... While The Light Burning Within May

War May Be An Armed Angel With A Mission, But She Has The Personal Habits Of The Slums.

These Great Turning-days Of Life Cast No Shadow Before, Slip By Unconsciously. Only A Trifle, A Little Turn Of The Rudder, And The Ship Goes To Heaven Or Hell.

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.

One Sees That Dead, Vacant Look Steal Over The Rarest, Finest Of Women's Faces . . . In The Very Midst, It May Be, Of Their Warmest Summer's Day; And Then One Can Guess At The Secret Of Intolerable Solitude That Lies Hid Beneath The Delicate Laces . . .

It Has Happened To Me To Meet Many Of The Men Of My Day Whom The World Agreed To Call Great.