhere, from the tops of the mount down to the depths of the mine and the caverns of the sea, ply unweariedly for the service of man; yet man remains unserved.  He has subdued this planet, his habitation and inheritance, yet reaps no profit from the victory.  Sad to look upon:  in the highest stage of civilization nine-tenths of mankind have to struggle in the lowest battle of savage or even animal man—­the battle against famine.  Countries are rich, prosperous in all manner of increase, beyond example; but the men of these countries are poor, needier than ever of all sustenance, outward and inward; of belief, of knowledge, of money, of food.”

To this somber picture of American “prosperity” in the nineteenth century nothing of worth can be added by the most inspired artist.  Let us simply inscribe upon the gloomy canvas the memorable words of an illustrious poet of the period: 

  That country speeds to an untoward fate,
  Where men are trivial and gold is great.