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 THE CALL 
 
 
 OFTHECITY 
 
 
 BY 
 
 
 
 CHARLES MULFORD 
 ROBINSON 
 
 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 " MODERN CIVIC ART " 
 "THE IMPROVEMENT OF TOWNS AND CITIES" 
 "ROCHESTER WAYS" 
 ETC. 
 
 
 
 Who once has known the city s lures 
 May cast them off in vain ; 
 Its clangor on his ear endures, 
 Its lights are in his brain. 
 The freedom of the open seek 
 Canoe, and camp, and shack / 
 But there the city s voice shall speak 
 To bid the Wanderer back. 
 Edwin L. Sabin. 
 
 
 
 PAUL ELDER & COMPANY 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO AND NEW YORK 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
Copyright, \9QS.by 
 Paul Elder and Company 
 
 The publishers desire to acknowledge the 
 courtesy extended by The Frank A. Mun- 
 sey Company; The Century Company; 
 Dodd, Mead & Company ; The Bobbs- 
 Merrill Company ; Houghton, Mifflin and 
 Company; G. P. Putnam s Sons, The 
 Penn Publishing Company and The Out 
 look Publishing Company in granting per 
 mission to reprint various selections included 
 in this little volume. 
 

 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 
 TO THE 
 
 HUMDRUM CLUB 
 ROCHESTER 
 
 N.Y. 
 
 327383 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE CALL OF THE CITY - - 1 
 
 II. THE CITY S BEAUTY - - - - 9 
 
 III. ITS HUMAN INTEREST - - - 1 7 
 
 IV. THE CITY S FELLOWSHIP - - 25 
 
 V. THE CITY S COMFORTS - - - 35 
 
 VI. THE CHARM OF THE PAST - 47 
 
 VII. OPPORTUNITIES 55 
 
 VIII. HOPE FOR CITIES 63 
 
 IX. WHEN PHYLLIS IS IN TOWN - 71 
 
 X. HOLIDAYS 77 
 
 XL ENTERTAINMENT 89 
 
 XII. SLEEP 99 
 

 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 
 Uphold me on the danger-crest 
 
 
 
 of life, 
 
 
 
 O Mother City! 
 
 
 
 My heart is lifted on thy buoyant 
 
 
 
 tides, 
 
 
 
 Thrilled by thy cries of revelry 
 
 
 
 and woe. 
 
 
 
 The far hills call me, but I may 
 
 
 
 not go ; 
 
 
 
 The woods invite me, but thy 
 
 
 
 spell abides. 
 
 
 
 Marion Couthouy Smith 
 
 
 
 in The Century Magazine. 
 
 
 H 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 OF ALL the calls of the city, none 
 that it gives is so insistent as that 
 in the first cool days of autumn. Then 
 its children, far scattered, hear its voice 
 and return, and the youths of the fields 
 and villages, with the stimulus of the 
 fall upon them, turn expedtant faces 
 cityward. 
 
 It sometimes seems, indeed, as if nature 
 and man reverse the seasons. When the 
 spring comes to the vegetable world, it 
 is fall with men. They long to fly to the 
 arms of Mother Earth and to sleep like 
 tired children clasped close to her heart, 
 careless of passing days and unmindful 
 of the work to be done. But when the 
 autumn has come, and leaves are wither 
 ing and falling and all the plants of sum 
 mer bloom have spent their energy, then 
 new life stirs in the blood of man, there 
 comes an elasticity in the step, a higher 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 holding of the head and a zest for work. 
 That is the time when one must come 
 back to the city. 
 
 The city calls, as the woods, the hills 
 and the ocean have called in their season 
 and have been answered. Its call is not 
 in vain, for it speaks to the best that is 
 in us to the zeal and the fire of man 
 hood. Not as we wearily yielded to na 
 ture, but with a rush, with a shout in the 
 heart, with an eager joy there is return 
 to the town as to the mistress from whom 
 there has been long parting. Soft be 
 neath the feet, as the preacher hath said, 
 are its stones; bright are its lights as 
 eyes in which there is welcome; as 
 music to the ears that the silence of 
 nature denied is the roar of its traffic, 
 and the walls of its buildings seem like 
 an embrace. 
 
 How rare a mistress the city is ! How 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 many are her caprices, how infinite the 
 variety of her moods ! Today she meets 
 us with outstretched hands and smiling 
 face, but there are times when she 
 seems cold and distant, with gaze steadily 
 averted. Sometimes she is joyous, full 
 of frivolity and laughter ; and sometimes 
 solemn, fearfully earnest, hurried and sad. 
 But always to those whom she loves she 
 is sympathetic, precisely reflecting their 
 own mood. As if one walked in a maze 
 of mirrors, the figures on every side are 
 the reflections of oneself. In her changes 
 there may be read our own vagaries. 
 When we feel poor and tired, weariness 
 and want seem to surround us; if we 
 are happy and prosperous, a like glad 
 ness is in her streets. 
 
 Coming back to the town, one feels its 
 charm and knows this to be independent 
 of mere beauty. The abundant vitality, 
 
6 
 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 1 1 | 
 
 the splendid power, the organization of 
 its forces, the consciousness that behind 
 all the activity, and giving direction to it, 
 there is intent, ambition and love this 
 thought appeals to intellect and emotion. 
 The wind surges through the forest and 
 great trees bend and sway to what 
 purpose and with what consciousness? 
 The waves pound ceaselessly on sand 
 and rock, with waste of energy and what 
 lack of will ! But the hurrying crowd is 
 consciously directed ; no member of it 
 lacks objective point to which desire or 
 duty compels him. Thus is there appeal 
 in the surging crowd that is not in in 
 sensate winds; and a call to the heart 
 in the roar of traffic, significant of a goal, 
 that is not in the wind-blown sea. The 
 ozone of the mountain does not stimu 
 late as quickly as does contact with the 
 city s vivacity and energy; and weakly 
 
B 
 
 THE 
 
 CALL 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 CITY 
 
 u. 
 
 does the silence of the starlit fields im 
 press compared with the effedt of a city 
 wrapped in night 
 
 "And the moon on the sleeping city 
 (Hush, word that would thought confine) 
 The glory of silvered castles rising 
 Up in enchanting line ! " 
 
 Far and insistently then the city has 
 called. Its lights and its shadows, its joys 
 and its sorrows, its Herculean labors 
 and extravagant indolence call. "Come, 
 laugh with me and idle away the hours," 
 cry the streets crowded with entertain 
 ment; "Come to me, I need you; uplift 
 and help," moan patiently the suffering 
 brother-peoples; "Behold my wares, 
 my flashing jewels, my gaudy raiment, 
 my horses and harness and cars and 
 wines," have said the shops; "Be a 
 man, bear your part in the work of the 
 world," is in the hum of the wheels, 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 the click of the typewriters. And upon 
 the building tops the fingers of steam 
 beckon, " Come, come ! " It is the call of 
 the city, and as the sun-kissed clouds 
 hasten over the autumnal sky, we come, 
 we come! 
 
II 
 
 THE CITY S BEAUTY 
 
 Far sinking into splendor with 
 out end! 
 
 Fabric it seemed of diamond and 
 of gold, 
 
 With alabaster domes, and silver 
 spires, 
 
 And blazing terrace upon terrace, 
 high 
 
 Uplifted; here, serene pavilions 
 bright 
 
 In avenues disposed; there, tow 
 ers, begirt 
 
 With battlements that on their 
 restless fronts 
 
 Bore stars. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
THE CITY S BEAUTY 
 
 HE IS not to be counted a lover of 
 the city who will not accept a chal 
 lenge to measure its beauty. Indeed, he 
 is a poor lover of any sort who sees no 
 beauty in the objedt of his affecftion. But 
 one needs not the faith of the little blind 
 god to perceive the loveliness of the 
 urban sunset, when the dust- and smoke- 
 ladened air throbs with rich color; of 
 the beauty of the plumes of steam that 
 flutter from building tops ; of the charm 
 of orderly strips of well-trimmed green 
 sward and rows of trees ; of the brilliancy 
 of the night eff edts ; the pidluresqueness 
 of the water-front and the attradtion of 
 the life and movement of a crowd. 
 
