G3piglrtN"__/52ZL CiffiflRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE CITY SLEEPS THE CITY SLEEPS By CHARLES MULFORD ROBINSON u Author of "Modern Civic Art" "Rochester Ways" "The Improvement of Towns and Cities" etc. etc. THE CORNHILL COMPANY BOSTON -pS^^ K- Copyright 1920 by The Cornhill Company m\ -7 1321 §)Ci.A6l4360 r Selections from the writings of Charles Mulford Robinson presented in loving memory by his wife Eliza T. E. P. Robinson 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 32 Lullaby . 34 Christmas Hymn 36 Sunday School Christmas Song .... 37 Easter Carol 39 Traveling 40 Street Car Horse . 42 Lent 44 New Year's Resolutions 46 New Year's 47 Christmas 48 Class Day Poem 50 [ix] THE CITY SLEEPS Grandmother's Ball Dress 54 A Ballad of the Sea 5Q 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 Muir Woods, California 66 Sun Rise 67 Perfect Love 68 Winnie Davis 69 The Waltz 71 ARag-Bag 72 The Tireless Sentinel 74 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 [xi] 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! [4] THE CITY SLEEPS SED MINISTRARE i 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 lihes' 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 rnHHv hiip nr farlinxy hlnsli 3 seximg sun stm guas or paints, With ruddy hue or fading blush, he earth's last point — what spire of saints, THE CITY SLEEPS Or tower of king, or dome, it touch — So, with Uke 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 suif '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 I 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 history'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 shadl 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: XXYI, 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." fill 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, hke 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 leaify 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 hght 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 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.'* [141 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 BriUiant noon to follow morn. Soft the pillows, Snowy billows. Where he Kes, 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 I Hail him, crown him. Naught shall down him. Here's to New Year! Joy to you I [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 wsJls 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 — caie 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 hng'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 bay! [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! [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 Ught. 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! Welcome love! welcome love! Hail to immortal love! ChoTUS 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! 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 vioHn to her hps 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- doU 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 Httle." 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 Croesus, 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 youVe 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, d£irling, your beauty is external too. The Httle gold threads that figure your gown. Your straight little back and yom* little gold crown Are ravishing, deeir; 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 I [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. [SO] 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 Kttle 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 tenpermy; 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. [33] THE CITY SLEEPS LULLABY 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 hm*ries along, And it covers the Uttle 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! 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 Httle 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 I 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 Uttle 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 I White clad Easter lilies whisper Glorious hopes the angels gave: Trusting wholly, fear defying, Love Uves 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 I [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 beU, 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 hfe ; the stampede for honor, riches, and position; is sHghtly lessened. The momentum of the year's tmrmoil, 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 shps without serious jar. SeK-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 J 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 hngers each evening a Httle 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 his 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 tumbhng 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 bKss 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 tumbhng into the arc of promise! It is a weird, strange race, and httle 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 upHfted 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 mom^nfully. 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 I He listened, kneeling, at her feet: And thus the vision cried : *Tn 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 feill, 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, hft 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 httle word I [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,slightform. 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, de£ir one, With soft breath calm the sea, Whisper my prayers and feeiring — 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 maike 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 ding. Then bid me rise To storm the skies, Progressing from mart to steir; 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. 165 THE CITY SLEEPS THE BIG TREE IN MUIR WOODS, CALIFORNIA Straight, out of the shadow, rises round, brown arm to Thee, Strong, Hthe and up-straining, expressing the heart of a tree. High, fgir in the sun-hght, Thy smile on the up- turned head, God, hear prayer from the forest and song from the canon bed. [66] 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 hve 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 miu'dered possibihty. 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 aU unbidden surge In eyes still true. Under the Stars and Stripes, As a lily fair. There lies a girlish form — What else Hes there? HushI For "The Lost Cause'' she Stood brave and true. Faithful her woman's heart; Love filled, from hate apart, — Off, caps of blue I Half-mast the Stars and Stripes Over a girl! Stilled are triiunphal 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! 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 aU about her, the music sounded low. The dancing was half over, we thought we ought to go, But I — oh, weU, no matter! I'U 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 aU 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 Knen 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 '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 I Is't fight or fly — Can we make stand again?" The outpost stooping and straining, Peers far across the plain. "I see outspread A miUion 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." [75 [ THE CITY SLEEPS WHEN PHYLLIS IS IN TOWN When PhyUis 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 PhylUs 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 miUiners 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 I 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 Phylhs, what has she to pray for if it be not to intercede for you I 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 hterary 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 says 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, fike 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 piU 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" — youur'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 I 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->