We hear with pomp and triumph of the millions and
millions that have been dug out of this old Welsh land of ours, but we
hear nothing--and we see, indeed, less--of the public buildings, the
people's parks, the public libraries and public institutions, and other
civilizing agencies. Fifteen months ago, when we were in the highest
tide of prosperity, I said all this, and no notice was taken of it. Why
should any notice be taken of a preaching parson or a Christian minister
of any kind, when sovereigns fly about like snowflakes in winter, or may
be gathered like blackberries in summer?"[1]
[Footnote 1: Sermon preached at Merthyr during the South Wales strike.]
Men go on toiling and moiling, eager to be richer; desperately
struggling, as if against poverty, at the same time that they are
surrounded with abundance. They scrape and scrape, add shilling to
shilling, and sometimes do shabby things in order to make a little more
profit; though they may have accumulated far more than they can actually
enjoy. And still they go on, worrying themselves incessantly in the
endeavour to grasp at an additional increase of superfluity. Perhaps
such men have not enjoyed the advantages of education in early life.
They have no literary pleasures to fall back upon; they have no taste
for books; sometimes they can scarcely write their own names.
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