a bitter opponent of foreign
alliances, and denounced their evils in harsh, specific terms. He had a
liking for all forthright and pugnacious men, and a contempt for
lawyers, schoolmasters and all other such obscurantists. He was not
pious. He drank whisky whenever he felt chilly, and kept a jug of it
handy. He knew far more profanity than Scripture, and used and enjoyed
it more. He had no belief in the infallible wisdom of the common people,
but regarded them as inflammatory dolts, and tried to save the republic
from them. He advocated no sure cure for all the sorrows of the world,
and doubted that such a panacea existed. He took no interest in the
private morals of his neighbors.

Inhabiting These States today, George would be ineligible for any office
of honor or profit. The Senate would never dare confirm him; the
President would not think of nominating him. He would be on trial in
all the yellow journals for belonging to the Invisible Government, the
Hell Hounds of Plutocracy, the Money Power, the Interests. The Sherman
Act would have him in its toils; he would be under indictment by every
grand jury south of the Potomac; the triumphant prohibitionists of his
native state would be denouncing him (he had a still at Mount Vernon) as
a debaucher of youth, a recruiting officer for insane asylums, a
poisoner of the home. The suffragettes would be on his trail, with
sentinels posted all along the Accotink road. The initiators and
referendors would be bawling for his blood. The young college men of the
_Nation_ and the _New Republic_ would be lecturing him weekly. He would
be used to scare children in Kansas and Arkansas. The chautauquas would
shiver whenever his name was mentioned....

And what a chance there would be for that ambitious young district
attorney who thought to shadow him on his peregrinations--and grab him
under the Mann Act!

II

THE REWARD OF THE ARTIST

A man labors and fumes for a whole year to write a symphony in G minor.
He puts enormous diligence into it, and much talent, and maybe no little
downright genius. It draws his blood and wrings his soul. He dies in it
that he may live again.... Nevertheless, its final value, in the open
market of the world, is a great deal less than that of a fur overcoat,
half a Rolls-Royce automobile, or a handful of authentic hair from the
whiskers of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

III

THE HEROIC CONSIDERED

For humility and poverty, in themse