H8A3I 
 
 ^B 151 flbfl 
 
 BRIDGES AND BYWAYS 
 
 (OF CINCINNATI) 
 
 PRINTS FROM THE ETCHINGS OF 
 
 E. T. HURLEY 
 
 TEXT BY 
 
 JAMES ALBERT GREEN 
 
GIFT OF 
 A. F. Morrison 
 
I 
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/bridgesbywaysOOhurlrich 
 
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BRIDGES AND BYWAYS 
 
 PRINTS 
 
 FROM THE ETCHINGS OF 
 
 E. T. HURLEY 
 
 TEXT BY 
 JAMES ALBERT GREEN 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 THE ST. JAMES PRESS 
 
 No. 10 St. James Place 
 
 1919 
 
HfffS 
 
 Copyright, 1919, by E. T. Hurley 
 
 GIFT OP 
 
LM 
 
 DICKENS, in his Preface to Bleak 
 House, says that he deals with the ro- 
 mantic side of familiar things. And this 
 is what Mr. Hurley has done. He has shown 
 us the beautiful in places, which from long 
 acquaintance, we may have regarded as 
 dull and commonplace. It is the province of 
 the poet and the artist to interpret for us; 
 to idealize the everyday things; to show us 
 their soul and their inner meaning. We 
 Cincinnatians live in a city that is full 
 of unexpected beauty and we live in a 
 region of rolling hills and splendid vistas, 
 
 made to delight the soul of the artist. 
 
 Mr. Hurley has "the vision and the faculty 
 divine" to bring to us the familiar places and 
 scenes glorified and exalted into something 
 better than we know. A distinctly local work 
 of this kind belongs peculiarly to us — to the 
 people of this community — and I feel that in 
 this little book of pictures the artist has 
 literally done what the Psalmist suggested: 
 
 Walk about Zion, and go round about her; 
 
 Number the towers thereof; 
 
 Mark ye well her bulwarks; 
 
 Consider her palaces 
 
 That ye may tell it to the generation 
 following. 
 
 —JAMES A. GREEN. 
 
 [yj95638 
 
Cover — The City from Mt. Adams. 
 Frontispiece — 
 
 E. T. Hurley and I. B. Hurley, printing etchings. 
 I The Arch Bridge, Eden Park. 
 Looking down Walnut, from Sixth. 
 Kemper Lane and Locust Street, (Carnegie 
 
 Library, Congregational Church and 
 
 Little Playhouse). 
 Coppin's Lake, Latonia, Ky. 
 The Sixth Street Market, in the rain. 
 St. Peter's Church, (head of Main Street) 
 
 from Hughes Street. 
 St. Clement's, St. Bernard. 
 The Cantilever Bridge, from the Newport 
 
 side. (Night). 
 Wharfboats, Newport, Ky. 
 The New Hamilton County Court House. 
 The Little Bridge, Over the Pond, Eden 
 
 Park. 
 On the Hilltops, Elgin and Hatch Streets. 
 The Mohawk Bridge. 
 Entrance to the Scottish Rite Cathedral, 
 
 Broadway above Fourth. 
 The Ringgold Street Viaduct, Mt. Auburn. 
 The Lombardy Poplars of Alma Lane, 
 
 Mt. Auburn. 
 The Old Stone Bridge at Sandfordtown, 
 
 (Ky.) 
 Entrance to St. Xavier's, Sycamore above 
 
 Sixth. 
 Little Miami Valley from Ault Park. 
 The Lincoln Statue in Lytle Park. 
 
 II 
 III 
 
 IV 
 
 V 
 
 VI 
 
 VII 
 VIII 
 
 IX 
 
 X 
 
 XI 
 
 XII 
 XIII 
 XIV 
 
 XV 
 XVI 
 
 XVII 
 
 XVIII 
 
 XIX 
 XX 
 
XXI 
 
 XXII 
 XXIII 
 XXIV 
 
 XXV 
 
 XXVI 
 
 XXVII 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 XXIX 
 
 XXX 
 XXXI 
 
 XXXII 
 XXXIII 
 XXXIV 
 
 XXXV 
 XXXVI 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 Along Duck Creek (from an etching by 
 
 LB. Hurley). .:'•' 
 
