Nowhere In This Country, From Sea To

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

Every Child Was Taught From His Cradle That Money Was Mammon, The Chief Agent Of The Flesh And The Devil. As He Grew Up It Was His Duty As A Christian And A Gentleman To Appear To Despise Filthy Lucre, Whatever His Secret Opinion Of It Might Be.

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 . . .

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.

Every Child Was Taught From His Cradle That Money Was Mammon, The Chief Agent Of The Flesh And The Devil.