...
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
TENNYSON'S Ulysses.
Mr. Roosevelt took his defeat without whimpering. When he was in a
fight he gave blows and expected to receive them. His enemies
often hit foul blows, and this his friends resented, especially
when the attacks actually provoked an attempt at murder. When his
private character was assailed he defended himself, promptly and
successfully. But neither he nor any of his friends asked that he
should be sacred from all criticism; nor feebly protested that he
was above ordinary mortals, and only to be mentioned with a sort
of trembling reverence. He was too much of a man to be kept
wrapped in wool.
In 1913 he traveled through South American countries to speak
before learned bodies which had invited him to come before them.
Afterwards, with his son Kermit, some American naturalists, and
Colonel Rondon, a brave and distinguished Brazilian officer, he
made a long trip through the wilderness of Brazil, to hunt and
explore.
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