If Ever The Public Was Betrayed By

It Is The Still, Small Voice That The Soul Heeds, Not The Deafening Blasts Of Doom.

Primitive Societies Without Religion Have Never Been Found.

The Swelling And Towering Omnibuses, The Huge Trucks And Wagons And Carriages, The Impetuous Hansoms And The More Sobered Four-wheelers, The Pony-carts, Donkey-carts, Hand-carts, And Bicycles Which Fearlessly Find Their Way Amidst The Turmoil, With Foot-passengers Winding In And Out, And Covering The Sidewalks With Their Multitude, Give The Effect Of A Single Monstrous Organism, Which Writhes Swiftly Along The Channel Where It Had Run In The Figure Of A Flood Till You Were Tired Of That Metaphor. You Are Now A Molecule Of That Vast Organism.

What The American Public Wants In The Theater Is A Tragedy With A Happy Ending.

It Is The Curse Of Prosperity That It Takes Work Away From Us, And Shuts That Door To Hope And Health Of Spirit.