Northern Ohio journal. [volume] (Painesville, Ohio) 1872-1896, 1873-06-28

night brings. wander in the normally
busiest parts of the city Oh Saturday
night. In the hushed Inns of court, on
whose pavement chance football echoes,
whilst drowsy Slaundresses'' lounge
like lazy ghosts in the ever-deepening
dusk, only here and there can be seen,
high up in the tall Indian-inky buildings
a patch of yellow light. Some belated
lawyer sits within the heavy window
frame, still poring over books and briefs,
or MSS. and proofs. But rs the clocks
chime and strike nearer and nearer to
Midnight, work for the week at last is
laid aside; and, perhaps, the voluntary
slave sits musing idly half an hour.
What has his labor brought him? Was
it worth while to become a thing of
parchment, pounce, red tape, sharp
practice, and polished periods? Is his
life, the life he dreamed of on long by
gone Saturday nights? Is it possible
that he ever looked forward to going to
church with his mother as a treat? Was
he not better then than now. Such
thoughts may be stirring, like unwonted
sap, in the dried up jurisconsult. A
great many persons are far more 'ssenti-
mental" than they get credit for being,
or would like to be thought.
The banks and offices are silent as
sealed supulchres, the red-columnded,
plate-glassed palaces, the long lines of
pretentious chambers, ascending story
above story, as if at last they would fain
turn the stars into coin; the colonies of
officers in cloisters, as to speak; the
streets of private houses turned into Of
fees the warrens of offices in old man.
sions, come of them almost hidden in
dim courts, or blinking with fflmy eyes
out of blind alleys. The great ware
houses might be barren cliffs, were it
not for the scents of hidden wool and
leather, drugs and goods. they breathe
forth. They are left to the care of a few
housekeepers, and tall, broad. gloomy
garbed policemen, who go about trying
doors and windows, or standing notion
less sentry beside the corner-posts of the
narrow city streets like ebony statues.
Syncope has suspended the marvellous
systOl and diastole which send commerce
in and out between the city and the
whole world. Tomorrow no postmen
will go about the streets, and the mouths
of the boxes at the receiving houses will
be gagged with zinc. Except few jew
ellers, still displaying their stock, for
safety's sake, though barred glass,
and few cheap tailors, still
fast-shuttered, and the deserted. public
they should still keep awake.
Ifit be SAID that such things may be
noted on any week night in the part of
the city L have described, it may be an
swered that they are seen far earlier and
more completely on Saturday night :;
and on no other week night-no no
other night-are the streets of the
core of the city so deserted. In one the
| f1remen on duty seem to be the only in
ha5itants left alive; in many, one may
wander without encountering any kind
of life save, maybe. an unwonteG light
in an old church waking up from it's Still
| semi-somnolent once-a-week conscious
ness, now that the hubbub has ceased in
| the midst of which it mods six days out
| of the seven.
In another respect Saturday night in
| the city differs from all other nights
| there; the daily newspaper offices are
dark, their rumble has eased.-they are
almost as deserted as on other weel
nights are the city churches. Overhead
and beneath ones feet electric, it maybe
electrifying, news is passing; but so fal
as the daily papers are concerned, it mus
keep till Monday.
Even the barges between the city
bridges seem to know that they will no
be moved from their moorings on th'
morrow. They grind drowsily agains
the deserted dwarfs, whilst the blacl
river, lit with down-striking, trembling
CLEANS from bridge and shore ceaselessl,
-ebbs or flows, as if its ebb or flood wer
nothing to them in their peaceful dreams
ST. Paul's may be crowded Tomorrow
night. but it lifts its cross over Londoi
that has gone to spend its Sunday in til
suburbs, at the seaside, in the sum,
hush of the country which ripened th
hay and straw with which some of thos
dreaming barges are laden. Very vari
ously will the sunday be spent. but tina
"the Sabbath was made for man" ma
be seen by any one who chances to be il
the city, and has leisure to look abot
him on Monday morning, when tn
working bees swarm back to their fol
) saken hive.
Leaving to others the part of pointin
out the holier beauty of the Sabbath
l will content myself with saying that
can see that their day of rest has don
, these tailors and moilers good physically
. mentally, morally. Up from and dow
from railways, out of and down fror
omnibuses and tramcars-erammed in
= side like fig-drums, bristling outsid
: with passengeIs like a porcupine wit
quills-throng young men and maiden.
+ middle-aged men, even disappointed oil
; men with the future, but ttimineund
: da capo of the past before them, all has
, , ening to their ''daily drag in thei
q q dark city dens with a briskness of bod
q and mind, and a CHEEKY willingness
laugh at transient annoyance, and sa
= 'fine day" to everybody, which contras
> strangely with the languor and captior
peevishness to be noted in the san
. class of passeng gers, whether going c
coming, when the week has reached i
J, ''dead level.''
1t is my impression that without a d;
) of rest the best of men would becon
e either sulky OF a savage bear.-7He d,
$ Rest
y Two thirds ofmen's generosity is VIII
spills over the cup. When they fill
e full for themselves, they say, "You ma
have the drippings," Then they sa