 There are a thousand details that are 
 not necessarily included in these, but 
 that come to the minds of those who 
 love the town. There are the gay shop 
 fronts, the splendid prancing horses 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 in their jingling harness, the beautiful 
 women fittingly gowned, the long curve 
 of a river or harbor bank, the arch of a 
 bridge, the faint glimmer of lights through 
 a mist, or their infinite reflection on 
 pavements that gleam in the evening 
 rain; there is the light through painted 
 windows, while to the ear come notes 
 of distant music ; there are the lamps of 
 a long, slowly rising street, meeting in 
 distant perspective as if saluting stars 
 had been drawn up on either side of a 
 way leading to the infinite ; there are the 
 flashing firefly lights of the hurrying 
 cabs; there are some stately buildings, 
 some poetic towers and spires; there 
 are windows that flash back, like shields 
 of gold, the yellow glory of a setting sun ; 
 and mountain-top cliffs of marble that 
 are tinted in the rosy dawn. There are 
 the breeze-flapped flags, the troops of 
 
THE CITY S BEAUTY 
 
 happy children and the flowers that 
 theoretically ought not to be expedted. 
 The gurgle of a fountain, the music of a 
 chime of bells, the weird skyward leap 
 of the flame of a blast furnace, the dart 
 ing lights of the water-craft, the reds and 
 greens of the switchlights jeweling the 
 railroad tracks what urban delights are 
 these, requiring no apology from one who 
 would confess the charm that is wrought 
 upon him by the sheer beauty of the city ! 
 And to this charm of beauty there is 
 added the stranger charm of the pic 
 turesque. The black, gaunt, high-shoul 
 dered mass of a warehouse ; the rows of 
 buildings silhouetted against the twilight ; 
 the busy little tugs that with prodigious 
 puffing elbow their way through ob- 
 strudting seas ; the great locomotive, with 
 its huge boiler, short stack and flying 
 mane of smoke how one may thrill 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 with the consciousness of the force and 
 power gathered into the city ! 
 
 Much as one must admire the handi 
 work of nature now sublimely grand, 
 majestic, colossal, and now incompre 
 hensibly delicate and exquisite there is 
 also an inspiration in observing the work 
 of man s hands, in seeing how natural 
 forces have been made to do his bid 
 ding, and what mighty or beautiful or 
 mechanically wonderful creations have 
 been wrought by individuals like one 
 self by men whose short span of life 
 was in part apportioned to helpless in 
 fancy, in part to careless childhood, who 
 at their best were not exempt from pains 
 and ills and tempting distradions, and 
 yet who achieved so much. What 
 monuments to human skill and to the 
 genius of men and their pluck in supple 
 menting physical weakness, are cities; 
 
THE CITY S BEAUTY 
 
 and with what new and pathetic interest 
 is the beauty of cities enhanced when 
 one thinks how briefly the workers can 
 enjoy the results they have accom 
 plished ! That lovely spire, that mighty 
 building will scarcely have begun its life 
 when the builder will have passed away 
 and the human brain by which it was 
 conceived will have become oblivious in 
 the sleep of death. The sunset now sil 
 houetting the city will flash tomorrow 
 before other eyes, and the same dark 
 towers against the twilight are soon to 
 mean the brief resting-place of another 
 people whom we do not know. The 
 wild, fantastic swirls of steam seem 
 ephemeral as they fly from the tall build 
 ings to be lost in the blue of the sky, but 
 their like may still be dancing in the 
 wind when we who love them walk no 
 longer the city streets. 
 
16 
 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 
 
 Then, with head erecft and heart 
 attuned to the beauty that surrounds us, 
 let us city dwellers go forth, frankly re 
 joicing while we may, to take our fill of 
 pleasure from the scene. Let there be 
 no apology because city pavements in 
 stead of grass and ferns are beneath our 
 feet, and no regrets that a certain calm 
 and lonely beauty or a certain awesome- 
 ness of grandeur is denied to us since 
 the city is our home. We can love the 
 beauty of the town. " Enchanting Lon 
 don, whose dirtiest, drab-frequented al 
 ley," cried Charles Lamb, "and her 
 lowest-bowing tradesman I would not 
 exchange for Skiddaw, Helvellyn. * * * 
 Oh, her lamps of a night, her rich gold 
 smiths, print-shops, toy-shops!" There 
 spoke a man! 
 
Ill 
 
 ITS HUMAN INTEREST 
 
 In Angel-Court the sunless air 
 Grows faint and sick , to left 
 
 and right 
 The cowering houses shrink 
 
 from sight, 
 
 Huddling and hopeless, eyeless, 
 bare. 
 
 Misnamed you say P For surely 
 
 rare 
 Must be the angel-shapes that 
 
 light 
 
 In Angel-Court! 
 
 Nay I the Eternities are there. 
 Death at the doorway stands 
 
 to smite; 
 Life in its garrets leaps to 
 
 light, 
 
 And love has climbed that crum 
 bling stair 
 
 In Angel-Court! 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
ITS HUMAN INTEREST 
 
 r I ^HE wonder of the city is the dra- 
 1 matic element that pervades its 
 every part. There is not a person in the 
 city who is not the hero or heroine of at 
 least one story, with a part in several 
 others, for the threads of romance are 
 tangled and crossed beyond unraveling 
 and tales crowd each other more than 
 do the people. Who would not rather 
 sit at his window weaving stories of 
 them who pass than lazily read the 
 novel which another has written and in 
 which the people are figments of fancy? 
 Here every character lives. You really 
 see them from your window or can meet 
 them if you please upon the street. 
 
 The pause of those men to talk, the 
 smile that passes between the boy and 
 girl, are living episodes in one of the mil 
 lion books that will never be written. 
 And you cannot be sure how the story is 
 
|zo| 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 
 
 coming out. Events crowd thick and 
 fast, but the serial runs on, and for all 
 you know you may yourself some day 
 appear in it. Indeed, it may be yours to 
 choose whether within the next half-hour 
 you shall remain only a reader a 
 looker-on or shall take a part in the 
 story. For doubtless you can get into it 
 if you wish. What a world of romance 
 we are in, when life seems most com 
 monplace and the world most preoccu 
 pied! Dull, surely, are printed pages in 
 contrast with the life around us, where 
 sacrifices cost and tears are real and pas 
 sion is not a matter of rhetoric, but burns 
 consumingly in the soul. There are little 
 tragedies that seem to be genuine in the 
 brute life that crowds about us ; but we 
 cannot measure the feeling there. With 
 our fellows we know and can sympa 
 thize. 
 
ITS HUMAN INTEREST 
 
 Think what tales could be told by the 
 bench in a city square. Last evening 
 Love used it, and like the flickering of 
 the shadows was the beating of the 
 hearts. A love story culminated then. 
 This morning an aged nurse sat there 
 with her little charge, and in the soft 
 sunshine, while brown leaves were fall 
 ing on sleeping crocuses, a story that was 
 almost ended touched one that had just 
 begun. Toward noon you might have 
 seen a carrier stop at the bench to shift 
 his burden and consider what mys 
 teries his bag contained. A distributor 
 of fate, it is scant wonder that his letters 
 and his papers were heavy with the 
 heartaches and joys they bore. A tramp 
 has come now to the bench, and as the 
 shadows lengthen his head drops upon 
 his bosom and the busy world about 
 him is forgotten ; but we may not know 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 the memories of which his dreams are 
 made. 
 
 And how the stories intertwine! All 
 unconsciously I touch elbows with one 
 who is strangely to aff edt my life ; reader 
 and author collide and bow and pass, 
 not knowing how their thoughts have 
 been traveling together; two men, im 
 personally working against each other, 
 cling to the same strap in a crowded 
 car ; and the face that attracts across the 
 aisle is that of a friend s friend whose 
 praise has been often heard and whose 
 private history is known. We go forth, 
 encompassed in fascinating mystery, sure 
 only of this : that those whom we pass 
 have far more to do with our lives than 
 even they or we can know. Romance, 
 poetry and tragedy touch us at every 
 step, until the tangle seems to tighten 
 hopelessly. We turn appealingly at last 
 
1*1 
 
 ITS 
 
 HUMAN 
 
 INTEREST 
 
 [23J 
 
 to Him who alone follows the separate 
 threads and who, we know, can draw 
 out each one safely to its end. 
 
