I was amazed at the sight of such a medley of things. The newest shapes in straw hats were lying side by side with camp ovens and frying-pans, while flannel and Oxford shirts, together with wideawake felt hats, vests, collars, and ties, kept company with boxes of tea, bags of flour, and ready-tapped barrels of whiskey, rum, and gin.

As a contrast to the freedoms of the previous two decades, we were starting to appreciate the benefits and disbenefits of what became known as political correctness […]

The barbarian, wandering in nature's wilds, plucking the fruits as they grow, or destroying the game for his meat, and quenching his thirst with the waters of the gurgling rill, may furnish the poet with a theme for a pean to the goddess of Natural Liberty; but he will be a barbarian still, and his children after him, will roam over the same uncultivated wastes, and sleep in the same caves and dens, until they learn to associate with others and combine their efforts for mutual good.

Wow, Doc. That's heavy. Denis sat there pigging on the joint as usual.