Westward, along the level prairies of a kingdom yet to be, my memory runs, with a clear vision of the days when romance died not and strong hearts never failed. The glamour of the plains is before my eyes; the tingle of courage, danger-born, is in my pulse-beat; the soft hand of love is touching my hand. I live again the drama of life wherein there are no idle actors, no stale, unmeaning lines. And beyond the action, this way up the years, there runs also the forward-gazing vision toward a new Hesperides:

Through the veins
Of whose vast Empire flows, in strength'ning tides,
Trade, the calm health of nations. t+A/462PhpPfCdSJJazu5RJqHhy4aCHyTnuc14MEAgOFQAUhDbw/9VT2d/3yM6sJ