 For a visible concentration of the 
 dramatic interest, one may go to the boat 
 landing or the railroad station. There 
 the coming and the going meet in a sud 
 den apprehension of the dramas they 
 enadt, and one beholds such a crowding 
 of stories as might be if all the characters 
 of a bookcase of novels had stepped 
 from between the covers and had met 
 in a waiting-room. There, in the pas 
 sionate embrace of welcome and the long 
 kiss of farewell, there is a brief lifting of 
 the curtain and a revealing of that deep 
 emotion which, played at on the stage 
 and written of in books, presses engulf- 
 ingly about us in the real life of the 
 town. 
 
 Thus is the city no place for introspec- 
 
24 
 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY | 
 
 
 
 tion. No morbid self-study is invited 
 here, where the angels of life and death 
 are ever passing and ten thousand 
 stories are spread before the eye. A 
 wider interest than self is furnished. 
 You who whip the streams or follow the 
 chase may have here a worthier game 
 than seeking to capture fish or bird or 
 deer ; and you who fain would have the 
 stories that you read end joyously, can 
 here have part in determining their end. 
 For it may be yours, if you will, to lead 
 Truth into dark places and so to change 
 the current of a story, or helpfully to 
 climb, with Love, the crumbling stair in 
 Angel-Court. 
 

 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 IV 
 
 
 
 THE CITY S FELLOW 
 SHIP 
 
 
 
 Bred in the town am I, 
 So would I will to be, 
 Loving its glimpses of sky, 
 Swayed by its human sea. 
 
 
 
 Out of its greed and scorn, 
 Strong hands and kindly reach ; 
 Over its discords home, 
 Listen what gentle speech ! 
 
 
 
 Here in the surging crowd, 
 Modem in habit and names, 
 Linger all unavowed, 
 Simon Peter and fames. 
 
 
 
 Judas goes cringing by 
 Heavily browed and wan 
 Yonder, with timid eye, 
 Passes the loving John. 
 
 
 1*" 
 
 Yonder on flower-booth raised, 
 Pallid, the blossoms lean 
 There in the lilies He praised, 
 Look 1 The Nazarene ! 
 
 Robert Gilbert Welsh 
 in The Reader Magazine. 
 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
THE CITY S FELLOWSHIP 
 
 IT IS not wholly true that we move 
 through life as through a story. The 
 passion that we read of in the books 
 and of which we watch, with fascinated 
 interest, the manifestations in a town, 
 exists in our own hearts. The world 
 may seem a stage, but every adlor thinks 
 his own part is true in the main at 
 least. It is not life that imitates the stage, 
 but the stage that plays at life, and 
 player-folk don the buskin and the soc- 
 cus only because there are real tragedies 
 and real comedies. From these not one 
 of us can be exempt. 
 
 To experience these emotions is the 
 largest and most blessed part of life. It 
 is only some measure of this experience, 
 indeed, that makes possible the enjoy 
 ment of the played or written story; it 
 is this alone that endows us with sym 
 pathy the strain of divinity in human 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 love; it is through it that we live our 
 careers and are not merely lookers-on at 
 life. And we who know how widely 
 reaching are the stories all about us, how 
 the threads tangle and cross and split, 
 cannot exped: to live apart. The narra 
 tive of any one life is concerned with 
 innumerable others. There are heart 
 aches where the clinging threads are 
 parted, for the adhesive fibers are ten 
 tacles of love. Just as fibers make soft 
 and warm the yarn, so these tentacles of 
 love make soft our hearts and warm our 
 spirits; and by their means, on the pat 
 tern of society, the flower of fellowship 
 unfolds, making beautiful the world. 
 
 In the multiplicity and nearness of the 
 town s companionship this is seen at its 
 best. Here we find a friend for every 
 mood. If there is no isolation in the life 
 of the city, it is because in the city we 
 
| g 1 1 THE CITY S FELLOWSHIP 
 
 
 29 
 
 do not need to be alone. There are 
 friends to laugh with us, and friends to 
 mourn; there are friends to hope with 
 us, to doubt with us, to believe with us. 
 Our interests are shared and are made 
 the stronger by others sympathy and 
 enthusiasm. Not as a voice crying in the 
 wilderness, but as one of a band believ 
 ing as we believe with all the encour 
 agement that such union gives we 
 make known our cause, raise our stand 
 ards, and fight our battles. There is 
 always the sympathetic friend to whom 
 the dearest hope may be unbosomed; 
 there is always one to whose greater 
 experience we may turn for counsel ; as 
 surely as there are hands outstretched 
 for our help, other hands are reaching 
 out to help us. In the great beating 
 heart of the city, our heart has no pulse 
 that cannot find its counterpart, and so 
 
30 
 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 1 1 | 
 
 is granted the stimulus of union and the 
 encouragement of comradeship. 
 
 Laughter has ever its answering laugh. 
 In the moment s warm pressure of a 
 hand there may be concentrated how 
 much of sympathy; in the responsive 
 glance of approving eyes there is a 
 world of inspiration; and in the denial 
 of a look a challenge that is like a spur. 
 Without the touch of this enveloping 
 fellowship we were poor creatures in 
 deed, dreamers who would bring little 
 to pass. 
 
 There is, further, an encouragement in 
 the town that is more than that of com 
 radeship the encouragement of great 
 examples. They who are what we want 
 to be and strive to be, walk before us in 
 the flesh, in proof that this goal we set 
 ourselves is not impossible and visionary. 
 The cheering effedt of this cannot be 
 
THE CITY S FELLOWSHIP 
 
 measured. It gives one courage to dare, 
 it shows him what to do, and it clothes 
 with the intimate charm of personality 
 the great figures of contemporary history. 
 He learns that even as the bravest are 
 the tenderest, so the wisest are most 
 modest, the greatest are the gentlest and 
 the busiest have most time to spare for 
 others aid, that he who is most truly 
 and rightfully a hero is also most lovably 
 a man. 
 
 Thus is fellowship one of the precious 
 gifts of the town smoothing our rough 
 edges, rubbing us brighter, enlarging our 
 sympathies, satisfying our hunger of 
 spirit, pointing and helping us forward. 
 Then drink together, sing together, shout 
 together! Only the city can know en 
 thusiasm and the full zest of life its 
 breadth and its cheer, for in the city 
 alone we exultantly feel ourselves to be 
 
I 32 I 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 * 
 
 part of the living present, one of the co- 
 related parts of God s great machine. 
 That man," said Charles Lamb, "must 
 have a rare recipe for melancholy who 
 can be dull in Fleet Street" 
 
 * Fleet Street! Fleet Street! Fleet Street in the 
 
 morning, 
 With the old sun laughing out behind the dome 
 
 of Paul s, 
 
 Heavy wains a-driving, merry winds a-striving, 
 White clouds and blue sky above the smoke- 
 stained walls. 
 
 Fleet Street! Fleet Street! Fleet Street in the 
 
 noontide, 
 East and west the streets packed close, and 
 
 roaring like the sea; 
 With laughter and with sobbing we feel the 
 
 world s heart throbbing, 
 And know that what is throbbing is the heart 
 
 of you and me. 
 
 Fleet Street! Fleet Street! Fleet Street in the 
 evening, 
 
 *"A Song of Fleet Street," by Alice Werner. 
 
THE CITY S FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Darkness set with golden lamps down Ludgate 
 
 Hill a-row: 
 Oh ! hark the voice o* th city that breaks our 
 
 hearts with pity, 
 That crazes us with shame and wrath, and 
 
 makes us love her so. 
 
 Fleet Street! Fleet Street! morning, noon and 
 
 starlight, 
 Through the never-ceasing roar come the great 
 
 chimes clear and slow; 
 " Good are life and laughter, though we look 
 
 before and after, 
 And good to love the race of men a little ere 
 
 we go/ 
 
V 
 
 THE CITY S COMFORTS 
 
 She sees the fields of harvest 
 
 sown for her, 
 She sees the fortress set beside 
 
 her gate, 
 Her hosts, her ships, she sees 
 
 thro storm and fire; 
 And hers all gifts of gold and 
 
 spice and myrrh, 
 And hers all hopes, all hills and 
 
 shores of fate, 
 And hers the fame of Babylon 
 
 and Tyre. 
 
