The Only Hero Known To My Childhood

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

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.

Sitting By The Chimney Corner As We Grow Old, The Commonest Things Around Us Take On Live Meanings And Hint At The Difference Between These Driving Times And The Calm, Slow Moving Days When We Were Young.

The Only Hero Known To My Childhood Was Henry Clay.

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 . . .