-NRLF B 3 mt, 3flS BERKEIEYX LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF I CALIFORNIA ./ CITY AND REO, PLANNING THE CITY SLEEPS THE CITY SLEEPS By CHARLES MULFORD ROBINSON Author of "Modern Civic Art" "Rochester Ways" "The Improvement of Towns and Cities" etc. etc. THE CORNHILL COMPANY BOSTON CITY AND RE<5 PLANNING Copyright 1920 by The Cornhill Company / 3S &3 <LS~ Selections from the writings of Charles Mulford Robinson presented in loving memory by his wife Eliza T. E. P. Robinson 789 CONTENTS PAGE THE CITY SLEEPS . .... . . . 3 SED MINISTRARE . . . 5 THE SONG OF PEACE . . 11 EDEN REGAINED . . . . . . . . . 14 GREETING THE NEW YEAR . ..... 16 LOVE IN VENICE . . . .... . . 18 SERENADE FROM "DREAM CAMP" .... 20 A SERENADE . . . . . ... . , 21 To LOVE ........... 22 THE VIOLIN . 23 CHRISTMAS PRESENTS ... .... 24 FIRST LOVE .....;..... 27 To THESE LINES . . .... . . . 28 MY COUNTRY . . . . . ... . . 30 MOVING ....... 4 ... 32 LULLABY 34 CHRISTMAS HYMN 36 SUNDAY SCHOOL CHRISTMAS SONG .... 37 EASTER CAROL V V . . . 39 TRAVELING 40 STREET CAR HORSE 42 LENT . . . . . . . .... . 44 NEW YEAR S RESOLUTIONS . . . . . . 46 NEW YEAR S (; ." . . . 47 CHRISTMAS . . . 48 CLASS DAY POEM . . ..... . 50 [11] THE CITY SLEEPS GRANDMOTHER S BALL DRESS ..... 54 A BALLAD OF THE SEA ....... 56 THE FIELDS OF FLANDERS . . . ; . . 58 THE DANUBE ... . ... . .. . 59 RIVERSIDE DRIVE . . . ... 60 THE SKY-SCRAPER . . . ....... 61 THE UPLAND MEADOW . . . . * . . 63 HYMN FOR CHILDREN S DAY ..... 65 THE BIG TREES IN Mum WOODS, CALIFORNIA 66 SUN RISE ........... 67 PERFECT LOVE 68 WINNIE DAVIS . . ....... . . 69 THE WALTZ . . . . . . > . ,. . "71 A RAG-BAG . . . . ...... 72 THE TIRELESS SENTINEL. ... . . ^4 WHEN PHYLLIS is IN TOWN 76 GOING AWAY . . . . . ..... 78 THE REPLY . . .... : . . . . . 80 PREMEDITATED SUICIDE . . . . . . . 82 KISSING . . . .... . . . * 84 AUTUMN DAYS AND DAWN . . ... . 86 ALUMNI AND COMMENCEMENT 88 THE LOOK OF LOVE ........ 90 HER OPAL RING . . . . . .... 91 To MY LOVE .......... 92 A LUNAR TELEPHONE ..... . 93 MY CASTLE 94 WITH SOME ROSES ... - 95 [x] THE CITY SLEEPS THE NEW YEAR 96 SUNSET 99 IDOL REPAIRING 100 VACATIONS ........... 102 SUMMER AND LAZINESS . 104 PATHS (FOOTPRINTS) ........ 106 TREES AND SPRING FOLIAGE 108 THE PEN 110 THE MAID OF THE MIST Ill THE WIND ON THE PRAIRIE . . . . . . 112 STARS 113 THE FOUR WINDS 114 OCTOBER- WALKING, SUNSETS AND DEATH . 116 HOPE AND THE NEW YEAR . . . . . . 118 SUMMER AND AUTUMN 120 OCTOBER 122 EASTER AND CHRISTMAS . . . . ... . 124 LONGEVITY, AGE AND DEATH 127 TOMBS . 129 THE CITY SLEEPS THE CITY SLEEPS THE CITY SLEEPS The city sleeps and dreams, and 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, They might forget the daylight s little care And surfeiting of joys. [3] THE CITY SLEEPS peaceful stars, compassioning, watchful 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. 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, 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 I [4] THE CITY SLEEPS SED MINISTRARE When heroes died in olden days, Valkyries, hov ring o er the fight, Received the knights with love and praise, And courage came into its right. Nor passed there with each chieftain dead So much of bravery out of earth. The sons of men, by mem ry fed, Required not other brav ry s birth; They fought like sons, and fought as men Who would leave sons to fight again. For when a hero thus has passed, Immortalized by tale and song, Earth has not known of him the last: In battle s front he still is strong To point the way and do the deed. Inspiring by the part he played, He s present, in the hour of need, To quicken pulse that is afraid. So sire still fights in arm of son And sons can do, for sires have done. And there were some who even thought That swords, which heroes might not take [5] THE CITY SLEEPS To far Valhalla, yet had caught, And held, for their new owners sake, The spirit that had made of old Their masters brave. And so the son Was doubly strong and doubly bold Whose sword had other battles won. He was, than single hero, more, Since one was in the sword he bore. Then came the time when Christ was born Mid lilies beauty, o er the sea, When death lay dead at Easter morn And love was strong through Galilee. Then swords were sheathed and peace was dear, And something else than brutal might A baby s smile, a woman s tear, A strong man s honor settled right. To God, to country, and oppressed Was service of the sword addressed. And now in novel form was wrought The hilt which rose o er sheath and sword. The lesson that the Master taught Was seized in spirit, and adored. A cross he grasped who drew his blade; And in that sign of sacrifice, Of love, and pity, there was made Reminder, that with honor dies [6] THE CITY SLEEPS He only who has spent to aid Just cause his life, or drawn his blade. So rose the shout of "Holy War," And knighthood, roused by preacher s cries, Puts spurs to steed, that nevermore Should Pagan hold the place where lies The tomb in which, in sleeping death, The Prince of Peace had found his rest. There Saracen wrought fearful death; But thrice the knights returned, since blest, Who won or died, was he whose blade Was stained with blood of a crusade. And if he died they bore him home, And while his lady wept sad tears They carved his image on his tomb And crossed the legs, that through the years All men might know that here one lay Who had been brave, and quick to hear The Christ-call that was far away; And so, without reproach or fear, Gave up his life. To-day men read And honor still the knightly deed. As setting sun still gilds or paints, With ruddy hue or fading blush, The earth s last point what spire of saints, [7] THE CITY SLEEPS Or tower of king, or dome, it touch So, with like glow in hearts of men, Though centuries have rolled between, We see the love of God again And men as brave as they have been; As quick to hear in hour of need Crusader s call to knightly deed. Why, then, turn back to other times And why seek courage in the grave? Does love know aught of years and climes, Has pity ceased, are men less brave? Behold how soon a nation s heart Responds to suff ring s strain and sigh. As once to tears of slav ry s mart, Again we raise a ringing cry: Christ died to make men better; we As twice before will make men free! The ancients thought that men of war Still loved in death to watch the fight, Or that a sword which hero bore Was stronger for another s might. So now, in our own time, we know That sires and grandsires blessings give To those love-roused to strike the blow That makes men free and bids them live. [8] THE CITY SLEEPS Again in hist ry s stirring page Is youth s reveille blown by age. Those men who fired the shot world-heard, That here men should for aye be free; And those who wrote the magic word In blood, where Southern slaves could see The past and present, ev ry bar Of crimson on our flag, is shout To rise once more in freedom s war; To throw the ancient banner out. Ourselves, and those we bound, made free; Our swords shall serve humanity. ******** How fair through all the years have gazed, With sweet and tender smile, those saints Whom painters drew, when art was raised And heaven, loving him who paints, Drew back her veil! Not now in line Unconscious of perspective s claim We paint; and yet we note how fine Their skill. Their soul makes just their fame. They saw so much we marvel yet And look beyond what they forget. Time changes spirit of crusade As it does art in form. The rest [9] THE CITY SLEEPS Is love, is soul. We still grasp blade In wish our Saviour s grave to wrest From hands unholy. Not of stone The tomb we find. If ere there be A heart that breaks, a needless moan, There seek we Christ, assured that He Counts him a hero, dubs him knight, Who strives another s wrong to right. So, when the clarion bugles call, When soft words fail, and men must gain With sword, right, freedom, truth, and all That makes life full then, then, again Comes brave reply. The swords leap forth; The heroes of Valhalla speak; The cry of "Holy War" rings forth, For now Christ-crucified, we seek! - A nation lifts twice hallowed blade; The world salutes a fourth crusade! [10] THE CITY SLEEPS THE SONG OF PEACE Isaiah: XXVI, 3. A prophet, taking up a harp, leaned over it, And thumbed sweet music from its strings, And sang these words, in half unconscious revery, Which God s own angel whispered in his soul: "Him Thou Wilt keep in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee." The passing breezes caught the words and bore them on Their wings, the field flowers bent their heads at hearing them, The brook inserted them into its song, and dried Leaves whirling on its restless tide knew peace must come. The forest trees repeated it in mighty song, The rivers bore the message to the peaceless sea, And ocean pounded out on rocky shore, "Him Thou Wilt keep in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee." [11] THE CITY SLEEPS A weary trav ler paused to lay his burden down, And saw the heav ns don their sable robes of cloud To mourn the day, and fallen leaves float silent on The stream which flowed, like time, unceasingly. He sighed; But while he lingered, lo! a glory in the West, The red and gold of setting sun; and he could see The grasses bend to whispered words divine "Him Thou Wilt keep in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee." Love walked through shady paths where, far above, the trees, Like love, hold hands in silent ecstacy and hide, With leafy boughs, the beating hearts beneath. Then slowly in the ev ning sky the lovers moon arose And pierced the tracery with light, and saw the tears Which fall when love remains and hope has died. To earth Its pale beams fell in tears of sympathy, And swaying branches sang this requiem: "Him Thou Wilt keep in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee." [12] THE CITY SLEEPS A poet wand ring restless on the ocean beach Beheld the stars. God s beacons, gleam out singly in The sky s blue deeps; and saw in each far distant light An unfilled dream of youth, a goal still unattained And mourning cried, "Ah, life is but a peaceless sea;" When, lo! He heard the ocean chant the words: "Him Thou Wilt keep in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee." The dying sun, the moon, the stars repeat the words To youth and age, to sorrow and to wearied hope, And send, on beams of light, the message which the breeze Had caught from trembling strings of prophet s harp and borne In endless cycle through the restless world, "Him Thou Wilt keep in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee." [13] THE CITY SLEEPS V EDEN REGAINED A poet wrote of that lost Paradise Which deeply veiled in ancient shadow lies. With mournful verse and sad regret, he told The tale of Eden, closed by sins of old. But as he ceased his verse, a hope broke through Perhaps there s yet an Eden, strive anew ! We know, indeed, the angel, Eden left, Enjoined the heav nly chorus he d bereft And later woke the world on Christmas morn With "Peace, Goodwill on earth; the Christ is born!" Hence men may seek for Eden not in vain Since Christ, in coming, op ed its gates again. In manger bare where infant Christ-child lies Men seek and find again their Paradise. Our hope still centers on that tiny form, That Baby- voice which rules the wind and storm; Which bids the heavy-ladened rest And find the Eden of the poet s quest. Why, else, brought wise men presents afar? Why shone o er Bethlehem that wondrous star? [14] THE CITY SLEEPS Who was it died, that came not to destroy? What is it gives to burning martyrs joy? Oh, Light divine, with holy sacrifice, Thou hast, indeed, brought back our paradise. Dear Eden of the poets, fair wert thou ; But fairer is the Eden granted now. Like Enoch, we must toil its joys to win Yet, at the end, we, too, shall enter in. A bird we, too, may find; but ours the dove, Flown from God s throne, in symbol of His love. "Still Eden s choirs through all our music sing; Still Eden s scents to