Sublime

Central Park, most famous and beautiful of the city’s open spaces, “the most noble, the most praiseworthy, the most philanthropic of all our public works,” according to an 1876 New York Herald editorial, had been the creation of Calvert Vaux and the genius of urban landscape, Frederick Law Olmsted, who, in 1857—with Olmsted still an unknown young

Bobbing up-and-down, up-and-down,

“If you’re ever in Cody, Wyoming,” I said to him lazily, “just ask for Wild Bob.”

A straw hat, a stick, a box of matches and some of his own poetry. What more does man require?.

Jeff was a tender soul. I think he thought that country—if there was one—was just blossoming with roses and babies and canaries and tidies, and all that sort of thing.

The leaves of the trees about the camp ground were thick and heavy, no longer growing but hanging limp and waiting for the first frost to whip them with color and the second to drive them to the earth and terminate their year.

When Red Mike Hylan swept into City Hall—Mitchel, who had been elected in 1913 by the largest plurality in New York’s history, was turned out in 1917 by an even larger plurality—Progressivism in the city was dead.