 William Ellery Leonard 
 in The Atlantic Monthly. 
 

 
 
 THE CITY S COMFORTS 
 
 I 37 I 
 
 IF NOW and then, on a wet fall day, 
 the city does not seem attractive, one 
 should draw up before his fire and read 
 the journal of a lover of the country, of 
 a hunter or a fisherman in his wilds. 
 
 The writer will early tell how shabbily 
 the weather treated him, and it is a safe 
 guess that one will not be so saintly as 
 not to smile when thinking of the con 
 trast offered by the safe harbor of a city. 
 In town it makes little difference what 
 the weather does. You can carry out 
 your program with slight concern. Your 
 tent doesn t leak, and you don t have to 
 sit indoors. One can keep dry and warm 
 and comfortable and, if need be, can go 
 from place to place without a soaking, 
 for there is always a car or a cab. But 
 even should one walk, are wet pavements 
 half as bad as soggy leaves or as wet 
 grasses tangling around the feet? Just 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 because in town we live indoors, the out 
 door conditions do not seriously incon 
 venience. 
 
 The weather allusions have led you, 
 of course, to put down your book and to 
 blink contentedly at the fire the while 
 you considered your coziness. The text 
 of the out-of-doors journal rambles on, 
 as it is fitting such journals should, and 
 before it is done with the weather one 
 may be sure of a page or so on the de 
 licious difficulty of making a fire ; on the 
 remarkable failure of this particular fire, 
 when built, to warm both sides of the 
 body at the same time equally; and of 
 the early darkness and the consequent, 
 and admittedly, long and tiresome eve 
 nings when the weather is rainy. If you 
 are human, you shift your feet on the 
 ottoman and ring for William to turn on 
 the steam heat; then you reach out a 
 
1* 
 
 
 THE 
 
 CITY S 
 
 COMFORTS 
 
 I 39 I 
 
 lazy hand to a shadowy outline, now 
 faintly seen in the fitful glow of the fire, 
 and a desk lamp suddenly blooms into 
 a flower of light. You refledt that in the 
 morning your fire will be ready again 
 for the match, and pick up the book to 
 read further of what a pitiable fellow 
 you are to be in town. 
 
 The tone of the volume changes with 
 a change in the weather. The author re 
 gales himself with a rhapsody on the 
 wild flowers, on their tender beauty (for 
 the most part lost, he confesses, when 
 they are picked), and on the charm of 
 the unexpected when one comes upon a 
 blossom that had not been looked for. 
 Under his eager pen one gets the very 
 odors of the country. But strangely ming 
 ling with the remembrance of dusty hay 
 or of damp woods there comes the 
 fragrance of a real American Beauty, 
 
40] | THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 regally splendid in its tall, slim vase. 
 You bought it three days ago, and it is 
 good for perhaps a week. You were 
 following the familiar trail that leads 
 from the office to the house; and there 
 it stood, diredlly in your path, with three 
 or four dozen of its kind, and whole beds 
 of autumn flowers of asters and anem 
 ones, and bright banks of salvia, and 
 clusters such clusters ! of chrysanthe 
 mums. Good gracious ! What adjedtives 
 would have served adequately the rhap 
 sodizing writer had he come upon such 
 a display ! Unexpected ? The flowers are 
 as unexpected in your case as in his. 
 You knew, as did he, that flowers would 
 doubtless be found somewhere on the 
 trail ; but you were not sure just where, 
 and were not looking for them. Indeed, 
 you were thinking of quotations or of 
 politics or of something equally foreign 
 
ffl 
 
 THE 
 
 CITY S 
 
 COMFORTS 
 
 41 
 
 when suddenly they were seen. The 
 surprise was yours rather more than the 
 woodsman s. If he would have preferred 
 the anemone to the rose, that is a matter 
 of taste. He did not have the choice as 
 you did. 
 
 And now, what is this he says? He 
 declares that the charm of the wild 
 flowers lies in looking for them, and 
 then coming on a variety that you do not 
 expedt But it was only yesterday that 
 you wanted flowers for somebody and 
 you went to a certain dell you know 
 of, undetermined just what you would 
 choose, and there you found not only all 
 the flowers of the season, but all the 
 flowers of all the seasons, and you came 
 away with the variety you had least ex- 
 pec5ted to get. There may be objections 
 to stony pavements, where the murmur 
 ing stream at the edge is known as a 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 gutter, but a city street even in business 
 sections cannot be scorned for a want 
 of flowers. 
 
 Turning the pages of the book, you 
 come to chapters on larger game. It soon 
 appears that the fish and wild animals 
 one has known in his forest life most 
 of the books are written by amateurs 
 are the fish and animals whom he wanted 
 to know, but which successfully eluded 
 him. That is humiliating ; but at the end 
 of the chapter it is with shame admitted, 
 and there is a brief discourse on the dis- 
 spiriting but, one confesses, the appetiz 
 ing, experience of going hungry. This 
 is a matter in which it is advantageous 
 to be in town. Armed with a purse in 
 stead of a heavy gun, and with dollars 
 in lieu of cartridges, you can fill your bag 
 anywhere. And you don t have to get 
 up in the gray, chill light of dawn ; you 
 
1*1 
 
 THE CITY S COMFORTS 
 
 I 43 
 
 don t have to sit all day in a boat, or 
 tramp all day up and down a stream or 
 through tangled underbrush until your 
 hands are torn and your legs are tired. 
 You don t have to shock your instincts 
 of humanity by baiting hooks or by try 
 ing to lacerate the jaws of fish or by 
 aiming at innocent bird or beast with 
 deliberate intent to kill, and you don t 
 have to dull your moral sense by subse 
 quently telling lies. But whistling merrily 
 as you swing along the street, you can 
 get here a mallard and there a canvas- 
 back ; and here a trout a three-pounder, 
 oh, you disappointed anglers ! and there 
 a pickerel, or a bluefish, or a salmon, as 
 you prefer. And if you like, you can 
 clap a partridge into your bag, while the 
 child of nature is untangling his line from 
 a tree, or is sorrowfully reloading his gun 
 and watching his last chance for dinner 
 
44 
 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 1*1 
 
 fly away. As for larger game, you do 
 not hesitate between venison or bear s 
 meat, but you can take them both, to 
 show the kind of table you can spread 
 in town. 
 
 If it is the landing of a fish, and not 
 the eating of it, that s the fun an ancient 
 theory of the sportsman which is some 
 how not convincing, you can have a 
 pleasure that is higher than his, because 
 purely intellectual, by getting a con 
 scienceless tradesman on the end of the 
 telephone line and playing with him 
 there. In this case you are dealing with 
 human intelligence instead of with mere 
 fish instindl, and the sport is delicate 
 and fascinating. There will be moments 
 when, as happens with anglers, you will 
 have a struggle with naughty words; 
 you will also have to be ready for emer 
 gencies, in order to acft without hesitation 
 

 
 
 THE CITY S COMFORTS 1 1 45 
 
 and yet with no precipitancy. If you 
 make a mistake, there is a chance that he 
 will hang up the receiver, which is about 
 the same as when a fish runs off with 
 the bait, for having had him, you lose 
 him. You must detedt, not the physi 
 cal, but the finer, psychological moment 
 when he is played out and the net is to 
 be instantly brought into use. That, of 
 course, is the "one more trial* ; but in 
 using it you must not show excitement, 
 or undue eagerness to land him. You 
 must plunge it in deftly and with a calm 
 that belies the fluttering of your heart. 
 It is astonishing how women take to this 
 kind of sport. 
 
 The book has been finished. The 
 writer of the journal is sure that there is 
 only one life to live the life of which 
 he has told. But if you are a real citizen 
 he has not persuaded you. You do not 
 
46 
 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 
 
 feel that you must exchange your dollars 
 for guns and fishing-tackle, and sell your 
 house and silk umbrella to buy a tent 
 and a rubber coat. With that catholicity 
 of spirit which comes from residence 
 in a town, you only yawn as you write 
 across the fly-leaf, "Many minds to 
 many men," and you fall to wondering 
 whether town life be not the lazier, rather 
 than the more arduous; and whether 
 it be not nobler, getting your sustenance 
 with a nod or word, to spend your time 
 on other matters instead of devoting the 
 greater part of it to merely securing 
 food, as do hunters, anglers and the brute 
 creation. 
 
