in whom may be united the powers and functions of a beadle, a censor, and a dictator. I have not the slightest idea where one so wise and pure is to be found, but doubtless there are plenty who do, if their modesty would permit them to speak.
XLIII
I used to recall, during the early and acute phase
of this discussion, an incident that occurred in the
old Springfield days in Loami, down in the Sangamon
country. The little village in those days could
boast an institution unlike any, perhaps, in the land,
unless it were to be found in some small hamlet in the
South. In the public square, on a space worn
smooth and hard as asphalt, a great circle was
drawn, and here, every day when the weather was
fine, a company of old men gathered and played
marbles. What the game was I do not know;
some development of one of the boys' games, no
doubt, but with what improvements and embellishments
only the old men who understood and played
it could say. Its enthralled votaries played with
large marbles, which spun from their gnarled and
horny knuckles all day long, with a shifting crowd
of onlookers gaping at their prowess. The players
were old and dignified, and took their sport seriously.
There were to be seen, about that big ring,
sages who had sat on juries and been swayed by the
arguments of Lincoln; there were gray veterans who
had gone with Sherman to the sea and had been with
