The only hero known to my childhood was Henry Clay.

No man surely has so short a memory as the American.

The only hero known to my childhood was Henry Clay.

We have grown used to money. The handling, the increase of it, is the chief business of life now with most of us.

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.

It was part of your religion to hate the British.

We don't often look into these unpleasant details of our great struggle. We all prefer to think that every man who wore the blue or gray was a Philip Sidney at heart.