Rodney Potts. Reflecting upon those benign ends which
the gods chose to make him serve, I can but marvel how lightly each of
us may meet and scorn a casual Potts, unrecking his gracious and
predestined office in the play of Fate.
Of the present--to me--supreme drama of the Little Country, I can only
say that the gods had selected their agent with a cunning so flawless
that suspicion of his portents could not well have been aroused in one
lacking discernment like unto the gods' very own. So trivially, so
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.
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