all our blossoms cling ; Still Eden s voices through our poets flow; Still Eden s colors on our canvas glow;" For all we find that s most divine in men Just proves Christ in us; Eden is our s again! [15] THE CITY SLEEPS GREETING THE NEW YEAR Hope and gladness Banish sadness Father Time s new child is born. Heir of ages, He presages Brilliant noon to follow morn. Soft the pillows, Snowy billows, Where he lies, all pure and fair. Winds are singing Blessings bringing, Fruit of Old Year s dying care. Stars were bending Low, pretending Guard to keep about the child. Darkness flying Old Year dying Dawn has kissed him, Day has smiled. Let us greet him, Smiling meet him; Welcome, New Year, born to-day I [16] THE CITY SLEEPS Great past stories Mean new glories, Thou shalt higher lead our way. Hope sustaining, Fear disdaining, We accept thy promise bright. Old Year s crosses, Griefs and losses, All were buried yesternight. Wondrous birthday! Justly mirth day. For the world begins anew! Hail him, crown him, Naught shall down him, Here s to New Year! Joy to you! [17] THE CITY SLEEPS LOVE IN VENICE Love, on this summer night, thou at my side, Trusting our gondolier, slowly we glide. Silent the stars shine out, throbbing with love, O er us Venetian walls tower far above. Rocked on the water s breast, where gleam like gold Tears that the stars have dropped for years of old, Bridging eight hundred years, we two, alone, Guess what the stars have seen care for each stone. Splendid old palaces! Dim they appear. Night hides their ancient fronts, clouds shed a tear, Winds kiss the marble brows where sunbeams played, Where love through bright eyes shone and gladness made. Now all in gloom is still, fair years have died. Night drops her mourning veil; soft winds have sighed. But on their ling ring sigh, list, Love, a breath Whispering, "love is here love fears not death!" Under the Bridge of Sighs, see how we came Out on the broad lagoon life is the same Past the dark prison walls, narrow the way - Love comes! Behold, our stream widens, a bayl [18] THE CITY SLEEPS Now the old palaces no longer loom Over our dainty bark, casting a gloom. Far off they faintly show where love had been; But here the star-gemmed waves hold thee, my queen I [19] THE CITY SLEEPS SERENADE FROM "DREAM CAMP" Softly retreating the shadows, Chasing each other at will, Flee from the stab of the moonbeam Playing on casement and sill. Silently fly, oh, ye shadows! Silently dance, oh, ye beams! There a fair maiden is sleeping, There my beloved one dreams. Gently the breezes are blowing, Bending the trees as they pass. Softly the dew, in descending, Kisses the flowers and the grass. Silently faU, oh, ye dewdrops! Silently blow, gentle breeze! There a fair maiden is sleeping Quietly bend, oh, ye trees! [20] THE CITY SLEEPS A SERENADE Gentle breeze of ev ning, hasten thou to bring Sweetest slumber, brightest visions, while I sing. Whisper sweet, with dream words, in my loved one s ear That she sleepeth safely for her lover s near, Yes, in deep dreams murmur stilly that her lover s near. Shining stars of heaven, golden orbs of night, Be her pure protectors with thy softened light. Gently rest, my loved one; sleep till day doth break, Stars are bending o er you watching, wide awake, Heaven itself a guard is keeping keeping till you wake. Sweetly slumber, loved one, happy dreams be thine. Angels whisper softly of this love of mine. Dream of fairy castles, dream of joy untold, Dream until the dawning paints the East with gold; Dream, and know on waking that only half was told. [21] THE CITY SLEEPS TO LOVE Hail to Love as it enters now, Welcome Love, welcome Love! May it strong and tender grow Gentle breezes ever blow, May it trouble never know, Hail to immortal love I Welcome love! welcome love! Hail to immortal love! Chorus Hail to love in its purity. Welcome love, welcome love. May it firm, confiding be. May it bind in sympathy, Then twill keep its majesty, Hail to immortal love! Welcome love! welcome love I Hail to immortal love! Chorus [22] THE CITY SLEEPS THE VIOLIN " There is a tradition that as the mother of Paga- nini was dying he held his violin to her lips to receive her last breath, and that always in the tones of that instrument thereafter he heard the voice of his mother." We should like to think that the spirit of a loved one were sighing through the chords of every violin. There is no instrument so plaintive, so pathetic and almost human as the violin. In its beautiful quivering notes, its long drawn sighs, or the wild abandon of its spirit there is something more than the throbs of an instrument. It is the hardest instrument to master, but one that the whole world loves, for the something that breathes through it, that sighs and sings through the quivering strings and appeals to the heart of man. [23] THE CITY SLEEPS CHRISTMAS PRESENTS A great deal has been written and said about the degeneration of Christmas through the lavish inter change of costly presents. The extravagance of the age, we hear, has ruined the spirit of Christmas; and a few pessimistic persons think to make them selves notable by deploring the existence of any Christmas at all. With long faces they cry that they have so many friends that Christmas quite ruins them, you know. Poor things ! They are the ultra- fashionable to whom amusement is a bore, exertion a hardship, and acquaintances a nuisance. But the complaint does not stop there. Parents bewail the fact that their children want $4 toys instead of candy-canes or 25-cent pieces ; and that the modern Christmas costs a great deal more than the Christ mas of thirty or forty years ago. But it is no less Christmas. Indeed if one were to go way back to the first Christmas day he would find the Christmas of to-day more like that than were the celebrations of a generation ago. What if our presents are costly, are they more so than those that the wise men brought from the East? What if the music in our churches is extravagant in its beauty, is it as beautiful as the song of the angels on the first Christmas day? [24] THE CITY SLEEPS And what if we do show our love for dozens of friends, did not the angels proclaim good will to men all men? The first Christmas is the only model that the world has got, but because our celebrations are costly and elaborate now, and consist in more than eating and drinking, we cannot say that the spirit is lost. But you long-faced pessimists, who find your selves ruined by the purchase of silver-backed hair brushes, and souvenir spoons for your dozens of friends, and who look upon Christmas merely as a distorted product of fashion s whim, caring nothing for its religious origin, suppose you consider the day in a worldly manner and compare its "degeneration" to the changes in the rest of the world. Is not life more expensive than forty years ago? If your chil dren have the very good taste to prefer a $4 talking- doll to a ten-cent-candy-cane is it not due to their bringing up? Yes, you may flatter yourselves that you have trained them well. They prefer watches that go, diamonds to paste, and sparrows brains to sparrows wish-bones! Christmas has only changed with the rest of the world, and if you lack the Christ mas spirit, it is your fault, not the world s. And if you buy presents handsomer than you can afford you are no whit better than he who lives beyond his means, and runs into debt for a tandem to be like Thomas, Richard, or Harry Van de Couter Smyjth. [25] THE CITY SLEEPS You deserve to be miserable. The poor do not want your costly presents, and the very rich can afford to ignore the cost, if only love, the hardest thing for the rich to buy, goes with it. In his last "Easy Chair" in Harper s, and almost in its last words, George William Curtis said, "You cannot buy Christmas at the shops, and a sign of friendly sym pathy costs little." The great mass of people know this and never dreamed of buying Christmas. It is only a little coterie of the would-be fashionables who, worshiping money, find that its Christmas bank rupts Crcesus, and cries for a reform. Use as much common sense in your Christmas as you use in other things, and even if Christmas does not prove a bless ing, it will not prove a bore. [26] THE CITY SLEEPS FIRST LOVE And so you ve come back to me, dearest of dears! The months of your absence have seemed to me years, But now we re together we never will part; You re mine and I m yours. Take your place at my heart. How pretty you are in your dainty white dress I Such beauty I did not suspect, I confess, Of course your fair spirit and heart I well knew, But, darling, your beauty is external too. The little gold threads that figure your gown, Your straight little back and your little gold crown Are ravishing, dear; and I know that you ll be The talk of the town till it s jealous of me. Each thought in your being, each word you would say, Is yet what I think and just what I d say; And so, though you re silent, I hear ; and I look With joy at you, darling my first printed book. [27] THE CITY SLEEPS TO THESE LINES Good-bye, dear child. A pleasant trip I would that I went too. But don t come back again, I beg Home s no place for you. Go, see New York. I pay the bill, And here s your homeward fare. But if they ll keep you in the town, Just stay for I shan t care! And you d best stay ; for if you don t, To Boston you shall go, And if you then come back again To Phila., which is slow. And then to busy towns out West You ll go all travel worn. You ll sorry be if you return To mock me with their scorn! I d like to make these trips myself Rejoice that I send you. But when you meet the editor, Oh, mind each p. and q. [28] THE CITY SLEEPS Good-bye. Be good, be bright; Stand steady on your "feet". Seem clever, wise, and don t come back Win fame and fortune, Sweet! [29J THE CITY SLEEPS MY COUNTRY My country, tis of thee, With signs on every tree, Of thee I sing. Land where our fathers died Ere cure-alls loud were cried From every mountain side, As now they ring. My native country, thee, Land of the lettered tree, Thy words I love. I love thy liver pills, Thy woods with cures for ills, My heart in rapture thrills For purer blood. Specifics swell the breeze And ring from all the trees In morbid song. And Heinz s beans stay baked, Pabst beers Milwaukee make, And rocks their silence break To right what s wrong. [30] THE CITY SLEEPS Three Sss for the blood, Sapolio cleaning mud What things I read I Long have thy children cried "Castoria" from barn side Oh, country, with what pride I view thy greed! [31] THE CITY SLEEPS MOVING Moving is one of those things in which a very little goes a great way. The weather has been perfect, and movers are thankful for that. It is one of those little things, like "the last straw," that does not seem of prime importance, and yet has ever so much influence. A tragedy in the sunshine of high noon is never quite so dreadful as in a dismal rain or at murky night; and moving is very like a tragedy. It is most distressing to tear down one s Lares and Penates ; realize how one s interests, aims, and affections change even one whose boast is consistency and to see the dust that has gathered on the back side of some of those dear things ! And it gives one a pang to see the sifted out and newly burnished household gods away from their old house hold, out of their environment; and a heartache to visit again that cleared out shell that was once - whether amid palaces or ever so humble home. It makes you feel so like a really homeless wanderer. And then it is dreadful to have to wear dusty clothes and have dirty hands and face for days, to eat pie on a trunk, and search two houses for a hair brush, to spend the restful evening hours on a stepladder hammering nails both finger and tenpenny ; and [32] THE CITY SLEEPS to tear up old letters. At night, these fair May nights, one who has moved feels like a transplanted tree, with just about as many limbs as a tree ought to have, and all of them weary. [83] THE CITY SLEEPS LULLABY I While the