VI 
 
 THE CHARM OF THE 
 PAST 
 
 Oh World, thou wast the forest 
 to this hart. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
1*1 
 
 THE 
 
 CHARM 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 PAST 
 
 M 
 
 r I ^HE near consciousness of their past 
 JL is doubtless an important facftor in 
 the attractiveness of cities. Sometimes 
 it rises to the dignity of history, and in 
 fancy one sees the streets peopled again 
 with the statesmen and soldiers, the 
 churchmen, wits and gallants of the long 
 ago. A few old buildings, remaining, 
 serve as piers for the architecture that 
 imagination recreates ; and we see once 
 more the ancient pageants, hear old cries 
 of condemnation or approval, and revert 
 with curious interest to former points of 
 view. But if it be that no world history 
 was made upon these streets, that their 
 stones have not been worn by characters 
 of national prominence, that they who 
 splendidly dreamed and whose dreams 
 came true or seemed true in the tell 
 ing have never walked here, even yet 
 there is a close, dear past. We may at 
 
I 50 I 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 
 
 least people the street with the spirits of 
 those like ourselves, of the builders of 
 the city which we have inherited to patch, 
 rebuild and add to before we also are 
 called away. 
 
 What a series of volumes it would 
 take to tell adequately the history of a 
 city street, to note the changes it has seen 
 from forest to field, from bit of field to 
 footpath, from country path to village 
 street, to the highway of a town, to city 
 thoroughfare; to marshal in array the 
 joy and sorrow that have passed along 
 it, or to tell the full story of the houses 
 and buildings that have lined its sides! 
 There is so much history in a street, 
 every day so much happens there, that 
 in considering it one seems on the edge 
 of a boundless, mysterious forest where 
 a thousand alluring vistas, ending now in 
 sunshine and now in shadow, tempt one 
 
* 
 
 THE CHARM OF THE PAST 
 
 
 51 
 
 to penetrate while giving a warning 
 of how easily the way may be lost. But 
 the fascination is strong. You dip into 
 the dark recesses a little here and a little 
 there. The heat and dust and sun of 
 day are left behind, and wandering soli 
 tary in those calm and still retreats you 
 find in one the prototype of a mighty 
 tree that spreads its branches far and is 
 a landmark of the forest. This is a noble 
 character. In another there are good 
 deeds done so unassumingly as to be like 
 small wild flowers, that would not have 
 been seen, had not the seclusion been 
 thus pierced ; and in the third, in sem 
 blance of a pool that mirrors him who 
 looks upon it, is the likeness of oneself. 
 Not in vain, then, does one walk in 
 these glades of history, half real, half 
 visionary. In the shadow of their years 
 is many a lesson ; and many a resolve, 
 
52 
 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 1 1 g | 
 
 which in the glare of the present rages 
 conspicuously as a powerful current, 
 finds there in the dusk and obscurity its 
 spring. The way is strangely tangled; 
 thorn and flower grow side by side ; the 
 brightest leaf and berry may be poison; 
 and where the shade is thickest, growth 
 may be the best. 
 
 Thus once more the city street becomes 
 a forest path; the shadows suddenly 
 multiply, and the time-trees shake threat 
 ening arms and murmur grumblingly 
 against intrusion; spirits stir among the 
 bushes ; a leaf trembles, and the light is 
 gone. We are far in the forest of history, 
 and the sunny street of today with its 
 activity, cheer and present interest seems 
 remote. Oh, wonderful street that leads 
 to such a wood, partly real and partly 
 fancied ; and wonderful forest of history 
 that day by day is growing unchecked 
 

 
 THE 
 
 CHARM 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 PAST 
 
 [53] 
 
 on the careless street! You may stand 
 this afternoon on the busiest corner, and 
 if the fates are kind, if the ears are good 
 and the eyes are keen, you may see 
 knights riding in the forest and robbers 
 hiding behind the trees ; you may hear 
 the rustle of Naiads garments, may catch 
 a glimpse of falling tears or hear the 
 sighs of love ; and in and out among the 
 bushes, like flecks of sunshine, you may 
 see still at play the scampering children 
 of another age. 
 
 Then, as suddenly as it came, the for 
 est vanishes. There is only the roar of 
 the traffic of today. Something has 
 broken the spell ; but ever more the city 
 street has for you a new interest, and you 
 listen amid the rattle of wagons for a 
 clash of medieval steel and peer between 
 the horses legs for robbers hiding behind 
 dark trees. 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 And always you know this : however 
 much you see or hear, you barely pene 
 trate the fringing edge of the forest of 
 history, for its dim, mysterious recesses 
 are many and deep and full. 
 
VII 
 
 OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 / believe that there is in life a 
 great and guarded city, of which 
 we may be worthy to be citizens. 
 * * * Sometimes we discern the 
 city afar off, with her radiant 
 spires and towers, her walls of 
 strength, her gates of pearls; 
 and there may come a day, too, 
 when we have found the way 
 thither, and enter in. * * * / 
 speak in a. parable, but those who 
 have found the way, and seen a 
 little of the glory of the place, 
 will smile at the page and say: 
 " So he, too, is of the city. " 
 
 Arthur C. Benson 
 
 in From a College Window. 
 
* 
 
 
 OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 
 _57J 
 
 A STREAM of people flowing down 
 f~\ the street, each with a purpose of 
 some sort or other, the currents eddying 
 and whirling around the currents of a 
 stream bound in the opposite dire<5tion 
 with like earnestness of aim this is one 
 of the city s impressive spectacles. In 
 the parallel and cross streets you find it 
 repeated, and you cannot fail to carry 
 away a thought of the number of oppor 
 tunities which a city must contain to af 
 ford so many and such varied goals. 
 Where are the offices, shops and work 
 rooms to which all these people go; 
 what are the tasks they face and the 
 ends they hope to gain; and what of 
 that dream city that city of crowded 
 " Spanish" castles which floats above 
 them, to us invisible? 
 
 With thoughts far flown and half- 
 closed eyes, one s own castle rises before 
 
I 58 I 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 * 
 
 one, ethereal, trembling, constant; and 
 one is able to guess of the walls and 
 towers that others have reared about 
 it pulsating, fading, and then alluringly 
 
 glowing again in 
 
 * * * the gleam, 
 
 The light that never was on sea or land, 
 The consecration, and the poet s dream. 
 
 These are the prizes for them who grasp 
 the city s opportunities. This is the city 
 of God, the holy city coming down out 
 of heaven. This is the mirage that, seen 
 from afar, bids youth beat the plough 
 share into a sword and join the army 
 that is struggling under its shimmering, 
 ethereal walls. Vainly cry the golden 
 fields, the flower-jeweled meadows and 
 the somber woodlands once the vision 
 has been seen. The gates of the city are 
 open and the crowd surges in, valiantly 
 to fight, patiently to suffer, some to win 
 
* 
 
 
 OPPORTUNITIES |J59 
 
 and some bravely to die in disappoint 
 ment. A vision leads and sustains. 
 
 Not always pure and true are the in 
 dividual ambitions. Doubtless there is 
 many a showy, glittering castle that 
 would mock its possessor or must crum 
 ble at a touch. But a city of noble 
 dreams still is left, and from each earnest 
 mind and stirring spirit a scaling-ladder 
 reaches to its battlements. 
 
 There is a legend, endorsed by many 
 an instance, that they mount the rungs 
 with best success who strive to draw up 
 others as they raise themselves. Not by 
 the fall of others, and not by ignoring 
 the efforts of those who struggle below 
 and on either side, but by the helping 
 hand, by the lifting of another s burden 
 and the pointing of the way to those 
 whose vision has faded and become ob 
 scure, is the progress made most surely. 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 And there are so many in the city who 
 need to be assisted. Of all the ways of 
 opportunity it offers, no other is as broad 
 as the opportunity to serve. 
 
 But the path of scholarship is wide and 
 tempting, and splendid is that part of 
 the city of dreams that hangs in the sky 
 above it. This road is easier to travel in 
 the city than in the country, for the grade 
 is gentle, there are resources for all emer 
 gencies and there is the stimulus of 
 companionship. Yet many fall in its 
 academic shades, and many stagger as 
 they advance, so that here too one need 
 not work for himself alone. 
 
