You Will Find The Poet

Crime, To The Man Of The Forties, Was An Alien Monstrous Terror.

North And South Were Equally Confident That God Was On Their Side, And Appealed Incessantly To Him.

The Only Hero Known To My Childhood Was Henry Clay.

Before The Birth Of The New Woman The Country Was Not An Intellectual Desert, As She Is Apt To Suppose. There Were Teachers Of Thehighest Grade, And Libraries, And Countless Circles In Our Towns And Villages Of Scholarly, Leisurely Folk, Who Loved Books, And Music, And Nature, And Lived Much Apart With Them. The Mad Craze For Money, Which Clutches At Our Souls To-day As La Grippe Does At Our Bodies, Was Hardly Known Then.

But Remember, I Am No Politician, And No Seer Into Souls.