The Only Hero Known To My Childhood

We Have Grown Used To Money. The Handling, The Increase Of It, Is The Chief Business Of Life Now With Most Of Us.

The Only Hero Known To My Childhood Was Henry Clay.

It Is A Good Rule Never To See Or Talk To The Man Whose Words Have Wrung Your Heart, Or Helped It, Just As It Is Wise Not To Look Down Too Closely At The Luminous Glow Which Sometimes Shines On Your Path On A Summer Night, If You Would Not See The Ugly Worm Below.

I Have Never Seen An Adequate Description Anywhere Of The Amazement, The Uncomprehending Horror Of The Bulk Of The American People Which Preceded The Firing Of That Gun At Sumter. Politicians Or Far-sighted Leaders On Both Sides Knew What Was Coming. And It Is They Who Have Written Histories Of The War. But To The Easy-going Millions, Busied With Their Farms Or Shops, The Onrushing Disaster Was As Inexplicable As An Earthquake. Their Protest Arose From Sea To Sea Like The Clamor Of A Gigantic Hive Of Frightened Bees.

America May Have Great Poets And Novelists, But She Never Will Have More Than One Necromancer.