stars are all blinking, the tree tops all nod, And the mother sings low to her love, Then the baby-moon sleeps with its head on a cloud And the angels bring dreams from above : Then the wind whispers low as it hurries along, And it covers the little moon tight, But she peeks from the clothes, for she loves the wind s song And she throws to the earth a "Good Night." Sleep well, little moon, on your soft downy bed For the night so soon passes away. And the wee candle-star that now shines at your head Will go out with the coming of day 1 II There s a fair little child that is falling asleep While the moon lies so still on the sky, And the same angels guard o er the two sleepers keep And the wind sings the same lullaby. But the angels must cherish the little child best For they speak in the dear mother-kiss, [34] THE CITY SLEEPS And the songs which she sings to the child on her breast Are something the baby-moons miss. Sleep well, little child, while the mother is near, For too soon you ll outgrow lullabies, And it won t be so easy to shut out all fear When then closing your tired little eyes. [35; THE CITY SLEEPS CHRISTENING HYMN For J. A. S. Jan. 12, 1908. Jesus, Saviour dear, Thou wast once a child. Thou dost love the little children, In Thine arms Thou st held and blest them Lo, a child waits here! Bless her Jesus dear - See, we hold her up! As of old Thou blest the children Put Thine arms around this baby Bless her, Saviour dear! Jesus, Saviour dear, When a little Son Think how guarding Mother loved Thee, Yet God kept his watch above Thee Guide this little one. [36] THE CITY SLEEPS SUNDAY SCHOOL CHRISTMAS SONG In a lowly manger, far across the sea, Lay the baby Jesus, on His Mother s knee. In His home above us greatly must He love us To have come to earth a little babe to be. Chorus Christmas, happy Christmas, This our birthday song: Let us be good children And do nothing wrong. Wise men came to visit baby Jesus fair, Kings gave birthday presents when they saw Him there. Angels sang above Him. All the angels love Him; We must show the baby Jesus that we care. Chorus In the lowly manger baby Jesus lay As a Christmas present to the world that day. Never was He dearer, yet He was no nearer Than He always is when little children pray. Chorus [37] THE CITY SLEEPS Little Christmas Jesus, once a child like me, Help me to be loving, good, and kind like Thee; Always to be pleasant, That shall be my present For the baby Jesus on His mother s knee. Chorus Christmas, happy Christmas, This our birthday song: We will be good children And do nothing wrong. [38] THE CITY SLEEPS EASTER CAROL Death is conquered, love has triumphed, Storm old death with fairest flowers; Raise aloft the Easter chorus: Death is conquered, Christ is for us, Living, ever He is ours! White clad Easter lilies whisper Glorious hopes the angels gave: Trusting wholly, fear defying, Love lives on through pain and dying, Christ is risen from the grave ! Winter passes, spring is with us, Flowers are pushing where was snow, Still love conquers. Shout the chorus: Death is vain since Christ is for us, Christ who triumphed long ago ! [39] THE CITY SLEEPS TRAVELING A writer says that no one outside of a railroad ticket office can have any idea of the number of "mental travelers" that there are, of the mental trips that one s friends and neighbors are constantly taking in one direction or another by means of time tables and free guides. The collecting of railroad literature becomes a mania with some, and they study the pamphlets, excursion books, and so on with a detail that gives them as complete and per fect a knowledge of the places they visit only in their minds as though they had actually been there. - "They can discourse fluently upon the hotels and principal sights of the city, even tell you of the trains and the connections they make, or describe the small stations through which they passed in going there/ And what a delightful way to travel it is, to be sure! No heat, no dust, no missed connections. And so cheap. The trains are never late, unless you wish that they would be; and a seat in a drawing room car costs you no more than a seat in the day coach. You may eat what you please at the stations, or go into the dining car. You never have to wait for a place, and never have to leave anything for lack of time. Your trunks are always on the train with you, [40] THE CITY SLEEPS the weather is always perfect. You have the most beautfiul views, get vistas of curving track that you never would see on a real train, and can drive to the hotel in a carriage. You are even better off than Peter Ibbetson with the beautiful Duchess of Towers, for he must have had rain sometimes, though he could not feel it ; while you cannot even see it. Who that can make of his easy chair a private car, to carry him whither he pleases, would care to board a stuffy, crowded, joggling, dusty, real railroad coach and pay for the privilege? Oh, wise and happy travelers, to whom change of scene is so much easier than change of air, travel far and merrily, for the world is yours, and be envied of those dull, unimagi native persons who are restless but can only see things, combinations of matter, and whose spirits their bodies truly imprison. [41] THE CITY SLEEPS STREET CAR HORSE The passing of the horse, his disappearance as a motive power, has been sadly overlooked. The pean of the still plodding tow path mule has been sung, the obituary of the last horse car has been written, the memorial of the stage coach, horses, and driver has been penned ; but who has thought to commemo rate in fitting words or deeds the retirement from our streets of the last car horse? It is a task for better pen than ours. We would not have back the car horse now. The supple, spineless, unfeeling electric fluid is a thousand times better than he, and yet how we miss the lazy trot of the horse, his patient amble, the gentle tinkle of his little bell, the un dressed look of his puffing sides as unadorned with harness as a dancer s limbs with skirts! And what a gentle beast he was ! It was a sight to draw the tears of men and angels to see him strain at starting, but once the car was rolling how chipperly he skipped along! Few fancy steps were his, but there were no loiterings by the way side, there was no nibbling of grass and bark. Thoughtful and yet happy at the consciousness of duty done, his very face was an inspiration to us questioning, grumbling, dissatisfied human laborers. In the straight and [42] THE CITY SLEEPS narrow path he trotted on, hardened to all the noises of the street, taking torpedoes on the track and flying switches with unruffled grace without ambition, without discouragement, his passage through our thoroughfares could not, indeed, be called rapid transit, nor was it the transit of Venus, but certainly it was a providentially arranged transitory embodi ment, for the teaching of mankind, of abstract patience ! [43. THE CITY SLEEPS LENT The deeper, more serious side of Lent is one to be felt, not written of. Society has discovered the season s utilitarianism and for forty days makes piety fashionable from rational rather than emotional motives. But there is a good deal of the latter, and as the days are kept in quietness, abstinence and thought, does not the true Lenten spirit creep where we thought the shadow lay alone? And something of the holy calm comes into the soul tired with worldly gaiety, comes in so still and slowly that we can scarcely say just when it comes or how it goes. The wild rush of life; the stampede for honor, riches, and position; is slightly lessened. The momentum of the year s turmoil, race, and struggle bears us on ward for a while, but without adequate further im petus it lessens, and into the blessed calm of Passion week the most unecclesiastical of us slips without serious jar. Self-communion in an easy chair is a great restraining power, and the feet that sped over waxen floors turn readily to the straight and narrow path, and mansions in the sky take the place in thought of dream castles in dreamy Spain. A little inward reflection reveals an inward world greater, grander, more important than the world to which [44] THE CITY SLEEPS we give so many of our days, of our waking and sleep ing thoughts, and it is almost a pity that the forty days of Lent should be so brief. But we are in the world for action, and so we must return to the work and world; and Lent in the cycle of the months is but a reminder that the work must be good in itself and have a worthy object. The self denial becomes thus not wholly selfish, and Lent becomes a season borrowed from the whirling days and months in which to make psychical repairs. [45] THE CITY SLEEPS NEW YEAR S RESOLUTIONS One hears less now than formerly about New Year s resolutions. Ridicule, cartoonists, and para- graphers are, no doubt, killing the custom; but prob ably in the privacy of their own hearts people make as many good vows as ever. To speak of the vows would be to court laughter; but one can resolve to reform and break the resolution and no one be the wiser, if nothing is said. In the aggregate the good resolves made on the year s birthday, and one s own birthday, must have quite a beneficent influence upon us ; but they are very unimportant compared to the daily, unceremonious, and often unthought-out reso lutions of life. It is only our imagination that at taches supreme importance to them. [46] THE CITY SLEEPS NEW YEAR S Now that New Year s Day is past one feels that the corner has been turned, and nobody doubts that spring is coming and finally lovely summer. But the really significant change took place several days ago. After the hours of daylight had been growing shorter and shorter, there came at last a little hesita tion, the shortest day, and then a minute more of sunshine. And that precious minute was the cor ner stone of the year to come, the first victory after many defeats, the first gain that light had made over darkness, in the long losing combat. It proved that the laws of the heavens could be depended upon, that light would conquer darkness, that warmth would overcome the cold, and that flowers would bloom where now is snow. The new year marks the turning point for men, but nature had already turned ; and the twilight, that comes a little later now and that lingers each evening a little longer when the sky is clear, is a promise of victory, written in scarlet and gold, where all men may see, and read, and learn to hope. [47] THE CITY SLEEPS CHRISTMAS It is human nature to want to be happy, and hap piness is the main thing that men pursue, day in and day out, all the year round. It may be called by various names, as righteousness, honor, power, and wealth, but whatever its name it is happiness of some kind or other. Through the whole year, except Christmas day, the prize is sought in a human way. The contestant runs and runs to reach the end of the rainbow. He doesn t mind tripping up other people who threaten to pass him, and he never takes time to stop and admire the scenery as he hastens by. He does not even wait to catch his breath, and every lit tle stone in bis path, or small ascent, he magnifies an hundred fold because he thinks it delays him. And all the time the end of the rainbow seems just before him, like the mirage of a desert oasis, and he sees other runners tumbling into it and picking up bags of bliss. But when, breathless, he overtakes these fellows, he finds that the end of the rainbow is still ahead, and that what he thought were bags of bliss are only stones, which the runners are throwing out of their way. They, too, see phantom runners reach ing the phantom goal, and when he who thought them phantoms reaches them, they try to trip him up, [48] THE CITY SLEEPS and so prevent his reaching the end of the rainbow. And he pushes them back, and they wrestle in the path, and seem, to those who are far behind, to be tumbling into the arc of promise! It is a weird, strange race, and little the wonder that the runners do not