But there is a dignity in mere perpetuity, a strength in the narrowest affinities.

This dignity and strength were theirs.

They are still vital in our rural population.

Occasionally something fine is their result; an aboriginal reappears to prove the plastic powers of nature.
My great-grandfather, Locke Morgeson, the old man whose head I saw bound in a red handkerchief, was the first noticeable man of the name.
He was a scale of enthusiasms, ranging from the melancholy to the sarcastic.

When I heard him talked of, it seemed to me that he was born under the influence of the sea, while the rest of the tribe inherited the character of the landscape.