 The Side of the Hill, Mt. Adams. \'\\[ 
 
 The Park Avenue Bridge. J.":. '\\' 
 
 Cannon Lane. ,ll'l '*•• 
 
 Along the Little Miami, near Plaitf^ilte. • , 
 
 •• •• ,•• 
 
 Government and Fountain Squares , I 
 
 ••••• •••< 
 
 Cincinnati and the Ohio, from Devou.Park. , , 
 
 The Cliffs, East Pavillion Street. •..., 'yj 
 
 The Canal at Vine Street. •;••. *,,, 
 
 Lower Market in Winter. '' • 
 
 The Ida Street Bridge, Pilgrim Chajjel*and 
 
 Eden Park, (from the Rookwood Tower) 
 
 Winter. 
 The Side of the Hill, East End. 
 Odd Ohio River Craft. 
 The Boathouse, Brighton. 
 Fourth Street, West of Main. 
 The Clifton Basin. (From an etching by 
 
 I. B. Hurley). 
 The L. & N. Bridge, from the Newport side. 
 Reflections, Olive Branch. 
 Mt. Adams, from Bellevue. 
 
I^— THE ARCH BRIDGE, EDEN PARK. 
 
 '■1 
 
 ; Man has never done anything more 
 
 wonderful than to send bridges with airy- 
 arches through space. The aeroplane that 
 files is. not more marvelous. And this arch in 
 Eden Park is not only beautiful, but it is one 
 of the earliest examples in the world of a 
 concrete bridge. When it was built the 
 Sceptics predicted it would crumble, that it 
 would not support its own weight — but it 
 still stands, a monument to the art of plastic 
 stone. 
 
II.— LOOKING DOWN WALNUT FROM SIXTH. 
 
 Cincinnati's canyon street — Cardinal Mer- 
 cier when he saw the New York skyscrapers 
 thought they were ecclesiastical edifices — but 
 in America we build for business purposes 
 structures that overtop the loftiest of Europe's 
 Cathedrals. 
 
 This does not mean that we set business 
 above religion — it means that instead of having 
 our cities sprawl all over the landscape, as it 
 were, we have by means of the skyscraper 
 attained an amazing concentration of the bus- 
 iness population. 
 
III.— KEMPER LANE AND LOCUST STREET. 
 
 There is always something striking in a 
 tower or a spire. Practically all we build is 
 purely utilitarian, but towers are for ornament. 
 There is something lavish and splendid about 
 them. Houses may be all of one pattern, 
 but each and every tower has a character 
 of its own. Think of the dreary monotony 
 of a city without church steeples. 
 
IV.— COPPIN'S LAKE, LATONIA, KY. 
 
 These rare old forest trees! When I was 
 a boy there were men still living who remem- 
 bered when all the hills that encircled our 
 city were covered with the primeval forest. 
 Ah, if the pioneers had possessed vision — if 
 they had consecrated the hillsides to be parks, 
 think of what Cincinnati would have been. 
 The downtown city belted with a forest area 
 through whose cool glades we would pass to 
 reach the suburbs on the hills. But here 
 and there yet stand a few of the old "first 
 growth" trees which should be cherished as 
 something which once gone can never be 
 restored. Pleasant it is, too, to think that 
 we are undoing the work of our heedless fore- 
 fathers and in many a new park are restoring 
 the forests. 
 
v.— THE SIXTH STREET MARKET. 
 
 What color and what life there is in a 
 market! What bargaining! Fruits and flow- 
 ers, meat and vegetables, cheese and cakes, 
 bread and pickles — what you will in endless 
 profusion. Our markets are a survival of 
 a past era. Madame Trollope said that 
 in her day all the best people carried their 
 own baskets to the markets. Perhaps were 
 we to do that now the cost of living might 
 not be so high. 
 
 Years ago I remember Murat Halstead told 
 me that he joyed to see a market fruit stand — 
 the yellow oranges, the red apples, the purple 
 plums — such a riot of color that it pleased his 
 eyes beyond measure — made brilliant the com- 
 monplace of its surroundings. 
 
VI.— ST. PETER'S CHURCH, FROM HUGHES ST. 
 
