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Who meeting Cæsar's self would slap his back, Call him 'Old Horse' and challenge to a drink." Mr. Lowell bore no resemblance to this brown-fisted rough. He would not have slapped Cæsar on the back, and he would have resented being himself greeted in such an unconventional fashion.

Even Madame Belot, holding a stalwart, brown-fisted baby on her arm, could comment on her husband's work with a discerning aptness of phrase which made his own appreciation seem very trite and tentative. He might be putting up with the Belots, but it was quite as likely, he perceived, that they might be putting up with him.

Bartley watched him, a sturdy youngster, brown-fisted, blue-eyed, with sandy hair, and dressed in jeans and a rowdy a miniature cow-puncher, even to his walk. "Ever shoot one before?" queried Bartley as the boy gave back the pistol. "Nope. There's one like it, over to the store in San Andreas. It's in the window. I never got to look at it right close." "Try it again," said Bartley.

In every caricature of Uncle Sam or Brother Jonathan we can detect the lineaments of the American frontiersman. James Russell Lowell, gentleman and scholar that he was, describes a type of man unknown to the Old World: "This brown-fisted rough, this shirt-sleeved Cid, This backwoods Charlemagne of Empires new.

Shaggy he was to be, brown-fisted, careless of proprieties, unhampered by tradition, his Pegasus of the half-horse, half-alligator breed. By him at last the epos of the New World was to be fitly sung, the great tragi-comedy of democracy put upon the stage for all time.