utterly, so pitiably casual, to eyes of the flesh, was this Potts of
Little Arcady, from his immortal soul to the least item of his inferior
raiment!

Thus craftily are we fooled by the Lords of Destiny, whose caprice it is
to affect remoteness from us and a lofty unconcern for our poor little
doings.

There is bitterness in the lines of that _Argus_ paragraph, and a
flippant incivility might be read between them by the least discerning.

Arcady of the Little Country, however, knows there is neither bitterness
nor real cynicism in Solon Denney, founder, editor, and proprietor of
the _Little Arcady Argus_; motto, "Hew to the Line, Let the Chips Fall
Where they May!" Indeed, we do know Solon. Often enough has the _Argus_
hewn inexorably to the line, when that line led straight through the
heart of its guiding genius and through the hearts of us all. One who
had seen him, as I did, stand uncovered in the presence of his new
Washington hand-press, the day that dynamo of Light was erected in the
_Argus_ office, could never suppose him to lack humanity or the just
reverence demanded by his craft.

We may concede without disloyalty that Solon is peculiar unto himself.
In his presence you are cursed with an unquiet suspicion that he may
become frivolous with you at any moment,--may, indeed, be so at that
moment, despite a due facial gravity and tones of weight,--for he will
not infrequently seem to be both trivial and serious in the same breath.
Again, he is amazingly sensitive for one not devoid of humor. In a
pleasant sense he is acutely aware of himself, and he does not dislike
to know that you feel his quality. Still again, he is bound to spice his