 There is another very tempting way 
 for those who love music; and yet an 
 other for those who would paint or 
 carve. You could imagine the streets of 
 the city apportioned, with no great 
 change, to the many different kinds of 
 
OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 effort. But perhaps the real condition is 
 best where the people mingle; yet 
 each with his own path of duty, in his 
 own mind a dream, and before him 
 invisible to others a "certain star." 
 These stars are the lights of the city of 
 dreams, of the city that really counts. 
 
 The best and brightest castles are 
 those that glow before the eyes of them 
 who love their fellows. The moan of 
 want spiritual, physical or mental 
 was the city s call to these the eager to 
 serve, and it has led them into dingy 
 ways and narrow courts. But the glory 
 of their vision and the beauty of their 
 hopes transform the dinginess. 
 
 This is the secret of the city s higher 
 call the Opportunity it proffers, the 
 easier, shorter, surer way to the goal of 
 one s ambition. This is the mystic ele 
 ment of its subtle power the tremen- 
 
62 
 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 1 1 | 
 
 dous risk, with the chance of winning. 
 Not all its glamour, not all its beauty, not 
 all its interest, past and present, suffice 
 to explain the force of its attraction. 
 There still must be, now fading and now 
 brightening, the city of the vision the 
 pillar of cloud and fire to challenge our 
 faith and lead us on. 
 
VIII 
 
 HOPE FOR CITIES 
 
 7 bless God for cities. The 
 world would not be what it is 
 without them. Cities have been 
 as lamps along the pathway of 
 humanity and religion. Within 
 them science has given birth to 
 her noblest discoveries. Behind 
 their Walls freedom has fought 
 her noblest battles. They have 
 stood on the surface of the earth 
 lif^e great breakwaters, rolling 
 back r turning aside the swelling 
 tide of oppression. Cities have 
 indeed been the cradle of human 
 liberty. They have been the radi 
 ating, ative centers of almost all 
 Church and State reformation. 
 
 William Norman GutKrie. 
 
1*1 
 
 HOPE 
 
 FOR 
 
 CITIES 
 
 I 65 I 
 
 SUCH is a catalogue of some of the 
 greatest hopes for cities. They who 
 follow a pillar of cloud are led by a 
 hope, and before Dr. Guthrie s state 
 ments, quoted as introduction to this 
 chapter, could be true there had to be 
 broad hopes, exceeding even the realiza 
 tion hopes for humanity, hopes for 
 science, religious hopes, and hopes of 
 liberty. 
 
 These, then, were the dreams of them 
 who saw, not separate Spanish castles 
 merely, but enough of them to make 
 dream cities ; who had it in their power 
 to forget themselves in remembering 
 their fellows. Little by little there have 
 been secured in the real cities many of 
 the things that have thus been hoped 
 for. Much of wretchedness yet remains ; 
 but how much there is that is blessed! 
 
 The homeward march of the thou- 
 
66 
 
 
 THE 
 
 CALL 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 CITY ||&| 
 
 sands of toilers along a city thoroughfare 
 when work is done is an impressive 
 sight. In its concreteness one sees in it a 
 type- "as if," it has been said of a Chi 
 cago thoroughfare, "all the laborers of 
 the world were assembled on this one 
 street, marching forward and onward. 
 All minor differences of creed and race, 
 which have divided the camp of toil so 
 long, are being forgotten and submerged. 
 The crowd is composed of people from 
 Poland, Italy, Germany, Sweden, Nor 
 way, Hungary, Austria and Russia, and 
 the vast stream amalgamates them all, 
 making of them a people in common, 
 with one aim and a central tendency. 
 How many centuries ago was it that they 
 would have had one another by the 
 throat, struggling like beasts of different 
 species?" This accomplished, we who 
 live in town may surely dare now to 
 

 
 
 HOPE FOR CITIES 
 
 
 67 
 
 hope and strive for more for cities 
 that are beautiful by design as well 
 as by accident; for cities that are polit 
 ically pure, by habit, not by starts; for 
 cities whose children are instructed and 
 whose people are wise; for cities that 
 have playgrounds for all, beauty for 
 all, education for all, freedom for all, 
 and the love of God in the hearts of the 
 people. 
 
 To have this thought and the courage 
 to make a hope of it, is to feel a new 
 love for cities and to gain from them 
 new inspiration. Mrs. Browning says : 
 
 " I can but muse in hope upon this shore 
 Of golden Arno as it shoots away 
 Through Florence* heart beneath her bridges 
 
 four! 
 
 Bent bridges, seeming to strain off like bows, 
 And tremble while the arrowy undertide 
 Shoots on and cleaves the marble as it goes, 
 And strikes up palace-walls on either side, 
 
I 68 
 
 THE 
 
 CALL 
 
 OF 
 
 THE 
 
 CITY 
 
 II* 
 
 And froths the cornice out in glittering rows, 
 With doors and windows quaintly multiplied, 
 And terrace-sweeps, and gazers upon all 
 ******* 
 
 How beautiful ! The mountains from without 
 
 In silence listen for the word said next, 
 
 What word will men say, here, where Giotto 
 
 planted 
 
 His campanile, like an unperplexed 
 Fine question Heavenward ! " 
 
 That is it it is a hope that is a ques 
 tion unperplexed, a vague but confident 
 expectancy, which quiveringly adluates 
 the city s crowd. They may fail, and 
 even the city may fall; but they know 
 that out of the cities comes progress. 
 "He who makes the city makes the 
 world," says Drurnmond ; and the moun 
 tains listen silently and the rivers hush 
 their flow, dutifully turning wheels and 
 meekly bearing the burdens that the 
 cities thrust upon them, while they 
 

 
 HOPE FOR CITIES 
 
 
 69 
 
 listen listen for the next word, for the 
 hope come true. 
 
 In the stress and strain of city life, let 
 us dare to make fittingly splendid the 
 hope we have for cities, and let us have 
 the courage and the patience to trans 
 form hope to fadl. 
 

 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 IX 
 
 
 
 WHEN PHYLLIS IS IN 
 
 
 
 TOWN 
 
 
 
 TTie Ladies of St. James s 
 Go swinging to the play; 
 Their footmen run before them, 
 With a" Standby! Clear the 
 way ! " 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! 
 She takes her buckled shoon 
 When we go out a-courting 
 Beneath the harvest moon. 
 
 
 [*" 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
 *1 
 
 
 
1*1 
 
 WHEN 
 
 PHYLLIS 
 
 IS 
 
 IN 
 
 TOWN 
 
 I 73 I 
 
 T V /HEN Phyllis is in town the city is 
 W no longer austere and dignified. It 
 becomes bewitching. Love is always 
 full of sweet surprises, but at this time 
 one may chance on a surprise at any 
 moment and at any turn for Phyllis 
 may be there ! When Phyllis is in town, 
 the very streets are glorified because she 
 walks upon them; the trolley cars are 
 possible chariots since her dainty foot 
 may mount the steps ; and every closed 
 carriage is worth looking into, lest her 
 dear face be hidden in its shadows. 
 You cannot know whether she may not 
 be just around the corner, and whether, 
 most tantalizing secret, she be in the 
 crowd before you or behind you! Be 
 cause she may be anywhere, her pres 
 ence pervades the city. 
 
 When Phyllis is in town, the windows 
 of the florists tug at heart-strings and at 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 purse-strings ; the conf edtioners tempting 
 trays plead sweetly for the little mouth ; 
 the windows of the milliners unaccus- 
 tomedly attradt, for in them are plumes, 
 of which one may get on Phyllis s hat; 
 the windows of the jewelers fascinate, 
 for in them are wedding-rings; and as 
 to the windows of the great department 
 stores, showing petticoats galore ah, 
 what thumping of the heart, what furtive 
 glances, lest Phyllis be somewhere look 
 ing ! Shall we ever see Phyllis and such 
 things together? Can the thought be 
 ventured ? 
 
 When Phyllis is in town, the music 
 of her voice is in every tingle of the tel 
 ephone, because perhaps she asked 
 that it should ring ; the crowds are gayer 
 and walk more blithely, since she may 
 be there ; and the church has a strangely 
 romantic fascination where Phyllis sings, 
 
SB 
 
 WHEN PHYLLIS IS IN TOWN 
 
 
 75 
 
 demurely listens, or kneels in prayer. 
 Dear Phyllis, what has she to pray for 
 if it be not to intercede for you ! 
 