reach the goal. There are a few who take things easily, who do not worry about the goal, but who, sitting by the wayside, see the rainbow colors all about them, and are perfectly content. But these men are very few. Now, on just one day in the year, new rules govern the race. The contestants try to help, instead of to delay, one another. They try to make others happy instead of winning happiness for themselves; and lo! A miracle happens. The end of the rainbow comes to them. On no day in the year are so many people happy as on Christmas day, and yet on that day human rules are suspended and we try to make others happy. When a star s light shines through the atmosphere it is refracted to one side, and if we looked directly toward the star noth ing would brighten the darkness. But look to one side of the star, and the star appears; try to win hap piness for others and you win it for yourself. It is the great rule given divinely to those who cannot escape the social law of refraction; and yet only on one day of the year is it followed by all and that is Christmas Day. [49] THE CITY SLEEPS CLASS DAY POEM Bertram-like the poet slept, Or seemed to sleep and saw A weeping spirit-maiden stand And hesitate to draw So near, though, with uplifted hand, She pleaded love, not awe. Oh, beautiful the vision was, And like two stars her eyes From tender, liquid depths shone out, And laughed at his surprise, Until a wandering cloudlet doubt Passed where the star beams rise. The poet started in his sleep. "Oh fair one, cease to mourn!" The vision turned, but as the sun Begems the dews of morn, A tender smile seemed just begun - Then died as it was born. She passed, and other visions came; But none so fair as she Who, in the moment that she paused, [50] THE CITY SLEEPS Had smiled entreatingly, And left him wondering what had caused Her going mournfully. Then, arms outstretched, the poet cried, "Oh, come to me again, I fain would see thy smile once more, And chase away thy pain; Would feel thy presence as before, And make thee queen, to reign." He listened, and the place was filled With low and plaintive chords, The throbbing of the harpstrings they, Almost like human words; And then they slowly passed away, Like notes of soaring birds. Enrapt the dreamer stood, and lo! Just as the last strain died, A voice rang out, clear, pure and sweet, He felt her at his side! He listened, kneeling, at her feet: And thus the vision cried : "In vain thou ask st. It cannot be: Thine own ideal am I, The offspring of thine eager heart [51] THE CITY SLEEPS A wish, a yearning sigh Uncaptured by the sculptor s art And only born to die!" She sobbed ; he felt her hot tears fall, But ere he could embrace The vision in his loving arms, She vanished from the place: Yet turned, and showed once more her charms, The smile upon her face. Up rose the poet with new zeal, New purpose in his eyes. No dreamer, now, upon his knees; But running for a prize! Yet ever, as her hand he d seize, The vision onward flies! And evermore the pleading look, The tear-dimmed April smile, Impelled him on o er life s rough ways; Or mountain or defile. So, eager, scorning human praise, He pressed on, mile by mile. At length the path abruptly ceased ; Foot-sore and weary grown, Where at its edge Death s river flows, [52] THE CITY SLEEPS He fell with dying moan. Beyond, the lovely vision rose, And knew him as her own! And lo! across the sombre waves Straight to his side she sped, And she, for whom he d done his best, But who had ever fled, Now on her fair, soft, heaving breast, With tears, had laid his head His head, now moist with dews of death; While on his brow she wound The leaves of laurel and of bay, And with her arms around Him thus, though dead, he lay A Poet Victor-Crowned, [53] THE CITY SLEEPS GRANDMOTHER S BALL DRESS Touch it with dainty fingers, lift it with loving care; Shake out the soft folds gently fearing the lace may tear. Long has it slept forgotten grandmother s party dress, Dreaming of balls and weddings, dreaming her old success. Notice the flowers embroidered over the thin white skirt; Somebody s hands were tireless, somebody s eyes were hurt. Short is the waist a hand s breadth, yet it is figured too. How many stopped to notice, grandfather, say, did you? Grandfather does not answer, portraits must silent be. But surely the dress remembers whether twas that night he Danced with the girl who wore it, whispered his love and heard Just a faint breath in answer, wonderful little word ! [54] THE CITY SLEEPS Look, even now this whisper flutters the film of lace? Sees it in us the sequel to grandfather s earnest face? That is too much to ask it; what can a wee dress know Save that a sweet girl wore it, once in the long ago? Beautiful brown haired maiden, plenty of beaux around Trying to win her favors, desperate when she frowned ; Beautiful eyes that sparkled, heart that was ever warm, That is the way it knewher,boundtoher tall,slight form. Prithee, sweet Juliana, weren t you a little vain Under the lamps aswinging, so many beaux in train, (Splitting your dances bravely, smoothing your dainty gown, Knowing that it was pretty,) even with beaux cast down? Grandmother s grandchild wears it. Some one has asked a dance. He is an old beau s grandson, seeking the beau s lost chance. After the dance is granted Ah, the old dress will dream Still of sweet Juliana, still of an old love dream. [55] THE CITY SLEEPS A BALLAD OF THE SEA "Fair West wind when you leave me, Blowing over the sea, Sing him my song of evening, Bid him Good Night for me; "Tell him I held you an instant Tight in my loving arms, Gave you a kiss, insistent, Though you defied my charms; "Fill out his sails then, dear one, With soft breath calm the sea, Whisper my prayers and fearing He ll know that you came from me." II Swiftly seaward sped the love fraught breeze, Fast and faster still it blew, Till the great blue waves were white with foam Where its flying feet broke through. [56] THE CITY SLEEPS And the vessel bearing the dear one Scudded swift before the gale, With its decks all cleared for solemn rites, And the wind behind its sail. But the captain ordered, all sails down And the wind no longer blew It had caught the ship, and calmed the sea, And had other work to do. And the captain ordered, Hands on deck/ And the anchor dropped at eve. So the anchor dropped at set of sun, When the stars its watch relieve. Like a phantom ship the vessel lay In the quiet, twilight sea; And the stars bent low o er sailless yards Which the waves rocked dreamily. At the starboard rail the sailors met And the captain said a prayer, For the dear one s form was cold and still Though the wind still tossed its hair ; And they let him down with sailor s tears, For the sea s the sailors grave, But the wind still moaned or whispered low Love thoughts to the shrouding wave. [57] THE CITY SLEEPS THE FIELDS OF FLANDERS The long straight fields of Flanders Are white no more with grain; We are sowing them with crosses And tears fall as the rain. Though laborers are many, The crops too slow mature, For the harvest sought in Flanders Is peace that shall endure. We sow the fields with crosses Each cross a resting place Where God s peace touches Flanders To fill a little space. Those spots of growing number, All wet with women s tears, Must bring at last from Flanders The harvest of the years. [58] THE CITY SLEEPS THE DANUBE Far up in the Schwartz-wald region, A white cloud kissed the earth; And the tears it shed at parting, To a pure, clear stream, gave birth. The hills were all grim and solemn, The rustling trees too proud To notice the little streamlet, Born of a weeping cloud. But thoughtless it flowed on, laughing; The pain which gave it birth Had made it, by Love s own magic, A river of ceaseless mirth. Until, where the green fields broaden, The stream more placid grows; And seeking the blue sky s image, You see where the Danube flows. [59] THE CITY SLEEPS RIVERSIDE DRIVE River mists and skies of blue, Distant hills of changing hue, Whiffs of salt, a square rigged sail, Craft that leave in smoke a trail; Splendid city, mighty stream, Morning walks that seem a dream Where a snowy, sculptured mass Whispers "Courage" as you pass. [60] THE CITY SLEEPS THE SKY-SCRAPER Massive and gaunt, A thing to haunt One s dreams on a restless night, Your walls tower high To scrape the sky And steal from the street its light. Shadowy, grim, A peril dim That shuts out the stars and sun, You cast a shade To make afraid Behold, what a deed we ve done! Yet you belong, So bold and strong, To things that must stir the heart. Your walls arise To touch the skies Sprung up from the busy mart. In you I see The bold, the free, The courage to spread the wing. [61] THE CITY SLEEPS So they aspire With souls afire Who scorn to the earth to cling. Then bid me rise To storm the skies, Progressing from mart to star ; From gloomy ways My head to raise Like yours, where the calm lights are. And give me might To face the night Or breast the relentless storm, As calm as you, As patient, true Unshaken, with heart as warm. [62] THE CITY SLEEPS THE UPLAND MEADOW With canter, gallop, and head-toss we plunge through the sunbathed air The scent of grass in our nostrils, the wind at play in our hair. The clouds are dancing before us, the shadows chase o er the plain, Then on, and up to the corner, and back to the fence again ! With canter, gallop, and head-toss, in proof that the day is ours, We kick up the dust behind us, we stop and pluck at the flowers. We look far down to the valley and sigh for folk who must work Then on a race to the corner, and back, with the stop a jerk! Or limbs grown tired in the gallop, we browse where the clover grows; We steep ourselves in its sweetness, in beauty take our repose. [63] THE CITY SLEEPS The crack of whip and the sharp command bridle, check, and rein Are far away. We are masters now. Ah, what a life to gain! They can t know life who just labor, ne er shaking the traces free Nor reaching upland meadows, with broader vision to see How cramped the shadowy valley where the roads are narrow, while here There s all the pasture to run in, where sun and the stars are near. Then on, and up to the corner, and back to the fence again! The clouds are dancing before us, the shadows are in the plain! With canter, gallop, and head-toss we plunge through the sunbathed air, The scent of grass in the nostrils, behind us a kick for care! [64] THE CITY SLEEPS HYMN FOR CHILDREN S DAY Jesus, loving Jesus, Children come to Thee Marching and singing, Lovingly bringing Flowers gay to see. Jesus, loving Jesus, Children come to Thee. Jesus, loving Jesus, All the world s in flower. June is at brightest, Hearts are at lightest Bless this happy hour. Jesus, loving Jesus, Children come to Thee. Jesus, loving Jesus, Though we re weak and frail, Round us is Thine arm Guarding us from harm Thou wilt never fail, Jesus, loving Jesus, When we come to Thee. [65] THE CITY SLEEPS THE BIG TREE IN MUIR WOODS, CALIFORNIA Straight, out of the shadow, rises round, brown arm to Thee, Strong, lithe and up-straining, expressing the heart of a tree. High, far in the sun-light, Thy smile on the up turned head, God, hear prayer from the forest and song from the canon bed. [60] THE CITY SLEEPS SUNRISE The sun arose in his glory, Majestic, and grand, and slow The king of earth and the heavens Looked down on the earth below. About him clouds in attendance, Awaiting their king s command, Arrayed in scarlet and purple, With lances of gold in hand. A mist arose from the valley As smoke from the victims slain On Nature s numberless altars For her lord and his mighty train. The trees bent their heads in silence, The wind blew a trumpet blast, And heralds, riding white horses, Sped over the heavens fast. The sun had come in his glory, And Nature was all aglow As king of earth and the heavens He gazed on the world below. [67] THE CITY SLEEPS PERFECT LOVE Look into my eyes, my Love, and say good-bye. Love is not love, save as it hath made us