When I was in New York, Maxwell, I was in a hospital, and saw a number of men who had been day laborers.

Some of them were old and feeble, and others were young men, broken down in the prime of life.

Their limbs were shrunken and drawn.

They had been digging in the earth, and working on high buildings, and confined in dingy basements, and had done all kinds of hard labor for other men.
They had given their lives and strength for others, and this was the end of it to die poor and forsaken.

I looked at them, and they reminded me of the martyrs of old.