Activity Is Contagious.

It Is Long Ere We Discover How Rich We Are. Our History, We Are Sure, Is Quite Tame: We Have Nothing To Write, Nothing To Infer. But Our Wiser Years Still Run Back To The Despised Recollections Of Childhood, And Always We Are Fishing Up Some Wonderful Article Out Of That Pond; Until, By And By, We Begin To Suspect That The Biography Of The One Foolish Person We Know Is, In Reality, Nothing Less Than The Miniature Paraphrase Of The Hundred Volumes Of The Universal History.

Magic And All That Is Ascribed To It Is A Deep Presentiment Of The Powers Of Science.

Another Success Is The Post-office, With Its Educating Energy Augmented By Cheapness And Guarded By A Certain Religious Sentimentin Mankind; So That The Power Of A Wafer Or A Drop Of Wax Or Gluten To Guard A Letter, As It Flies Over Sea Over Land And Comes To Its Address As If A Battalion Of Artillery Brought It, I Look Upon As A Fine Meter Of Civilization.

Masses Are Rude, Lame, Unmade, Pernicious In Their Demands And Influence, And Need Not To Be Flattered, But To Be Schooled. I Wish Not To Concede Anything To Them, But To Tame, Drill, Divide, And Break Them Up, And Draw Individuals Out Of Them.

For He That Feeds Men Serveth Few; He Serves All Who Dares Be True.