Dressed in butter-nut jeans, and swinging idly on a gate, many a youth of the time might have been pointed out as a likely senator, poet, general, ambassador, or even president. Never was there more romance in a new country. A great change was coming over the people of the West. They retained all the best characteristics of the Puritans and the settlers of Maryland and Virginia, with something strangely original and characteristic of the time and place, something biblical applied to the circumstances of the hour.
The words of Francis Grierson, a writer whom I had lost for a spell, and who now has returned like the prodigal son. The period of which he writes is just before the Civil War. Of course, I think of the present age and wonder if there is any such romance as Grierson wrote about. There are protests, but the romance of discontent is a milk curdled far differently that the sweet butter of the romance of dreams and aspirations which do not face insurmountable odds.
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