 Once, on Lake Como, I made the round in 
 a little steamer of all the straggling villages 
 on the shore, and marveled much at the 
 variety of the towers. Every church had a 
 different kind of a tower. Some Gothic; some 
 like one belfry built on top of another belfry, 
 and some that defied all rules of architecture 
 but were lovely none the less. And I thought 
 that had I time I should like, were I an artist, 
 to make a lasting memorial of these towers. 
 But it is the same in Cincinnati. We have 
 remarkable church towers; some which are 
 miracles of slender beauty, some which are 
 impressive, and some which, rising in the mean 
 and poor quarters of the town, strike us with 
 a sudden sense that here is the redeeming 
 feature of the quarter. And all of these towers 
 are an aspiration toward the skies. They all 
 point upward and onward. That is their real 
 significance. 
 
VII.— ST. CLEMENT'S, ST. BERNARD. 
 
 Here is where the good Franciscan Brothers 
 officiate. These gentle followers of St. Francis, 
 of Assisi. They have in their Lord and 
 Master their great example. They have in 
 their patron saint their great inspiration. Yet 
 one is struck sometimes with a sense of the 
 strangeness of it all. Here, in this busy little 
 industrial suburb of St. Bernard, to see the 
 brown-robed brothers, with ropes for girdles, 
 and their sandals, going in and out of their 
 church and meditating in their garden, while 
 all about them hum the vast activities of the 
 modern world. 
 
VIII.— THE CANTILEVER BRIDGE, FROM THE 
 NEWPORT SIDE— (NIGHT). 
 
 I often think how the Ohio, in its wild 
 and wayward February and March floods, 
 sweeping all before it in its wild rush of 
 mighty waters, snarls and tears at the bridges 
 that span it. They defy its fiercest onslaughts 
 and stand serene and untroubled as monu- 
 ments of man's triumph over nature. 
 
IX.— WHARFBOATS, NEWPORT, KY. 
 
 The River has its own people, who live 
 on it and with it. They are a strange folk, 
 these river people, as picturesque and as 
 foreign to the usual things of everyday life 
 as can be imagined, rough, rude primitive 
 and forever facing storm and danger. They 
 are like the sea-faring people of a salt water 
 port, distinct and separate from the rest of 
 the community. It was the Ohio River that 
 made Cincinnati. It was the founder of the 
 family fortune as it were and of late years 
 we have been neglectful of our river, treating 
 it something like a thing outworn. 
 
 If you would see the river aright go at the 
 close of day when the dusk shadows obscure 
 the sharp lines of the landscape, just at the 
 hour between day and night when the lights 
 begin to blaze in the city's windows — go then 
 and stand on one of the bridges. 
 
X.— THE NEW HAMILTON CO., COURT HOUSE. 
 
 This magnificent new court house, a real 
 temple of justice, noble and dignified, as 
 befits the majesty of the law, is a gift which 
 this generation of Cincinnatians is making 
 to the generations which shall follow it. The 
 man who builds leaves a heritage to posterity. 
 During his own life time he enjoys the work 
 of his hands, but what he really does when 
 he builds is to make a gift to the men who 
 come after him. Great public buildings have 
 in themselves the elements of poetry. They 
 appeal to our sense of grandeur and of beauty. 
 Next to the works of God, like the skylines 
 of mountains or the shores of the sea, the 
 most impressive things in the world are the 
 clustered towers and spires, and roofs of a 
 great city. The long lines of the pillars, 
 the great colonnades and mighty walls seem 
 built to outlast the centuries. 
 
 This etching the artist made in compli- 
 ment to the writer of the text and he makes 
 his grateful acknowledgment. 
 
XL— THE LITTLE BRIDGE, OVER THE POND 
 EDEN PARK. 
 
 Where in the crowded city streets may 
 lovers hand in hand, whisper their old story 
 that is ever new? But here on the bridge in 
 the park, with water lilies in the lagoon be- 
 neath them and the smell of the grass and 
 flowers — here is the place where love and 
 youth belong. 
 
XII.— ON THE HILLTOPS. 
 
 These pathetic hillsides of ours, washed out 
 by the spring rains, baked by the summer 
 suns, with the houses clinging to them and the 
 streets ascending at impossible angles. But 
 how I love them — and whenever I see a city 
 built on a plain I thank God for our hills. 
 And when I am far from home in a level land, 
 my heart and my soul cry out for the valleys 
 and the hills of home. 
 
