"He instinctively can find the shining greatness of our American culture and does a good job of highlighting it (although he also does have those rare lapses when he writes about hockey, but that is something caused by impurities in the Eastern waters or something)." Erik Keilholtz
Under the patronage of St. Tammany
Mark C. N. Sullivan is an editor at a Massachusetts university. He is married and the father of three children. Email
At Daniel Webster's alma mater, voting is underway in the Board of Trustees election, in which two write-in insurgents, former Reagan speechwriter Peter Robinson and the Volokh Conspiracy's Todd Zywicki, are challenging the entrenched leftist "monolith on the hill."
Is it cosmic convergence? Two Lebanons, one in the ME and one in NH, are in the news because of the unexpected movement towards the democratization of their governments. Each of these events will have long lasting repercussions among their sister institutions. The future looks inviting.
You see, for a while, he was the biggest man in the country. He never got to be President, but he was the biggest man. There were thou- sands that trusted in him right next to God Almighty, and they told stories about him and all the things that belonged to him that were like the stories of patriarchs and such. They said, when he stood up to speak, stars and stripes came right out in the sky, and once he spoke against a river and made it sink into the ground. They said, when he walked the woods with his fishing rod, Killall, the trout would jump out of the streams right into his pockets, for they knew it was no use putting up a fight against him; and, when he argued a case, he could turn on the harps of the blessed and the shaking of the earth underground. That was the kind of man he was, and his big farm up at Marshfield was suitable to him. The chickens he raised were all white meat down through the drumsticks, the cows were tended like children, and the big ram he called Goliath had horns with a curl like a morning-glory vine and could butt through an iron door. But Dan'l wasn't one of your gentle- men farmers; he knew all the ways of the land, and he'd be up by candlelight to see that the chores got done. A man with a mouth like a mastiff, a brow like a mountain and eyes like burning anthracite-that was Dan'l Webster in his prime. And the biggest case he argued never got written down in the books, for he argued it against the devil, nip and tuck and no holds barred. And this is the way I used to hear it told.
* * *
East of West Lebanon, NH: The front page of Robert Fisk's newspaper yesterday * Protests breaking out in unlikely places, via Publius Pundit