MEN I HAVE PAINTED
The influence of Puritans and Friends was not so general as the restraining virtue of the idea contained in pro bono publico that permeated the Thirteen Original Colonies at the time of the Declaration of Independence, and swayed the states as they entered the union. The best men said to themselves, "To deserve a pure government we must keep society pure." And what did that entail? Two things, one of which has unfortunately fallen into disuse—obedience to law, human and divine, and the swift execution of justice upon evildoers. In this atmosphere of stern realities, men of the temper of Judge Alexander Simpson and my father were born.
Like the curate who was considered, by the toddy-drinking, "churchwarden"-smoking old Scotsman, of no use to man or beast because he did not drink, smoke, or eat hay, men of the type of the Judge and my father, who refused the Masonic grip, rejected the flowing bowl, and eschewed Dame Nicotine in any shape or form, are of little use in clubs or at artists' banquets, but when some real service to the community is to be performed, either by example or precept, they can be depended upon with all confidence to do their duty. The likeness between the two natures extends almost indefinitely. At the back of their minds they believe in a Christian Church universal, they love England and her institutions, they are loyal to the Constitution of the United States, and read it in all its simplicity of statement; they hold visionaries and demagogues in detestation, their knowledge of psychology does not go beyond Saint Paul's or Shakespeare's, their sentiment is a pure substantive and their goodness is not a pious pose.
Judge Simpson is a leader of these men of substance, whose feet are firmly planted upon the inviolable principles
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