 And on our clear days when the air has 
 been washed and purified by the rain, the 
 houses on the hillsides, as you see them from 
 the windows of our down town skyscrapers, 
 stand out in all their vivid and many colors 
 like jewels set in them for their adorning. 
 
XIII.— THE MOHAWK BRIDGE. 
 
 This lift bridge over the canal is not as 
 picturesque as the great lift bridges in Chicago, 
 or the one at the Soo. But then it is a lift 
 bridge that does not lift, for it is frozen to the 
 street level. But as the canal has ceased to 
 function as a canal, it makes no possible dif- 
 ference whether it lifts or not. 
 
XIV.— ENTRANCE TO THE SCOTTISH RITE 
 CATHEDRAL. 
 
 Procul, procul, este profani! Avaunt, 
 ye Philistines! As it might be rendered in 
 modern English. This is the inscription over 
 this door that opens only for the elect to the 
 Temple of Mystery. But as so many of our 
 best people belong here it is certain that the 
 mysteries are nothing that would cause any 
 harm. In fact there is reason to believe that a 
 part of the mysteries consist in the mysterious 
 art of good cooking of which the Shriners boast. 
 
XV.— THE RINGGOLD STREET VIADUCT, 
 MT. AUBURN. 
 
 Like a strange caterpillar with many legs 
 the viaduct crosses the hillsides and below is a 
 sea of roofs. Here, lies spread out the great 
 city, street on street, and far away beyond 
 the splendid tower of the Union Central are 
 the Kentucky hills, while to the west there 
 is a glimpse of a mighty bend of the Ohio 
 — ^go where you will on the outer circle of the 
 hills there are these wonderful views. 
 
 How I pity the man who does not explore 
 his own city, the man who is content to go 
 from home and back day after day. Cities 
 are worlds in themselves. They are never 
 monotonous because they are instinct with life. 
 There is a variety about Cincinnati that is 
 infinite. My love for my own city grows as 
 I know it better — I never tire of it — I love 
 it with a great and absorbing passion— I love 
 to serve her and I delight to tell others of her 
 glories— delight to think of her great men — 
 but I love Cincinnati, for it is Cincinnati and 
 it is my home. 
 
'^^ 
 
 -■< 
 
XVI.— THE LOMBARDY POPLARS OF ALMA 
 LANE, MT. AUBURN. 
 
 Sometimes, when from the hills there is 
 a sudden vision of the far off city, beautiful 
 and mystical in the distance, I can hear the 
 Pilgrims in the Golden Legend, chanting of the 
 city of their dreams. 
 
 Urbs coelestis, urbs beata 
 Supra petram collocata 
 Urbs in portu satis tuta 
 De longinquo te saluto. 
 Te saluto, te suspiro 
 Te affecto, te requiro. 
 
XVII.— THE OLD STONE BRIDGE AT 
 SANDFORDTOWN. 
 
 The automobile has brought the beauty 
 of the country to our doors. War, said Pitt, 
 is a great teacher of geography. And the 
 automobile likewise is a great teacher of local 
 geography. We never knew before it came 
 of the little streams, the odd bridges and the 
 hills and vales that are so near us. 
 
XVIIL— ENTRANCE TO ST. XAVIER'S. 
 
 Here they pass through this door that is 
 always open — the devout worshipper, the 
 happy bride and bridegroom, the mourners 
 with their dead, the proud parents with their 
 babe to be baptized, the gay procession of 
 school children to their morning prayers. 
 
 I think when I see a church that it sets 
 its seal of consecration upon the great events 
 of human life — birth, marriage, death. 
 
XIX.— LITTLE MIAMI VALLEY, FROM 
 AULT PARK. 
 
 I never weary of the Valley of the Little 
 Miami. No wonder that when the pioneers 
 came down the Ohio seeking what was best in 
 the new far West they stopped here. It is 
 richer than the valley of the Nile, more beauti- 
 ful than I have words to tell. One of our 
 most traveled Cincinnatians told me that he 
 had been the wide world over but nowhere 
 had he found a valley, that in itself united all 
 the elements that go to make a landscape 
 lovely, as does this which lies at our very door. 
 
XX.— THE LINCOLN STATUE, IN LYTLE PARK. 
 
