CYRUS HALL McCORMICK 



had no tact at retail, and he saw no differences 

 in little-minded people. All his life he had 

 been plagued and obstructed by the Liliputians 

 of the world, and he had no patience to listen 

 to their chattering. He was often as rude as 

 Carlyle to those who tied their little threads of 

 pessimism across his path. 



At fashionable gatherings he would now 

 and then be seen a dignified figure; but his 

 mind was almost too ponderous an engine to 

 do good service in a light conversation. If a 

 subject did not interest him, he had nothing to 

 say. What gave him, perhaps, the highest 

 degree of social pleasure, was the entertaining, 

 at his house, of such men as Horace Greeley, 

 William H. Seward, Peter Cooper, Abram S. 

 Hewitt, George Peabody, Junius Morgan, 

 Cyrus W. Field, or some old friend from 

 Virginia. 



His long years of pioneering had made him 

 a self-sufficient man, and a man who lived 

 from within. He did not pick up his opinions 

 on the streets. His mind was not open to any 

 chance idea. He had certain clear, definite 



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