 When Phyllis is in town, the changes 
 of the weather create a pidture-gallery. 
 It never rains that you do not have a 
 vision of tight curls, a halo of umbrella, 
 a rain-coat and the lower portion of a 
 little pair of shoes. The skies are never 
 blue and the weather warm, that you do 
 not see the fluttering flounces of a sum 
 mer gown that tantalize and fascinate 
 by their unsteadiness. And when the 
 snow flies and the wind blows cold, two 
 eyes peer laughingly above a muff. 
 
 When Phyllis is in town, the world is 
 such a great big funny spectacle for you 
 and her to look and laugh at ; and when 
 she goes, it is such a dreary, solemn 
 drama ! 
 
X 
 
 HOLIDAYS 
 
 A rush, a roar, a gleam, a glow ; 
 A great procession and a show; 
 A blare, a shout, a rush, a rout; 
 A threading in, a thridding out; 
 A snatch of song, a merry word 
 To tell a common joy has stirred 
 The common heart; 
 That s Christmas week on Chest 
 nut Street. 
 
 Emma Sophia Stilwell. 
 
HOLIDAYS 
 
 full enjoyment of the holidays, 
 one surely must be in town. They 
 mean more there than they could mean 
 anywhere else, for they affecft more 
 people and their whole point is in their 
 eff edl. It would mean nothing to the bird 
 in the tree top to say, "This is Sunday, 
 and you may spend the day as you will, 
 restricted only by your conscience"; or 
 to say to the squirrel, "This is a fete day, 
 and you need not seek your nuts in the 
 usual hiding-places unless you want to; 
 but you may run and jump through the 
 forest as broadly as you please." The 
 rollicking, bubbling stream, told to enjoy 
 itself because a certain number had ap 
 peared on the calendar, would laugh at 
 you; but build a dam and make the 
 water turn a mill-wheel, and the stream 
 will laugh with you when you tell it that 
 work is done and it can run away. Free- 
 
[so] 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 * 
 
 dom means something then, and it will 
 caress the rocks and jump into the sun 
 shine, and, catching the flowers along 
 its border, will dance with them in an 
 abandon of delight that the wondering 
 bird and the mystified squirrel who have 
 been always at liberty cannot under 
 stand. That is the way it is in the city 
 when a holiday sets folk free. 
 
 In the town even New Year s day, 
 though it is shorn of the old making of 
 calls and has become little more than 
 a pause, is an interesting holiday. What 
 a going over of accounts and balancing 
 of ledgers there has been and is to be, 
 and how impressive are the suddenly 
 deserted business streets when one re- 
 flecfts that they are silent because the 
 whole town is stopping its work to take 
 thought of the beginning of another 
 year; is buckling on a new armor of 
 
HOLIDAYS 
 
 hope, is sharpening anew the sword of 
 faith and tightening the girths that on 
 the morrow it may valiantly commence 
 another battle! There is the awesome- 
 ness of the lull before a storm. 
 
 In the country the birth-night of a new 
 year steals unnoticed upon the sleeping 
 world. The black shadows on the moon 
 lit snow are like notes of music, but they 
 make an unsung hymn. The old year 
 died unmourned, the new arrives un 
 heralded. The striking contrast of ring 
 ing bells and blowing horns in the town 
 that night is almost pathetic. It is sym 
 bolic of the pressing forward of city life. 
 The old year is responsible for many 
 kindly, gracious adts, but the disappoint 
 ments and the trials and sorrows which it 
 brought have so balanced the good that 
 thoughts fly futureward, not back, and 
 hopes are pinned to the new year and 
 
1 82 1| THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 
 
 its mysteries. On New Year s day you 
 see a city pausing in its mad race of life, 
 and no face turns back, but all eyes look 
 forward. 
 
 And one must be in town on a pa 
 triotic holiday if he would realize its full 
 significance. Then the flags that every 
 where are flying, the martial music that 
 pulsates in the air, the swinging, rhythmic 
 step of the marchers, the windows blos 
 soming with heads, the crowded curbs, 
 the gala clothes, the care-freed faces 
 all combine to emphasize the celebra 
 tion, and by the strength of that to make 
 impressive the patriotic significance of 
 the day. 
 
 Thanksgiving the country has claimed 
 distinctly as its own, as if the turkey, 
 dressed in all the pride of his recent 
 strut, were really god of the day, and 
 the celebration were a harvest home. In 
 

 [83] 
 
 El 
 
 HOLIDAYS 
 
 
 town in spite of football contests it 
 seems to have a higher, more religious 
 character. The mid-week pause from 
 labor, the ringing church bells calling to 
 prayer and praise, the general sharing of 
 benefit with the poor so that on Thanks 
 giving, at least, no one need go hungry, 
 form a better celebration because one 
 more appropriate than mere feasting and 
 making merry. 
 
 Then there are the great church days, 
 which nowhere are observed with such 
 impressive pomp as in the town. For 
 Easter the streets are all abloom with 
 flowers. One can hardly find a house 
 too poor to have them in a window, a 
 waist too worn or a coat too faded to 
 negledt the touch of their brightening; 
 they flood the city, flowing with their 
 messages of love and hope and friend 
 ship into unexpected little crannies, lodg- 
 
1 84 1| THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 
 
 ing at the bedside of the sick and filling 
 the houses of them who mourn. They 
 fairly bank the chancels and pulpits of 
 the churches, to join the silent praise of 
 beauty to the paeans which on that day 
 form a tidal wave of music that sweeps 
 from city to city around the world. And 
 the gay garments of spring which nature 
 puts on by degrees, we don all at once 
 on Easter day. It is a religious festival, 
 but in the town it is something more even 
 than that. It is the celebration of spring. 
 There is put into it all the comforting joy 
 of faith in a future life, and at the same 
 time all the gladness of the present mo 
 ment, when 
 
 "The year s at the spring, 
 ***** 
 
 God s in his heaven 
 All s right with the world." 
 
E 
 
 HOLIDAYS 
 
 85 
 
 But best of all is Christmas-tide. For 
 the Christmas spirit one must be in town. 
 Weeks beforehand you feel its presence 
 in the joyous pressure in the streets, in 
 the crowded stores and attractively dec 
 orated windows. Ropes of laurel and 
 evergreen, jungles of holly, bushes of 
 mistletoe and forests of Christmas trees 
 what dreams they awaken, what visions 
 of romance, what pidtures of childish 
 delight they thrust on business streets! 
 Is it any surprise, then, to meet Santa 
 Claus face to face ; to hear through the 
 office window the jingle of reindeer bells ; 
 to see, in fancy, when your thoughts 
 should be soberly engaged, trees blos 
 soming with tinsel flowers, apples of gilt 
 dangling from their branches, strings of 
 popcorn caught from limb to limb, and 
 little stars blinking amid their foliage? 
 Red stockings, "hung by the chimney 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 with care" and bulging with toys, dance 
 before city eyes that are bent upon led 
 ger and day-book; and in the shadows 
 of dim corners of the shop there are 
 seen in thought, for a week before and 
 a week after Christmas, white-robed little 
 figures tiptoeing from a bed. 
 
 Ah, what pranks on the town s ex 
 hausting toil and solemn business the 
 Christmas spirit plays ; into what a realm 
 of tenderness and love it leads us! At 
 that blessed season the only thing worth 
 while is play, and every man or woman 
 whom you meet in town, ladened with 
 bundles, is at heart a Santa Claus, and 
 in the bulging delivery wagons there are 
 the equivalent of innumerable reindeer 
 sleds. Philanthropy forgets its science 
 and asks no references; there is only 
 good-will to men and peace on earth. 
 The city, which is so full of men, is the 
 
HOLIDAYS 
 
 place to feel most strongly the glad and 
 holy change the blessed childishness 
 that comes upon the world with each 
 recurring Christmas as knees bend at 
 thought of the little manger in the stall 
 in Bethlehem. The wise men and the 
 kings who knelt there two thousand 
 years ago were prophetic, indeed, of our 
 cities on Christmas day. 
 
s 
 
 
 A] 
 
 
 XI 
 
 
 
 ENTERTAINMENT 
 
 
 
 Had I but plenty of money, money 
 enough and to spare, 
 The house for me, no doubt, were 
 a house in the city square; 
 Ah, such a life, such a life, as one 
 leads at the window there! 
 
