What Always Was Must Always Be.

But The Idea Of A Man Making His Living By Writing Seemed, In That Hardy Environment, So Fantastic That Even Today I Am Sometimes Myself Assailed By A Feeling Of Unreality.

What Shall A Man Say When A Friend Has Vanished Behind The Doors Of Death? A Mere Tangle Of Barren Words, Only Words.

In The Hill Country, Civilization Steals In Last, And The People Retain Much Of The Crude But Vigorous Mode Of Expression Of The Colonial Days And Earlier.

I Have Accomplished Little Enough, But Such As It Is, It Is The Result Of My Own Efforts.

Rome Got Some Peachy Pastings When She Tried To Lick The Irish.