The Indian Dispossessed
Congress delivers to the highest political bidder. If the public bids highest, it is because of some great selfish interest. The Indian's welfare, involving the nation's honor, was struck off to the vicious few because, forsooth, it was not spelled in dollars before the public eye.
This states a condition, not a remedy; the remedy lies—in a slumber that knows no waking—with the great public,—a public content that its ideals are so little represented in national legislation.
And now, as we explore the darker recesses of the Indian's story, we need not forget that the light still shines outside; and while we watch the stain of what we did trickling down over the snowy whiteness of our first good intentions, some may find solace in the placid, self-centering philosophy of these nameless lines:—
"Hapless mosquito! settling on my head,
I give one gentle tap, and thou art dead.
On such a day, to slay e'en thee I'm loath—
Would that the world were wide enough for both!"
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