 
 [*" 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 

 
 
 ENTERTAINMENT 
 
 
 91 
 
 WHEN all is said, the call of the city 
 is to many, it must be confessed, 
 a call preeminently to pleasure. It is 
 noteworthy that there pertain to the 
 town qualities to attradl all sorts of per 
 sons. This is natural enough, for the 
 town is made up of all kinds of people ; 
 but the fadl is one more of those to be 
 recorded to its credit. The esthete can 
 find in it much that is beautiful; to the 
 romantic mood it seems a collection of 
 stories; the student enjoys the exhaust- 
 less history of which it is a record, the 
 citizen loves the comfort it affords, and 
 the dreamer discovers in the city the 
 stuff that the noblest dreams are made 
 of the inspiration to high emprise. 
 
 There yet remain the kinds of enter 
 tainment and pleasure that are offered, 
 stridlly as such, by the town, and these 
 are as many as the tastes of men. Why 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 attempt to name them, when their range 
 extends from the library richly stocked 
 with books to the lowest dance hall, 
 from the sermon to the zoo? Whatever 
 particular thing you love, even if it be 
 nature, you can find it somewhere in the 
 town ; and if you do not love anything in 
 particular, you are a poor creature whom 
 nothing but the city can comfort. There 
 is only one kind of misanthrope for 
 whom it has no permanent attraction 
 the man who is utterly self-centered, 
 and even he must find at times a blessed 
 relief in getting away from self, in losing 
 track for awhile of his own individuality 
 in the distradlions of a thousand broader 
 and more interesting personalities than 
 his own. 
 
 And this, after all, is the best, as it is 
 the most distinctive entertainment and 
 pleasure the city affords. It is the crowd 
 
* 
 
 
 ENTERTAINMENT ||93| 
 
 that delights one. You cannot exadtly 
 define and analyze the enjoyment that it 
 gives ; but all the other attractions seem 
 transitory, dispensable, and of mentally 
 local appeal compared to this the per 
 manent, inseparable, wholly engrossing 
 entertainment of the town. Until one 
 can enjoy people one should not live in 
 the city; and when one does enjoy them 
 a solitude will seem very lonely after its 
 novelty wears off. Oneself is soon dis 
 tressingly poor company. 
 
 Does not this sentiment mean a higher 
 development than the enjoyment of the 
 woods? We talk about "going back to 
 nature," and retrogression is admitted in 
 the phrase. Primitive man wandered by 
 himself and cities came only with civili 
 zation. There is something in the elec 
 tric thrill of mere contadl with many 
 vibrant personalities; something conta- 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 gious in the sum of their energy, their 
 pleasure, their zest of life. The boulevar- 
 dier could argue his case, if he cared to ; 
 and could make his idle life seem attract 
 ive, even justifiable and broadly unself 
 ish ; but he knows that the most earnest 
 worker in the city has already a secret 
 sympathy with his career. He doesn t 
 have to argue ; he strolls and enjoys, and 
 all the world smiles back. 
 
 We have been speaking of the history 
 of the street; but to one who gets his 
 pleasure from the crowd, that is an aca 
 demic matter, as far as he is concerned, 
 a theory of enjoyment. For him the his 
 tory of the street is its history of a day; 
 not merely the day s total of events that 
 happen in it, although they make an im 
 portant item, but the observance of its 
 changing moods. The street is as differ 
 ent at different hours as it could be in 
 
* 
 
 | ENTERTAINMENT 
 
 95 
 
 different years. In the morning when 
 the milk-carts rattle severally on the 
 pavement, and the humbler toilers are 
 hurrying with pale faces that look 
 pinched in the early cold, it is not at all 
 the same as at nine o clock, when the 
 roar of traffic is almost trumpetlike, and 
 when with the rush of the clanging cars 
 you behold an army pressing forward. 
 In the afternoon rubber tires are where 
 the groaning wheels had been, and there 
 is an air, not, indeed, of indolence, but 
 of luxury and repose. At six o clock 
 a crowd, like a flood released, surges 
 through the street; and after dinner, 
 when the lights are blinking, when the 
 theaters are gathering their devotees, 
 when there are glimpses of jewels and 
 laces in the carriages, and when even 
 those who walk are leisurely and are 
 dressed for pleasure then the change is 
 
96 
 
 THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 
 * 
 
 marked enough to be dramatic. And 
 tomorrow on the street may be as dif 
 ferent from today as was yesterday 
 when, you remember, it rained. 
 
 If one is fond of music, the city is of 
 course the place to hear it. But there 
 will be none as moving as that sym 
 phony of the street to which the fluctuat 
 ing crowd may be likened. There are 
 songs of the seasons, when it sings, 
 now of violets, lilies and the coming 
 spring; now of fete days, when the 
 national colors are shown and there is a 
 martial swing to the music; now of the 
 Christmas spirit, when the notes crowd 
 closely together, when the music is swift 
 and strong and the joyous theme is 
 "Good-will to men." There is also the 
 daily song the morning song of the 
 workers, inspiring in its swinging time; 
 the chorus of women, of shoppers, with 
 
@ 
 
 ENTERTAINMENT 
 
 
 97 
 
 slow time but crowded notes, and with 
 now and then a gay little aria; the leis 
 urely, voluptuous march of the after 
 noon ; and then the song of the weary, 
 when the bass comes in with heavy ac 
 companiment and a minor is woven into 
 the theme, as the feet that passed so 
 briskly in the morning shuffle at last on 
 dusty walks. The night song begins 
 with pleasure, love and wine, and dwin 
 dles into a lullaby. 
 
 But it is late when a city goes to sleep. 
 Far into the night many still hear it call 
 ing: "Come, leave care, and wander; 
 forget yourself with me ! " 
 

 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 XII 
 
 
 
 SLEEP 
 
 
 
 * * * the very houses seem 
 
 
 
 asleep, 
 And all that mighty heart is 
 lying still 
 
 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 
1*1 
 
 THE CITY SLEEPS 
 
 
 101 
 
 HPHE city sleeps and dreams, and 
 L dreams are sweet. 
 How dark and still the street ! 
 
 At peace, the citizens all silent lie ; 
 
 There is no restive eye; 
 
 The breath is calm, no hurried feet 
 
 go by 
 Night falls, and rest is sweet. 
 
 The strife and struggle of the garish day, 
 
 The world of work and play, 
 
 The turmoil and the fighting all is past. 
 Nor loves nor hates outlast 
 The wondrous shadow of the truce 
 that s cast 
 
 When night puts all away 
 
 As if the citizens were only boys 
 Grown tired of tasks and toys, 
 
 And seeking loving mother s knee, 
 that there, 
 
 With bedtime kiss and prayer, 
 
THE CALL OF THE CITY 
 
 They might forget the daylight s little 
 
 care 
 And surfeiting of joys. 
 
 O peaceful stars, compassioning, watch 
 ful eyes, 
 Make low the lullabies 
 
 That in vast unison the planets sing; 
 Let them wake not, nor bring 
 Too soon the pitiless mad dawn on 
 
 wing 
 That, gleaming, stirs the skies ! 
 
 And thou, pale moon, pass on with 
 
 silent tread 
 Thou st seen the world to bed. 
 
 Do ye, mild winds, snuff out her little 
 
 light 
 
 With big clouds, soft and white, 
 As she upon the sleeping world 
 
 shuts tight 
 The door, her "good night" said. 
 
SB 
 
 THE CITY SLEEPS 
 
 
 103 
 
 And ye, black rivers, rolling to the sea, 
 Roll on most quietly, 
 
 Lest ye may wake the city, lying still, 
 
 Unconscious of the ill 
 
 Or good the morrow may bring forth 
 
 to fill 
 Its cup, blest mystery! 
 
 And last, O Father of the world, look 
 
 down 
 
 With smile, and not with frown, 
 And bless the city proud and rich 
 
 and great. 
 Forgot is its estate, 
 In childlike innocence, immaculate, 
 It sleeps Thy peace its crown! 
 

LOAN DEPT. 
 
 JUL 
 
 30 ?4