 "His life was gentle, and the elements 
 so mixed in him, that nature might stand up 
 and say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN' ". 
 An inspiration to have the statue of Abraham 
 Lincoln on our busy street, and I breathe a 
 silent prayer of gratitude to the great hearted 
 man and woman who presented this statue 
 to our city, Mr. and Mrs. Taft. Would there 
 were more like them. 
 
XXL— ALONG DUCK CREEK. 
 
 Ah me, this sylvan stream of my boyhood 
 where once the fish delighted to lie in its 
 shady pools. And I remember Duck Creek 
 Road which crossed and recrossed it, but there 
 were no bridges then. The traveler must 
 ford the stream. How delicately the horses 
 used to put their hoofs in the water and what 
 an adventure it was to go from bank to bank 
 in this way. There are bridges now, ugly 
 angular bridges that even Mr. Hurley does 
 not try to make beautiful with his magic art, 
 but to me Duck Creek will always remain 
 as it was so many years ago, clear, beautiful 
 and shaded by its basket willows and giant 
 sycamores. 
 
XXII.— THE SIDE OF THE HILL, MT. ADAMS. 
 
 This is our Mount St. Michael. They 
 builded better than they knew when they 
 placed this Church of the Immaculate Con- 
 ception on the top of the lofty hill where it 
 is forever a part of the sky line. Sometimes 
 it stands out boldly, sharp and clear when the 
 atmosphere is sparkling, sometimes it is misty 
 and indistinct on smoky days — then it looms 
 large and mysterious. And because it is on 
 a hill top and it means effort to reach it, the 
 devout on Good Friday climb the steep — 
 hundreds upon hundreds of dear good people — 
 to say their prayers upon this day of days 
 before the altar in this church, which then 
 becomes a shrine. 
 
XXIIL— THE PARK AVE., BRIDGE. 
 
 "With a single arch, from ridge to ridge 
 It leaps across the terrible chasm. 
 
 Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel 
 
 For Pilgrims on their way to Rome, 
 
 Built this at last with a single arch 
 
 Under which, on it's endless march. 
 
 Runs the river, white with foam 
 
 Like a thread through the eye of a needle.'' 
 
 This modern bridge of ours, far larger 
 and more wonderful than the Devil's Bridge 
 of which Longfellow sings, carries across the 
 deep valley an endless stream of traffic, traffic 
 that would have amazed the Pilgrims on their 
 way to Rome; and instead of a river beneath, 
 is a great highway leading from the river 
 level to the top of the hills. 
 
y 
 
XXIV.— CANNON LANE. 
 
 These odd back yards in the by-ways, 
 only the artist can see that they offer a neces- 
 sary contrast in the city's Ufe. 
 
 Have you ever thought that back yards 
 are the true index of the family? Here is a 
 back yard neat as a pin with flowers growing 
 in it — perhaps a vegetable garden, and a rustic 
 seat. Ah, the people who live there do their 
 duty by God and man — that is certain. And 
 here is a back yard littered with rubbish — 
 let us pass on, we would not care to meet the 
 people there. 
 
XXV.— ALONG THE LITTLE MIAMI, NEAR 
 PLAINVILLE. 
 
 The Indians loved it as we love it, this 
 Little Miami River. They built their towns 
 upon its banks and planted their corn in its 
 bottoms as we plant our corn. It is the joy 
 of the summer guest, this gentle river. 
 
 To me it is endeared in memory— I swam 
 it as a boy and my boys swam it in their 
 turn — I have often floated down in it in a canoe 
 from Morrow to the Ohio and shot its many 
 rapids, or paddled down its long placid stretches 
 with infinite delight. And once below the 
 dam at King^s Mills in the rapids a two pound 
 bass jumped into my canoe. 
 
XXVL— GOVERNMENT AND FOUNTAIN 
 SQUARE. 
 
 Fountain Square is not exactly an oasis 
 in the midst of the crowded city, but it is an 
 interlude. Do we appreciate our glorious 
 fountain according to its worth? 
 
 Let spouting fountains cool the air 
 Singing in the sun-baked square, 
 Let statue, picture, park and hall 
 Ballad, flag and festival; 
 The past restore, the day adorn 
 And make each morrow a new morn. 
 
