The New York herald. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1840-1920, 1873-09-07
the Closing Days OF tho vienns
Exhibition.

Our German letter from the Austrian
metropolis, published in these columns to-
day, unrolls another picture OF that grand
panorama of nations and their industry
which, like gigantic magnet, drew Tor was
meant to draw the precious bearers OF pre-
cious metals from all quarters of the globe to
the banks of the proverbially beautiful and
blue Danube. But, alas the crowned heads.
its foremost attraction the innate delight OF
the loyal Old and the acquired taste Of the I'M
sophisticated, admiring New World, are gone.
The observers eye, no longer dazzled with
imperial halo, with royal purple and princely
diadems, now ventures q searching glance
over the long row of nations constituting the
Worlds Fair. And strange things, forsooth,
come to light. The Drowned subjects of the
Ruler of Rulers, whom only Rothschild is
audacious enough not to be acquainted with,
owe their rich hues to the moderate sun Of
Hungary ana Bohemia only, but never yet
bestrode the peaceful camel, painting
under vertical rays in the romantic
deserts of Central Asia. The aquiline
noses and sparkling, jet black eyes that
had seemed to indicate the genuine TREVOR
shipper, dwindle down into unmistakable
signs Of Mosaic origin, and, instead of the
Orient's fowery phrases, Austrian traders
slang, interspersed with the time-honored
idiom of the Old Testament, greeted the. ear
of the only monarch whose name if nothing
else is truth-the Shah. The turbaned in
fidel finds his alter ego happily initiated in
faithful Catholic Tyrolese, whose muscular
calves obstinately refuse the true Constantine
politan bend, even on the softest pillow, and
who in vain apply powerful lungs to the fra
grant chibouque. No longer can the fierce
aborigine of our Plains boast of his bronze, the
only safe passport to the happy hunting
grounds nature has given him, and which
civilization bestows upon the noses only Of
her favorites for Ethiopian blood, aided by
a judicious application of the tar brush (Which
makes savages also among us), has effectually
superseded this original beauty. The romantic
wigwam, so dear to all youthful admirers of
Cooper, is no more. Instead of the slain foes
bloody scalp there dangle from its walls the
greasy hats Of jolly topers; the gay priestesa
VI ObmUIAuuS uuo GAuAAPAAoAoAJ oonOA eAA0
place of the pensive squaw drying her iege
lords buffalo loins the hellish warwhoop has
died out amid the cheerful 'prosT' Of
revealing bacchants, and merry drinking songs
apologize for the expiring enemy's death
groan and the CHASTITY gore of single combat
has fed before deluge of fluids shed in null
titudnous contest But the worst is yet to
come. The pioneer Of Western progress, the
American barkeeper, despairingly sees in his
commanding place, behind the handicapped
black walnut q dull and long-whiskered
cousin from across the Channel imposing
sham cobblers and mock juleps upon sporadic
and unappreciative greenhorns
Such is the degeneration of this our boasted
age of enlightenment and progress Such ara
the fruits of our so-called civilization Sure
enough, if old Cicero could this day breathe the
close air of that much-admired rotunda, his
immortal lips would open in silent wonder,
but only close again after laundering another
o tempOrd, 0 mOres!