Excerpt from Souls in Pawn: A Story of New York Life

The question "What is Truth" has never been fully answered, neither has "What is Fiction", so I do not pretend to solve it by saying this book is either the one or the other. It is merely an attempt to paint the struggles of human souls toward God, to reveal the throbbing of real hearts through the medium of pen and ink, and to win sympathy from brother for brother.

I once knew an Irish blacksmith, by the name of Billy Gog, who was a philosopher in his way, and when his parish priest scolded him for not going to church oftener, and loving it better, he said: "Father M, we're all made of mud, and wan puddle is no better'n another, your puddle happens to be the chapel kind, while mine is only the horseshoein' kind, that's all."

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