XXVII.— CINCINNATI AND THE OHIO. FROM 
 DEVOU PARK. 
 
 How the words of the Psalmist seem to 
 apply to Cincinnati, "As the mountains are 
 around about Jerusalem", so are the hills 
 roundabout our city. 
 
 Pray for the peace of Jerusalem, 
 They shall prosper that love thee; 
 Peace be within thy walls, 
 And prosperity within thy palaces. 
 
XXVIII.— THE CLIFFS, EAST PAVILLION 
 STREET. 
 
 Here are the modern cliff dwellers, with 
 houses sometimes five stories in the rear and 
 one story in the front. Our hills occasionally 
 give us some surprising architecture. But what 
 an uninteresting thing a crowd would be if 
 all were dressed in Quaker grey! And how 
 stupid and duH would be a city if the houses 
 did not surprise us once in a while. Yet I 
 sometimes wonder over the practical house- 
 keeping details of one of these hillside houses 
 where the dining room and kitchen are on 
 the top floor and the bedrooms go down and 
 down for four flights of stairs. 
 
XXIX.— THE CANAL AT VINE STREET. 
 
 What a memorial of the past — this old 
 canal. It flourished in the days of our grand- 
 fathers, or perhaps in the days of our great- 
 grandfathers, when its waters were clear and 
 when it was a highway of travel and of com- 
 merce. Those easy going days when a canal 
 boat was fast enough, and when the canal 
 flowed between vineyards and gardens — those 
 far off times when it was a great holiday just 
 to go in a gayly decorated canal boat out 
 possibly to a place as remote as Cumminsville. 
 It is not difficult, as you linger on the banks of 
 the canal where still so many of the earliest 
 buildings of the city stand, to reconstruct 
 that dear, delightful, leisurely past. Soon 
 the canal will be replaced by a boulevard and 
 pictures like these will be the only tangible 
 memorial of vanished times and ways. 
 
XXX.— LOWER MARKET, IN WINTER. 
 
 Poor patient Dobbin — is he destined to 
 become extinct? He certainly is fast dis- 
 appearing from the city streets. Where there 
 was one automobile five years ago there are 
 twenty to-day; and where to-day there is 
 one horse there were forty five years ago. 
 And the artist may be doing posterity a ser- 
 vice in showing just how a horse and wagon 
 looked. 
 
XXXI.— THE IDA STREET BRIDGE, PILGRIM 
 
 CHAPEL AND EDEN PARK, FROM THE 
 
 ROOKWOOD TOWER. WINTER. 
 
 The snow makes the world over. It 
 changes form and line so that what once we 
 knew has become something else. 
 
 "The frolic architecture of the Snow". 
 And in the city what a change, to wake some 
 winter morning and find the roadways and 
 the roofs a radiant white! 
 
 Sometimes I think the snow is the Re- 
 cording Angel, who in a mood of gracious 
 forgiveness and forgetting, covers all the ugly 
 places of the earth with a snowy mantle of 
 oblivion. 
 
XXXIL— THE SIDE OF THE HILLS, EAST END. 
 
 There is a regularity about city streets 
 that may grow monotonous, but one can never 
 complain of our hill sides in that way — these 
 hills that surround our city, now gently rising 
 and then abruptly falling, with a thousand 
 different curves, with the streets running at 
 many angles, the houses perched some times 
 in places that seem impossible; these primitive, 
 original houses with no regard for harmony 
 or architecture, some with their yards running 
 at an angle of 45 degrees up the hill, some with 
 their gardens running at an angle 45 degrees 
 down the hill. If you would study the most 
 original things in our city, study not the city 
 itself or the hill tops, but study the hill sides. 
 Sometimes I think of the houses as of an 
 invading army which has gloriously marched 
 over the plain and filled it, and which has 
 assaulted the hills but has not conquered them. 
 
XXXIII.— ODD OHIO RIVER CRAFT. 
 
 It is only on our inland rivers that the 
 shanty boat flourishes — and in China. The 
 shanty boat has an evil reputation. But 
 I knew a man who had made a fortune in 
 Huntington. He retired from business and 
 built a palatial shanty boat and spent four 
 years in cruising, so to speak, from Huntington 
 to the Gulf. He had lived all his life on the 
 river, loved it, and when at last the opportunity 
 came he carried out the ambition he had long 
 cherished — to see the river from end to end 
 and to loaf along its shores and visit its towns 
 to his heart's content. This man was a 
 gentleman, a man of genuine culture, so you 
 see it is not quite safe to regard all shanty 
 boat denizens as river pirates. 
 
