They work, eat, drink, and sleep:  that constitutes their life.  They think nothing of providing for to-morrow, or for next week, or for next year.  They abandon themselves to their sensual appetites; and make no provision whatever for the future.  The thought of adversity, or of coming sorrow, or of the helplessness that comes with years and sickness, never crosses their minds.  In these respects, they resemble the savage tribes, who know no better, and do no worse.  Like the North American Indians, they debase themselves by the vices which accompany civilization, but make no use whatever of its benefits and advantages.

Captain Parry found the Esquimaux near the North Pole as uncivilized as the miserable creatures who inhabit the dens of our great cities.  They were, of course, improvident; for, like savages generally, they never save.  They were always either feasting or famished.

When they found a quantity of whale’s blubber, they would eat as much of it as they could, and hide the rest.  Yet their improvidence gave them no concern.  Even when they had been without food or fuel for days together, they would be as gay and good-humoured as usual.  They never thought of how they should be provided for to-morrow.  Saving for the future forms no part of the savage economy.

Amongst civilized peoples, cold is said to be the parent of frugality.  Thus the northern nations of Europe owe a portion of their prosperity to the rigour of their climate.  Cold makes them save during summer, to provide food, coal, and clothing during winter.  It encourages house-building and housekeeping.  Hence Germany is more industrious than Sicily; Holland and Belgium than Andalusia; North America and Canada than Mexico.

When the late Edward Denison, M.P. for Newark, with unexampled self-denial, gave up a large portion of his time and labour to reclaim the comparatively uncivilized population of the East End of London, the first thing he did was to erect an iron church of two stories, the lower part of which was used as a school and lecture room, and also as a club where men and boys might read, play games, and do anything else that might keep them out of the drinking-houses.  “What is so bad in this quarter,” said Mr. Denison, “is the habitual condition of this mass of humanity—­its uniform mean level, the absence of anything more civilizing than a grinding organ to raise the ideas beyond the daily bread and beer, the utter want of education, the complete indifference to religion, with the fruits of all this—­improvidence, dirt, and their secondaries, crime and disease....  There is no one to give a push to struggling energy, to guide aspiring intelligence, or to break the fall of unavoidable misfortune....  The Mission Clergyman,” he goes on to say, “is a sensible, energetic man, in whose hands the work of civilizing the people is making as much progress as can be expected.  But most of his energy is taken up in serving tables,