Glendower did so; all was still and quiet.

"Why did you call me?" said he; "I see nothing."

"Nothing!" exclaimed Wolfe; "look again; look on yon sordid and
squalid huts; look at yon court, that from this wretched street leads
to abodes to which these are as palaces; look at yon victims of vice
and famine, plying beneath the midnight skies their filthy and
infectious trade. Wherever you turn your eyes, what see you? Misery,
loathsomeness, sin! Are you a man, and call you these nothing? And
now lean forth still more; see afar off, by yonder lamp, the mansion
of ill-gotten and griping wealth. He who owns those buildings, what
did he that he should riot while we starve? He wrung from the negro's
tears and bloody sweat the luxuries of a pampered and vitiated taste;
he pandered to the excesses of the rich; he heaped their tables with
the product of a nation's groans. Lo!--his reward! He is rich,
prosperous, honoured! He sits in the legislative assembly; he
declaims against immorality; he contends for the safety of property
and the equilibrium of ranks. Transport yourself from this spot for
an instant; imagine that you survey the gorgeous homes of aristocracy
and power, the palaces of the west. What see you there?--the few
sucking, draining, exhausting the blood, the treasure, the very
existence of the many. Are we, who are of the many, wise to suffer
it?"

"Are we of the many?" said Glendower.

"We could be," said Wolfe, hastily.

"I doubt it;" replied Glendower.