XXXIV.— THE BOAT-HOUSE, BRIGHTON. 
 
 It might be a bit of Holland, or it might 
 be a bit of Venice, but it is neither, it is just 
 one of the odd bits in Cincinnati — one of the 
 places that a man born and bred here might 
 never know existed were it not for the eyes 
 and the hand of the artist. 
 
XXXV.— FOURTH STREET, WEST OF MAIN. 
 
 Can there be anything new in architecture? 
 Look at our sky-scrapers for your answer. 
 And can a sky-scraper be beautiful? Most 
 surely. This Union Central Building is in 
 reality a massive tower. It is to Cincinnati 
 what Notre Dame's towers are to Paris, what 
 St. Paul's dome is to London, the distinctive 
 feature. Had it been possible to build this 
 tower in ancient days, it would have been the 
 Eighth Wonder of the World. But it repre- 
 sents the modern wonder of the world — steel — 
 which in one form or another has made the 
 present age. Within itself this giant structure, 
 with its steel skeleton, it's swift elevators, 
 its flowing water, it's steam heat, it's glowing 
 electric lights, stands for all the progress in 
 the applied arts which man has made. 
 
XXXVI.— THE CLIFTON BASIN. 
 
 Gone are its glories. It is just a reedy 
 pond these days. When the canal was really 
 a canal, back somewhere in 1830 and 1840, 
 before the railroad era, there was a shipbuilding 
 plant here where they built canal boats. 
 The place resounded with the hum of the saw 
 and noise of the hammer, and the ship car- 
 penters lived nearby, and it was a center of 
 active industry, whereas to-day the sleep of 
 the ages seems to have settled down on it, 
 and the only purpose it serves is to make a 
 fine skating pond in the winter, on those 
 infrequent occasions when there is a hard frost. 
 
XXXVIL— THE L. & N. BRIDGE, FROM THE 
 NEWPORT SIDE. 
 
 How seldom, as we stand by the river, 
 and by our railroad bridges, do we think of 
 what they mean. If we were to launch our 
 bark on the river and go with it's tide, at last, 
 after many a day, and after many a twist 
 and turn, we would arrive at New Orleans. 
 And, if we were to take the train that goes 
 across this bridge, thundering across the 
 Southland, in twenty-four hours we would 
 reach New Orleans. These highways lead 
 to the same place — one made by man, and 
 the other made by the Almighty. 
 
 If I could follow my homeland streams 
 
 As ever they Southward run, 
 Vd come at last to tropic seas 
 
 Warmed by the tropic sun. 
 rd come at last to islands strange, 
 
 A marvel, every one. 
 Tall palms and gorgeous fruits and flowers 
 
 Warmed by the tropic sun. 
 
XXXVIII.— REFLECTIONS, OLIVE BRANCH. 
 
 With many a curve my bank I fret, 
 
 By many a field and fallow, 
 And many a fairy foreland set 
 
 With willow weed and mallow, 
 I chatter, chatter as I flow 
 
 To join the brimming river. 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 
 But I go on forever. 
 
XXXIX.— MT. ADAMS, FROM BELLEVUE. 
 
 There are some city views of surpassing 
 loveliness. Wordsworth stood upon Westmin- 
 ster Bridge in the early morning and wrote: 
 
 "Earth hath not anything to show 
 more fair." 
 
 And more than one poet has seen and 
 felt the beauty of the city. 
 
 ' 'There is one glory of the Sun, and an- 
 other glory of the Moon." 
 
 There is beauty not only in the great 
 places of nature, in the hills, in the forests 
 and on the seas, but in the cities which man 
 has built. 
 
 The glory of the sunset, when it touches 
 with its magic colors, and its dim, mysterious 
 tints, our hilltops, is as wonderful as the 
 sunset in the mountains or on the ocean. 
 Nature is the great artist, and nature, on her 
 far flung canvass of sky and land, is as generous 
 with her colors in the city as in the country. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 i^mTsopi 
 
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 M95638 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY