Henry Watterson: “In Dickens’ day “a tale of two cities” could only mean London and Paris then, and ever so unalike.”

Socialism, disappointed of its Utopia, may then repeat the familiar lesson and reproduce the man-on-horseback, or the world may drop into another abyss, and, after the ensuing “dark ages,” like those that swallowed Babylon and Tyre, Greece…

But my face in the glass I’ll serenely survey, And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow— That this worn-out old stuff which is thread-bare to-day Shall become everlasting to-morrow.

It is love—love through grace of God—truth where we can find it—which shall irradiate the life that is.

From fakers who have cards up their sleeves, not to mention snakes in their boots, we hear a great deal about “the people,” pronounced by them as if it were spelled “pee-pul.” It is the unfailing recourse of the professional politician in…