Every new generation...is a fresh invasion of savages. - Hervey Allen

Legends are material to be moulded, and not facts to be recorded.

Christ Jesus, when I come to die </br> Grant me a clean, sweet, summer sky, </br> Without the mad wind's panther cry. </br> Send me a little garden breeze </br> To gossip in magnolia trees; </br> For I have heard, these fifty years, </br> Confessions muttered at my ears, </br> Till every mumble of the wind </br> Is like tired voices that have sinned.

This Appalachian country was not huge, barren, and monotonous like so much of the West. There was nothing here to suggest that perhaps one had always better be moving. On the contrary, there was a kind of overtone from the countryside that whispered, "Tarry, traveller, tarry. Here is comfort for the soul of man. Here are verdancy and peace."