strong To meet stern duties that remorseless throng For doing. Some may fail, but you and I Should be invincible, to live or die; To wage firm battle against sin and wrong; To wait that s hardest, dear, however long For joys withheld, and God to answer why; To say good-bye, if we must parted be. Had we but half loved, then we might complain For parting were murdered possibility. But loving, Love, so perfectly, We dare to smile at parting s pain. [68] THE CITY SLEEPS WINNIE DAVIS Under the Stars and Stripes, How still she lies; How pale the sunny face, Death-closed the eyes. Outside, a people mourn, Gray coats and blue; Bands play a solemn dirge; Tears all unbidden surge In eyes still true. Under the Stars and Stripes, As a lily fair, There lies a girlish form What else lies there? Hush! For "The Lost Cause" she Stood brave and true. Faithful her woman s heart; Love filled, from hate apart, Off, caps of blue! Half-mast the Stars and Stripes Over a girl! Stilled are triumphal shouts; Old flags we furl, [69] THE CITY SLEEPS Warm hearts beat sadly neath Gray coats and Blue. "Our daughter," say the Gray; "Yours and ours; One to-day," Whisper the Blue. [70] THE CITY SLEEPS THE WALTZ Oh, sparkling eyes of beauty Where love gleams shyly through ; Oh, snowy throats fair rounded, By glistening jewels surrounded, And then by soft lace bounded, I yield myself to you ! Oh, flowers on warm breasts dying, You thrill me with your scent I The music, swift entrancing; The lights the scene enhancing ; And Strength with Beauty dancing In love s abandonment Oh, yielding forms of beauty, Oh, feet that spurn the floor - While grace each move s adorning, Who cares for Time s cruel warning? Let s dance on till the morning - Dance on, and round once more ! [71] THE CITY SLEEPS A RAG BAG A little bit of silk and a tiny bit of lace, Some calico, some linen, a veil that touched her face ; And here s a piece of ruffle that might have clasped her throat That beautiful, that tender, that snowy little throat! Last winter at a party she wore a gown of this; I told her that I loved her and slyly stole a kiss. The roses on her bosom weren t half as fair as she When in that gown of pure white silk she said she cared for me. The flowers were all about her, the music sounded low, The dancing was half over, we thought we ought to go, But I oh, well, no matter! I ll keep the piece of silk. It knows the whole sweet story that dainty piece of silk. This lace, ah, sad remembrance ! We d had a lover s fight. She said it all was over I stayed awake all night. [72] THE CITY SLEEPS But next day, when I saw her, I claimed that I had slept Until that tear-bathed bit of lace told me that she had wept. And so the lacen fragment we ll put away, my dear. That calico, you re holding, an apron was last year, And round her waist she tightly would draw its lucky strings, - Oh yes, I want to save it among the other things. The linen, well, that linen perhaps is from the case Which held the downy pillow, which held her sleep ing face; And then the veil which touched lips where only love has pressed, Why, take the veil and linen and put them with the rest! You think I m foolish, do you, and you d exchange for tin Romantic little fragments I wrap my mem ry in? Ah, well, she smiles more wisely, for she knows one who knows A bride who s unromantic, but keeps last winter s rose I [73] THE CITY SLEEPS THE TIRELESS SENTINEL 1 A tree had grown in the neglected moat of the old, walled, French town." "Ho! outpost, what are the tidings? What see you on the plain? From the moat run dry Shout back the cry ! Is t fight or fly - Can we make stand again?" The outpost stooping and straining, Peers far across the plain. "I see outspread A million head In lines,". he said - "A field of golden grain." "Look, outpost, see those campfires Far scattered o er the plain!" "I ve missed no light. The stars to-night Are wondrous bright They gleam above the grain." [74] THE CITY SLEEPS But, outpost, what those footfalls? Who marches in the plain?" "I hear," he said, "A stealthy tread" - He bowed his head "Love walks where men were slain." Then, outpost, why yet stand guard; Your patience, what, denotes?" "With carried arm To still alarm, For none shall harm Where poplars watch in moats." 175 [ THE CITY SLEEPS WHEN PHYLLIS IS IN TOWN When Phyllis is in town the city is no longer aus tere 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 char iots 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 cor ner, and whether, most tantalizing secret, she be in the crowd before you or behind you! Because she may be anywhere, her presence pervades the city. When Phyllis is in town, the windows of the florists tug at heart-strings and at purse strings; the confectioners tempting trays plead sweetly for the little mouth; the windows of the milliners un- accustomedly attract, 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 thump ing of the heart, what furtive glances, lest Phyllis [76] THE CITY SLEEPS be somewhere looking! 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 telephone, 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, 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 picture-gallery. It never rains that you do not have a vision of tight curls, a halo of unbrella, 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 summer gown that tantalize and fasci nate by their unsteadiness. And when the snow flies and the wind blows cold, two eyes peer laugh ingly 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! [77] THE CITY SLEEPS GOING AWAY There are few cities in this country where there are as many literary clubs, or as much literary and social discussion as in Hartford, Conn. The result is easy to see. For a small city Hartford has fur nished us with a surprisingly large number of litter- ati, and famous lawyers and clergymen. In one of the clubs the subject of discussion say s the Courant, was "The Curse." One, who was fond of gardening and reading the Bible, said it was weeds and thistles, another more original and very serious, said, "It is going away." This was the first thing that the angel with the sword told Adam and Eve to do, and it has been going on ever since. Just as we begin to find what Eden is and what sort of trees grow in it, there comes a two edged sword, and away we have to go. There is a great deal of truth in this, but more, prob ably, for some temperaments than others. Some people seem never so happy as when they are going away, but most of us have more of the vegetable in us. We have only to be in one place for a little while to become attached to it to feel our affection, like tendrils, winding about its persons and places and binding us to them with cords of friendships and love. The breaking away seems hard and cruel, the roots [78] THE CITY SLEEPS that are holding us tightly must be cut off sharp, and the tendrils, be they ever so gently untwisted, will still hang in rings that, alas, are empty. Nor is the suffering selfish, only ; we must break or untwist the tendrils that others have wound about us, and how ever charming and attractive the new places prove, there will still be spots in our being which the new cords do not touch; and our own affections will find, always, something in the new that differs from the old we had learned to love. There are times, of course, when going away is a relief. The gambler, who went to a Sunday School picnic when he thought he was going to a prize fight, was so glad to get back that he was glad he went; but even in his case the joy of the second departure was due to the misery of the first. We Americans are called nomadic, but most of us always turn up again, at the old stand, and ready to sing, with all our hearts, our national "Home Sweet Home." [79] THE CITY SLEEPS THE REPLY (Maud S. to Nancy Hanks) Dear Nancy, I ve received your note, And Nan, it really made me titter ! You felt so gleeful when you wrote You never guessed the pill was bitter At least to Sunol. I, of course, Know envy s far beneath a horse. Yes Nancy Hanks, you re very fast; But ah, Maud S. was once a hummer! I don t think Nancy, if you da st You could your record smash this summer, As I did in a season dear, And four times five times very near ! Old horses, like old ladies, find Their former conquest quite diverting, My "wild oats" your s may prove that kind All blossomed laurels; but no more reverting! A "bud," you may think Maud S. slow, But money s made the old mare go! I only meant to show in this That though I follow where you re going, [80] THE CITY SLEEPS You cannot call me "sulky," miss, Although I am tired with your blowing. Goodbye then, dear, you lead the race, 2.07 s the record 2.08 my pace! 2.08, three-quarters, how men stared! They even said, "Twas Maud S. taught her," When little boys your time compared - You claimed 2.07-^? Best wishes, Nan. You ve earned my laud, In haste, your fast and close, friend, Maud. [81] THE CITY SLEEPS PREMEDITATED SUICIDE I ask a glass of water or of claret or of beer ; I go to kiss a pretty maid; she turns away with fear. I eat some lemon-jelly that s been standing on the sill, And they tell me all are loaded that they re warranted to kill. I put a pencil to my lips ; I gulp down pounds of air ; I visit all the cattle at the Wayback county fair. I buy a paper of a boy and handle dollar bills, And they tell me every one of these has that on it which kills. I m not much up in science, but I know a thing or two; I know that if I do not eat or drink or kiss a few Of those fashionable dreaded germs I certainly will die, For I d have to give up breathing to escape the bacilli. Bacteria, bacteria! I m not afraid of you. The world will roll around the sun for all that you can do; [82] THE CITY SLEEPS So on dollars and on papers and on kisses and on food Just hand me common bacilli I m not a science dude. And what s the use of living if you cannot eat or drink; If pretty girls and dollar bills, and even printer s ink And county fairs and pencils are only other terms For the rapid-transit system of the scientific germs? THE CITY SLEEPS KISSING Why is kissing so pleasant? Kesmack, kesmack! One gives away something - And gets it back! He purses his lips, She shuts her eyes, He presents their tips - To her great surprise! And then, in a moment, it s done - Or, rather, it s just begun. Kesmack, kesmack! There s never a lack Of reasons why kissing is pleasant. And kissing ought to be pleasant Kesmack, kesmack! There are certain nerves to be tickled (And tickled back!) The nerves of the jaws, The lips and teeth, If touching, cause - So pedants teach - Electrical currents that thrill, [84] THE CITY SLEEPS Whatever or not the will. So smack! kesmack! There can t be a lack Of reasons why kissing is pleasant. [85] THE CITY SLEEPS AUTUMN DAYS AND DAWN We have been having some perfect autumn days, the slow and tender beginning of the postlude of the year, the rest between the fruitage and dissolution, the tranquil twilight before the winter darkness drives away the summer light. And while these slow days fade, and the glory of the foliage falls, and the night draws closer to the morning, until the autumn sunshine gleams like a tinted, wavering opal caught in sombre setting, we enthuse about the beauty of the sunset; the softness of the color so magically painted by the autumn haze. But one should see the rarer, softer loveliness of the dawning ! It is easy enough to see it now, and many have to, for as late as 6 o clock it is at the full tide. The glow begins so mildly, in power and dominion rises so tran quilly over the eastern sky, that gentleness more than irresistibleness seems its dominant quality. The little suggestion of color, the soft diffusion of the light, which is not yet a glow, the warming of the sky, are like the gentle crescendo of music. And as it rises the dominant chord appears, and thrills, and leads at last! It is not Aurora driving her chariot over the sky, but the dream of Aurora; and suddenly the dream, ever more vivid and lovely, [86] THE CITY SLEEPS is realized. Then the last of the stars fade away, that beautiful gentle morning star that had shone in the East like the gleaming tip of a spear, born by a martial herald of day! There is a promise fulfilled, a new life begun. [87] THE CITY SLEEPS ALUMNI AND COMMENCEMENT A college commencement is the meeting time on common ground of old and new alumni. Graduates of many years standing, veterans in many a battle of life, gainers and losers of youths ideals, here meet and alike extend the hand of fellowship and sympathy to the confident young men and women who have still so much to learn. Is it altogether just and wisest, then, that the younger graduates should do the talking? Theirs be the flowers, the diplomas, and medals; theirs to a slight extent the chance to show high ideals, to express high courage, and thought, and purpose; but more of the speaking should be from the victors in life s race, from those of the alumni whose fine deeds have raised high their own name and that of the college. Let theirs be the glory on commencement day. The college that gives them degrees of honor has not done all that it might. Let it ask them to speak to the young grad uates and to their brother alumni on a question of the day, let it stimulate them to the best expression of their highest thought. More than half the pride of an institution, the glamor that it has for the young, is iii the prominence of this and that alumnus. The names of such are inspiring to every student, their 188] THE CITY SLEEPS careers a recommendation of the college. While they live they have the power, by throwing heart and soul into a ringing address, to create real intellec tual enthusiasm among faculty, graduates, and un dergraduates that shall redound to their own fame, to the honor of the college and to the betterment of the world. Broader and stronger than that of the speech of ever so bright a senior must be the influence of their addresses; for he who sees an ideal has something to dream of, he who wills to gain it some thing to whisper; but he who has attained what youth dreamt and manhood willed should be asked to cry out his victory, to point the way with its pit falls and aids to those who struggle in weariness, and to those others so full of hope but whose journey is only begun. Then we should see what a college education can do for a man ; commencements would gain a popular interest; the young graduates would enter the contest of life with a better understanding of the fierceness of the struggle and the grandeur of victory; while, above all, the stimulus of the college to fine deeds and finer endeavor would extend be yond the college halls, beyond the beginning of the new life to which commencement is the portal. The last lesson would be the most helpful and the grandest in the college course. [89] THE CITY SLEEPS THE LOOK OF LOVE You ask me the color of her eyes, But though I often gaze I cannot tell. For whether joy and love and sweet surprise, Trembling there in maiden shyness dwell, Is the matter I most prize. You ask me if she be dark or fair, If she be tall or short, and what the tint Of her long, waving silken, sun-kissed hair; And though I look and, looking, know no stint, I have to say I do not care. For would I love her less if she were dead? Yet then I should not see her veiled eyes And all the color from her pale cheeks fled Would leave me not the beauty. Nor where lies Her still form would love s dreams be led. I still should love her, and in thought I d see Not eyes of blue nor curling hair of gold, Nor estimate her height; but, calling me With some loved name, I d hear her, and behold Her as she still is untold ! [90] THE CITY SLEEPS HER OPAL RING Like my lady s self is her opal ring, Reautiful and rare, bright and glittering. Brilliant as a jewel caught in golden band, (Like the opal s self on her snowy hand), Flashing as a star in a summer sky, Gleam my lady s eyes, when th are others by. Like my lady s self is her opal ring, Beautiful and fair, mildly glittering. Soft as eyes that gaze into eyes that love, Tender as the glow of setting sun above. Lovely as a rose dying on the heart Is my lady s glance all the world apart. Like my lady s self is her opal ring, Beautiful and rare, coldly glittering, Changing as the waves on a sea of blue, As a cloudy sky where the moon shines through, Yet, in every light, mid each changing tone, There still shines one ray born for me alone ! THE CITY SLEEPS TO MY LOVE Softly retreating the shadows, Chasing each other at will, Flee from the stab of the moonbeam Playing on casement and sill. Silently fly, Oh, ye shadows! Silently dance, Oh, ye beams! There a fair maiden is sleeping, There my beloved one dreams. Gently the breezes are blowing, Bending the trees as they pass. Softly the dew, in descending, Kisses the flowers and the grass. Silently fall, Oh, ye dew drops! Silently blow, gentle breeze ! There a fair maiden is sleeping - Quietly bend, oh, ye trees! [92] THE CITY SLEEPS A LUNAR TELEPHONE The lamps of heaven are lighted, The pale moon smiles above - She smiles at me waking, watching She smiles at my sleeping love. Oh moon ! you know not your fortune, Or how could you scorn the treat Of seeing my love, forever, Of giving her kisses sweet? You kiss her cheek, and care not, You stroke her pretty hand - Oh moon! you are cold and heartless. But why don t you understand? Perhaps you do, for you send me For wires, some silvery beams. Through which my love I ll whisper For you to repeat in dreams. ]93] THE CITY SLEEPS MY CASTLE I own a most beautiful castle, But its only a castle in Spain." Its walls are all ivied and hoary, And every stone has its story. A tale of my ancestors glory, In my beautiful "castle in Spain." I walk in the park of my castle, My mystic old "castle in Spain" I walk with a girl tall and slender, I whisper my sentiments tender And bid her at once to surrender, Which she does in my "castle in Spain." But here in my newspaper office, So far from my "castle in Spain." I find a great change in condition, I m oppressed with a vague intuition That perhaps it was all just a vision, And I ll ne er see my castle again. [94] THE CITY SLEEPS WITH SOME ROSES Oh, ye dainty, pretty rosebuds, Tinted with a sunset glow, As if Nature s blushes, captured, Lingered ere you let them go. How I envy you your fortune! Would that I were one of you! Just to feel her love around me, Then to die, as you will do. Rocked to sleep, as she will rock you With the motion of her breast; Kissed by all her gentle breathings, Thus to leave all love s unrest. [95] THE CITY SLEEPS THE NEW YEAR When, with thought of the passing old year and the entrance of the new, we shout "The king is dead; long live the king!" do we realize with what accu racy we speak? For the fact is, the calendar is our master, is the tyrant of the age. Fortunately, it is never passionate. We speak of time flying; but we know that it is not true. Leaf by leaf, steadily, quietly, never faster, never slower, the calendar marks the passage of the days. One may have had a very happy year; but one cannot say that the ty rant has been kind. He has been pitiless, merciless. The day we dreaded has come as surely and relent lessly as the day we longed for. Stern, unyielding, unsympathetic, our tyrant careless of good and ill, of joy and sorrow, of press of work or idleness has been unmoved by any wish, and has ruled us with a tyrant s rod. The tyrant has, however, been abso lutely just. Every day we looked for has come around, has come and gone precisely on scheduled time; and if we have not done all we meant to do on some occasion, it has not been from any deviation of the calendar from the precise programme outlined twelve long months ago. We have wished that the days and nights would hurry sometimes, we have [96] THE CITY SLEEPS longed to detain them; but our tyrant never yields. Hung on the wall, standing on the desk, disguised in satins and silks, adorned with painted flowers, or in the guise of well-known men or women we its min ions, the clocks and watches its police the calendar has been the tyrant of the age. With so many the new year calendar is a Christ mas present, that the sense of strangeness and the novelty have quite worn off by New Year s day, and so transition from the old year to the new is made with little shock or sense of wonderment. But whenever the new year calendar is taken for the first time in one s hands, it is with a very natural and fit ting if somewhat shamefacedly brief and hidden mingling of curiosity and dread. Who has not, idly turning the pages, wondered which are the days that are destined to stand out in memory; which is to be the happiest and which the saddest day of the year; and what is to be the particular nature of its joy or grief? A yellow journal of New York which is to say one seeking popularity very desperately has offered a prize to the reader who shall most accu rately forecast the most notable events of 1898. The circumstance is evidence of how general is a secret wonderment regarding what the opening year may have in store for individual and the world, what se crets are enfolded in the calendar s non-committal [97] THE CITY SLEEPS leaves, what will be our verdict when all its history is written, when the year s work is done. Some there are, curiously turning the calendar leaves, who pause all unconscious on a day that they will never see. But no warning is written on the page, no hint that there the calendar stops for them. [981 THE CITY SLEEPS SUNSET The sun had just set and all the western sky was aglow with yellow that shaded into orange. There was not a cloud to be seen, except far away to the north, where a thin gray film hung, like the blown away veil of a Quakeress. Overhead the brilliant western gold, speaking of glorious promise, faded by infinitely fine degrees into a soft and deepening blue ; and just in the midst of her dreamy sea the white moon rode, sedate and silent, with a single golden star, that might have dropped overboard, from her possible cargo of jewels. The air was still, clear, and cool, and in the quieter streets the snow glistened in the moonlight, just as it does in mid-winter. The night, too, was glorious, fulfilling in its peaceful serenity the promise of the evening. [99] THE CITY SLEEPS IDOL REPAIRING A China correspondent writes to the Independent of the itinerant idol repairers of the East. These men, journeying from temple to temple in the rural districts, repair the shrunken forms, broken legs and arms, worn whiskers, and cracked heads of the Chinese idols. The worshippers take the need of repairs on the part of their gods as a matter of course, and doubtless are filled with new zeal and devotion when the itinerant mender completes his labors. Usually the cost is met by one afflicted with an evil spirit, who thinks thus to rid himself of the unwel come guest. What a blessing it would be if we could have idol repairers! What vast sums would gladly be paid the man who could set up again our fallen gods, who could give them the strength and beauty that they had when new ! Rut we are more exacting than simple John Chinaman. We are not content that our deities should wear out, however hard we use them; and once worn their divinity is gone for ever. How many times an idol slips and falls. It is not seriously, permanently, hurt. The Chinaman would mend the broken leg and set it up again, but we lose hope and faith. A single slip destroys divin ity, and henceforth we are unhappy believing that [100] THE CITY SLEEPS our idols have proved false. We should be happier in the long run if we did not expect in our gods more than flesh and blood can give; if we admitted the human tendency to error; and granted that, for all the slips, the heart might still be good, just as the scent is unharmed by crushing the flower, and the divinity of the Chinese idol undestroyed by its broken form. But while faith lasted it would be less high and pure, and it is something, though we end on earth together, to have been the one nearest heaven. [101] THE CITY SLEEPS VACATIONS The Buffalo "Express" says: "Have an aim in your vacation," and there are no better words to say at a better time. There is nothing quite so dreary as a purposeless vacation, nothing so tiring as a loll. When you are at your desk, with a pile of work before you so high that you can hardly see the green fields, or hear the noise of the surf, or smell the pine woods, that all lie beyond ; it seems to you that a rest would be an ideal vacation. But unless you really are sick you will be happier for something to do. It does not make much difference what you do. Very likely your daily work does not shake the earth; but even if it does, the earth doesn t expect you to shake it with no intermission, and you are quite free to do as you please on a vacation. And then, as the "Express" says, "The man who climbs a mountain for the mere sake of getting to the top, may not thereby offer anything to science or philan thropy; but the chances are that in his own stimu lated mental and physical condition he has done something toward the betterment of the human average." It sounds far-fetched perhaps, but any philosopher will say it is true. And of course that settles the matter. So, when you go off on your [102] THE CITY SLEEPS vacation, have an object in view. Collect rocks or mosquitoes, ride a bicycle somewhere, fish as though you had to feed an army on a Friday, or walk and climb. Very likely the reason that Youth so prizes its vacation as compared with Age, is that Youth lets its energy drive it to something, while Age is lazy. One is tempted to think that the young people who work so hard for their fun, have, after all, the true secret of resting. [103] THE CITY SLEEPS SUMMER AND LAZINESS With the coming of real summer a spirit of laziness comes over one. The Sandman of childhood, who used to go about throwing grains of sleepiness into our eyes, is a greater if less mysterious monster now. His breath is the soft South wind ; his costume includes a broad brimmed hat, tan shoes, and an outing suit. He catches us in his hammock net, and his destroying weapon alas ! is a novel. His method of procedure is interesting. It consists largely in a disintegration of society. All winter we have had a pride in keeping busy, do-nothingness has been a horror to us; society has forbidden us to "laze" in the evenings, organized clubs have re quired our unremitting attention, subscription- papers have kept us busy earning the money that we felt it a duty to subscribe. No grass has grown under our feet. If we had a spare hour in the day some of us devoted it to self improvement, and the rest of us to the improvement of others. It depends upon your character whether you adopt humility and aspiration as your leisure hour virtues, or whether you choose to pose as a philanthropist, a patriot, and a charity worker. Somebody has said that all the world s best work is done in its leisure [104] THE CITY SLEEPS hours. We don t quite think that, because we think that the necessary work is truly the best, but we do think that a great deal of the culture, polish, and comfort of the world is the result of its leisure hours. And now, suddenly, society falls apart. The warm sun comes, and lo! The clubs are disbanded, the subscription papers cease going round, the evenings are free, and the various integral parts of that great machine that has kept you jumping all winter are shipped to the seaside, the mountains, the lakes, - anywhere, that isn t at home. Some of them find in the summer places enough of the missing pieces to make a new machine, but those who stay at home, or go into the solitudes suddenly find themselves with many leisure hours. The improvement craze is over, though. The leisure time is only negatively improved in the mental rest and the building up of vigor for the winter. We Americans live so hard during nine or ten months of the year that the holi day season should be more strictly observed here than anywhere else and we are not sure that it isn t, though there is still some room for improve ment. [105] THE CITY SLEEPS PATHS (FOOTPRINTS) We city folk cannot see much of the poet-sung trails of the wood and paths of the country, but on a snowy winter s evening, or in the morning, we can successfully study the paths of a busy people. It is an interesting subject and well worth while, if it happens you never before have thought of it. If soon enough after the storm you may see even the footprints of the pioneer; and with that and the character of the trail to aid you, why shouldn t you form most accurate theories, compose little stories founded on indisputable facts? If there is any doubt you can follow the steps until they turn in somewhere or are lost in a better beaten track. Perhaps two pairs of shoes have left a mark, and you can use your detective qualities in deciding whether they went together, whether one was a woman s and one a man s ; whether they ever paused, and if so, why? Oh, you can have a beautiful time if there are the impressions of two kinds of shoes, pointed in the same direction 1 If they go in oppo site ways it is interesting to look for the point where they passed, and when you get to it you will have to decide whether the owners stopped and spoke. And all the time, as you discover with great surprise [106] THE CITY SLEEPS when you turn, you have been making a path your self! It does a fellow good, at such a time to stand on the step and look back at the path he has made. He ll find his sins, his indecision, his dreaminess, his possible toeing-in; all plainly written behind him. [107J THE CITY SLEEPS TREES AND SPRING FOLIAGE A child walking in a forest is quoted as saying: "Do the trees admire each other s new clothes?" It is an essentially poetic notion, and recalls Macau- lay s dictum that one must be a child before one can be a poet. Only, nowadays, if the poet really meant it, and felt the answer to his question, he might not ask it; and if he did ask it one would suspect him of posing. There is that in the attitude of the freshly clothed trees that is marvelously life like. Doubtless everyone has enough of the poet in him to notice it, only most of us are too sophisticated to let ourselves dwell on the thought. We hear them rustle with half whispered pleasure, we see them wave their branches as though trying the effect of light and shade on different parts, we see their tall heads bend this way and that in gracious admiration, and we notice that the cherry tree no sooner dons its fair spring bonnet than the peach, the apple, and the pear tree follow, each making a slight departure, with a little more pink or a little more white, from the admired bonnet of its neighbor, and yet keeping so near it as to be unmistakably in the fashion. There is a little criticism noAV and then, we suppose; and quite an unmistakable effort on [108] THE CITY SLEEPS the part of the maples, the birches, and the chest nuts to outdo one another; but on the whole the feeling seems to be one of joy, and the early spring a sort of gala occasion. The same thing could be noticed no doubt, and perhaps to greater extent, among the wild flowers, had we city folk half the chance. It is the first of "The Season" for all vege tation, and it isn t until midsummer that the belles of the field and the wood begin to look jaded and worn, and the fine gowns a bit rusty from use. The ardor of the lover-sun has then become wearisome, and the distant admiration of night s cool stars is welcomed. [109] THE CITY SLEEPS THE PEN Oh, cherish the ink-covered pen, And think of the women and men Whose fortunes its made or undone, Whose hearts it has broken or won - That little obedient pen, That steel little ink-covered pen! 1110] THE CITY SLEEPS THE MAID OF THE MIST Born at the fall of the waters, Where the great pure stream descends To a wild embrace, with a laughing face And a love that naught transcends; Born where the river had fallen, Where it lies in weary sleep, And where Death s hands rest on its placid breast And no cry comes out the deep ; Sprung from the tears of the river, Where the dead and living kissed, She at love s own sign, like a thing divine, Has aris n the Maid of Mist! Mutely appealing, in anguish She is waving sinuous arms. While her garments white, as they flutter light, Only half conceal her charms. [ill] THE CITY SLEEPS THE WIND ON THE PRAIRIE I hear a distant warwhoop, The rush of stealthy feet; I feel the breath of runners Of runners who are fleet. I d fain escape, but strong arms Are clutching from behind The spirits of dead Indians Are riding on the wind. [112] THE CITY SLEEPS STARS Oh beautiful stars of the heavens So peaceful and calm in your home, Like jewels on the Infinite bosom Ye glimmer, the lights of our dome! Ye count not the miles in the ether; Ye know not the struggles below Our sorrows, contentions, and strivings; Forever untroubled ye glow! So silent, so steadfast, unchanging! The same God whose power ye declare, "Directeth our paths" through the shadows, Our loved ones are safe in His care. And thus, gentle watchers of ev ning, While lovers and loved share thy light They feel that the same God is o er them The same stars are bidden: "Good Night!" [113] THE CITY SLEEPS THE FOUR WINDS The East From out of the glorious East, From skies that are crimson and gold, From the beautiful gates of the great unknown Where the morning sun in its splendor shone, Thou ridest, oh breath of the East, The symbol of birth, behold! The North With shout and the roar of the gale Thou travellest down from the North Thoughts of tempest and storm in thy throbbing brain, Prizes thou by night and by force must gain, To battle thou journey est forth, Oh, symbol of strength, prevail ! [114] THE CITY SLEEPS The South But thou from the South hath stolen, With whispers of love and wine. Ah, the light that gleams in a maiden s eyes Has been fanned to flame by thy languorous sighs,- By thee, from the Southland stolen, Oh symbol of youth divine ! The West Then over the fields of the West, Advancing as grain stalks bend, Where the ling ring sun with its blushes red Throws a last long kiss ere the day is dead, Thou comest to tell of final rest Of strife and of love at end. [115] THE CITY SLEEPS OCTOBER-WALKING, SUNSETS, AND DEATH What weather for walking is that of these bright October days! And how few persons really walk in them ! All sorts of athletic exercises are the fash ion now; all sorts of new, strange, and unnatural modes, while the good old-fashioned one of walking is quite overlooked or ignored. In the city the cars take one anywhere, so swiftly and smoothly, that we think we have no time to walk; and in the coun try it is so much easier to hitch up," that almost everybody rides a mile instead of walking it. But there is nothing after all quite as good as a walk, as a careless, easy stride for a few miles in the city or the country; when one can fill one s lungs with the brac ing summer air, and feast one s eyes on the gorgeous coloring of the trees and twilight skies. It is the time that comes but now and then to all of us, when man and nature are brought face to face, when the divine in man recognizes the divinity of nature, and he feels his soul expanded and uplifted, while all the petty cares of life flow fast away, and death itself life s hardest trial because it is life s antithesis seems as beautiful, calm, and natural as the coming of night, starry and mysterious, after the heat of day. [116] THE CITY SLEEPS And the new world, the new life, which the dying enters, seems to lie just beyond that glorious, golden portal of the west unruffled, unlimited, and where there is no darkness in the night. [117] THE CITY SLEEPS HOPE AND THE NEW YEAR In a New Year s editorial the Philadelphia Press says: "The world expects every man and woman to make a success of his or her life. Failure is not hoped for." Undoubtedly this is true. Just a moment s thought will show it, and yet most of us go through life on a different plan. In fighting and struggling for success one imagines that he is fighting all the rest of the world, and that he is his own only ally. This is very flattering to himself, for in reality he is fighting no one but himself, and the world merely looks on in a friendly sort of way, not, as a whole, particularly interested until one side or the other seems pretty sure to win; but ready to cry "bravo" whenever a good stroke is made, or to point the finger of scorn when a blow is clumsily dodged. Of course the world has its favorites, but favoritism never yet won a genuine battle, and it would be absurd to imagine that there is not room for twice as many successes as there now are. Prob ably the thing that makes New Year s day pleasanter than the last day of the old year, is the element of hope. The year that is past has nothing but experi ence; the year to come has nothing but hope; and [118] THE CITY SLEEPS there never yet was a man who did not prefer an ex pectation to a reality. Realities always have their drawbacks. When we hope for a thing we omit the disagreeable features and looking into the new year we hope nothing but success; while, looking back on the old, we see ever so many failures. It may be added, too, that every one lives in the future. The present is just as hard a thing to dis cover, as the scientists atom, for the instant you find it, it is past. You can t think quick enough to catch it before it is gone; and the past, which is history, has always been a "grind" as compared with the possible future. [119] THE CITY SLEEPS SUMMER AND AUTUMN There is little evidence yet in nature, to the un trained eye, that summer is passing; though here and there in the country a red glow on exposed branches of the maple, or on the climbing woodbine, is like a promise of autumnal fires; and the longer evenings, bringing more and more of day time into shadow, whisper that summer nights are gone. Without violence or jar the change steals upon us, and where fair Summer stood and smiled we soon shall find the darker Autumn. Though Summer will still linger a while. There is just the suggestion now of Autumn s coming, the beginning of anticipa tion, the knowledge that hot days are numbered, that four weeks at most will bring us Autumn. Yet Summer still is fair and strong, still wears a gown of unfaded verdure, yet will show youth s ardor ere she steals away. Her kisses now are of farewell, how ever, as sweet, as long, impulsive as before, and yet farewell. The harvests tell that summer s work is nearly over, and when the page of August is torn from the calendar we know that a turning point of the year has come. We shall not see the transforma tion, but before September leaves us Summer will have fled. There are four corners in the year. [120] THE CITY SLEEPS] Three of them are curved, so that you may not know just when you turn them only when the calendar first reads "April," first reads "June," first reads "September," you know that there has been a mighty change. From December into January the turn is sharp. [1211 THE CITY SLEEPS OCTOBER One of the most beautiful months of the year is drawing to its close. There would be no object in telling the number of days on which the sun has shone, in computing the unusually high mean tem perature, or the absence of storms, of gales, or of sudden and violent changes in temperature. We are aware of it all, and look back on the vanishing month as one in which Nature has been almost perfect in our sight. Her work of the year was over, the winter snows had been melted, the tender flowers of spring had been carefully nurtured, the trees had put forth their fresh green leaves, the fields had waved with ripening grain, and the delicate blossoms of May had ripened into the luscious fruits of September. There was little more to be done. Like a painter whose picture was nearly finished Nature has lingered over the finishing touches, has put in the last rich tints, the last flakes of light and the last lines of shade. Her magic wand with which for six months she has made the earth bring forth food, and serve purposes of utility in which beauty should be only secondary, has this month touched the fields and woodlands with lovelier purpose, and bade them don their gayest colors, for the work of the year is done. The maples [122] THE CITY SLEEPS have wrapped themselves in gold, the sumach in streamers of red. The soft maples have blushed at the farewell kiss of the dying fall, or caught, in their leaves, the red glow of the summer sun. The oaks, their foliage green and bright as in early June, have bordered the edge of their leaves with crimson, and the country stands still and breathless in her gay attire. But now white Death is coming, and his cold breath, and the whir of his flying garments, will announce that beautiful Nature is dead. Then the gay robes will be put aside, the leaves will fall from the trees; and meadow, field, and woodland will cry, "Let me die, too." And they will die, and the heavens will spread a white pall over the stricken earth ; which time will change to the birth-robes of a new born year. [123] THE CITY SLEEPS EASTER AND CHRISTMAS Easter and Christmas are the two great days of the Christian year, the two most broadly observed, and into whose observance Christendom most throws its heart and loving spirit. Their commemoration has increased of late, as religion has swung back from the stern plainness of Puritanism. And as signal fires once traveled swiftly, striding giant-like from hill to hill, so now the advancing sun of Easter morn and Christmas is accompanied by a wave of song, of anthem and of carol, that belts the earth with gladness as the sun has belted it with the light of the gala, holy day. But in the observance of Easter and of Christmas, one notices a wide differ ence of tendency. Christmas is, and always has been, more secularized. No doubt something of this is due to the circumstance that Easter must always fall on Sunday. But more, we believe, is in the spirit of the day. The central figure of religion s Christ mas is a Mother with new born Child, divine indeed and beautiful, but not beyond the power of man to image. The central figure of the Easter is a risen Lord, death vanquished in such a way as only faith can see. Joy goes naturally with the thought of birth, tears with the thought of death, solemn and [124] THE CITY SLEEPS awful mystery that a symbol still more wondrous turns at Eastertide to holy gladness. There is no temptation in the true spirit of Easter to feast and make merry. Love that laughed at Christmas smiles now, with trust, through tears. One gets the difference even in the Biblical account, where the birth is heralded as "tidings of great joy;" and the resurrection with the words, all comforting, all pity ing, "Woman, why weepest thou?" The difference in the popular celebration of Christ mas and of Easter is of beautiful significance. In the churches the difference is more in thought than expression. On both occasions the joyousness of the music is the main feature, and as far as the sound goes there is not so very much difference. But in the popular celebration of the day there is a very sharp distinction between the joyous faith of Easter and the secularized delight of "Merry Christmas." The difference in the feeling regarding the two days here finds untrammelled expression; and the world that would mix hanging stockings, a fabled, jolly, toymaker saint, mince pies, and plum pudding with the sweet Christmas story; mingles with its Easter feeling nothing foreign to the wonder of the miracle itself; and recognizes, with a true and beautiful intuition, that only God s own flowers, the purity of the lilies especially, can express the solemn, the beau- [125] THE CITY SLEEPS tiful, mysterious gladness of that day. Over the Cross the flowers are wound, into memorial wreaths, or gathered in beautiful offerings. Nor at the church alone, but by individual to individual they are given, carrying that direct, comforting, wonderful, question that for hundreds of years has stilled the twanging chords of breaking hearts, or touched them into har mony with the triumphant song of her love. They are a recognition by the world, which is prone to magnify its own capacity, that for once nothing of its own make or planning is fair enough and pure enough to express its feelings, in the holy joy of Easter. [126] THE CITY SLEEPS LONGEVITY, AGE AND DEATH There can be no doubt that the interest in long evity is very great and general, but it is equally clear that the interest is not in old age, per se; but in the postponement of dying. Nobody wants to be old; but perpetual youth is not to be found, and so the only alternative is death. Between death and age the world grabs with pitiful eagerness at feeble and tottering years of deafness and blindness not from love, but from fear of the unknown. It faces weak ness, sorrow, loneliness, and misunderstanding; it chooses an easy chair and a broken tea-cup, when it might be "sitting on a cloud a-singing," where sor row and tears will be no morel The real secret of living, then, is dying. Teach us not to keep a feeble soul and a feeble body together by some pitifully fragile thread, that the smallest excitement or activ ity will sever; but teach us to die calmly, bravely, and gladly when life s best days are over; to take the step without dread or fear that leads from the youth that is passing to the youth immortal. That will be a lesson well worth learning, well worth teaching. It will exalt humanity by breaking down the barrier that those who cling to terrestrial life would put between it and eternity. Which is most [127] THE CITY SLEEPS inspiring, most ennobling, in which is the secret of life best solved, in the career of the dame who lived to be a hundred-and-ten, and was able to smoke a pipe of tobacco every morning and to be wheeled out of doors for a half-hour until she was 105, bur dening her great-great-grandchildren; or in the career of the young woman, or man, cut off in the prime of life, in the rush of activities, and laid to rest by weeping friends to be thought of forever as loving, unselfish, and busy? Which of these survives long est in the thought of the world? Let us learn, then, to die ; the lesson will surely be needed ; and if we live, let us live as well as we can, without fear of shortening our career, for the dying day is bound to come, and, whatever the tombstone says, one lives in deeds and in love, not years. [128] THE CITY SLEEPS TOMBS Ah, why are we so slow to learn the lesson that there is but one tomb which is truly noble, but one mausoleum that time does not corrode? We see again and again among our contemporaries and in history that only he is great in death who is great in glorious memory; that love is purer than alabaster, more lasting than granite, more precious than jewels. We who would raise a beautiful sepulcher for our selves should raise it in fine deeds, fine thoughts, and fine words; and then no spire of stone will rise so high as the inspiration of the memory we leave; no masses at high altar make so powerful a benediction as the tears of those who mourn. A little of nature s greensward then, a bit of "God s acre," where the flowers may bloom above us, is resting place noble enough for the noblest, if their memory but abide with the living ! That spot may well be more conse crated than all the dusty tombs with broken nose and fingered effigies that fill the royal chapels of Westminster. [129] RETURN TO the circulation desk of any University of California Library or to the NORTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY Bldg. 400, Richmond Field Station University of California Richmond, CA 94804-4698 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 2-month loans may be renewed by calling (510)642-6753 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing books to NRLF Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days prior to due date DUE AS STAMPED BELOW AUG191995 20,000 (4/94)