. Walt Mason : his book. [121] The Natioti j-Hope [122] Walt Mason THE NATIONS sliding down thepath that leads to Ruins lair, andall of Ruins dogs of wrath willchew its vitals there; each day we deeperplunge in grief; wxU soon have reachedthe worst; why dont we turn, then, for re-lief, to William Randolph Hurst? It seemswe havent any sense, that we these ills en-dure; hes told us oft, in confidence, thathe alone is pure; he is the bulwark of ourhope—our last shield and our first; thenlets rely upon the dope of William Ran-dolph Hurst. He offers us the helpinghand, he fain would be our guide; a
. Walt Mason : his book. [121] The Natioti j-Hope [122] Walt Mason THE NATIONS sliding down thepath that leads to Ruins lair, andall of Ruins dogs of wrath willchew its vitals there; each day we deeperplunge in grief; wxU soon have reachedthe worst; why dont we turn, then, for re-lief, to William Randolph Hurst? It seemswe havent any sense, that we these ills en-dure; hes told us oft, in confidence, thathe alone is pure; he is the bulwark of ourhope—our last shield and our first; thenlets rely upon the dope of William Ran-dolph Hurst. He offers us the helpinghand, he fain would be our guide; and stillwe wreck this blooming land, and let allvirtue slide; of all that is the countrys bestwere making wienenvurst; O let us leanupon the breast of William RandolphHurst! He stands and waits, serene, sub-lime, he beckons and he sings! He wearsa halo all the time, and he is growing wings!So let us quit the course that harms, for-sake the things accurst, and rest, like chil-dren, in the arms of William RandolphHurstI. Walt Mason, when a reporter on the Atchison Globe,1885— In lifes early bloom when my bosom wasyoung Walt Mason YOU KNOW the man of kingly air?You run across him everywhere. Heseems to think his hat a crown; hetalks as though he handed down most allthe w^isdom that the seers have gathered ina thousand years. His dignity is most sub-lime; to joke about him is a crime, andwhen you meet him it is wise to lift yourhat and close your eyes; and it would pleasehim if youd just lie down and grovel in thedust. That is the wiser course, I say, butFm a feeble-minded jay, and when I meetthe swelled-up man, I jolly him the bestI can; I w-ould to him the fact recall thathes but mortal, after all. Hes naught butbones and legs and trunk, and lungs andlights, and kindred junk; he breathes thesame old germy air thats breathed byhoboes everyw^here. And w^hen he dies, asdie he must, hell make as cheap a grade ofdust as any Richard Roe in town; the monu-ment that holds him down ma
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