The Sunday herald and weekly national intelligencer., 1891-07-05
NEW YORK SMALL TALK.
PASSING GLIMPsEs OF LIFE IN THE
METROPOLIS.
City SWANS and Lasses Who Make Love
in Public Places-Journafs and Jour
nalists, and Some other People, with
Little Visit to "a Big Bridge.
Correspondence of THE SUNDAY HERALD.

Correspondence of THE SUNDAY HERALD
New YORK, July 3.-If anybody iii this city
sees anything they want they run for it, If any
one has anything good they hang on to it, and
among the so-caled middle classes-who by
the way, are at present receiving considerable
attention from the press In general, not be-
cause they exactly are looked upon as merit
ing said attention, but because they comprise
comparatively unworked field-among these
classes love seems to rule supreme. In the
elevated railway car, in the parks, in highway
and byway, In the precinct of General Grants
tomb and on the benches surrounding the
tomb Of the infant unknown who died in ''the
fifth year Of his age" long, long years ago; on
the bridge crossing Harlem river, on the
Brooklyn Brdge-in fact, everywhere one
looks one sees these victims of Cupid's bow
and shaft
##a.
On the elevated car tonight l saw touch
inginstauce of cruelty on the part of woman
There was party of us, and we all watched
with interest, desiring to view the end of the
little drama. Her bored and martyred air dur
ing the long and undoubtedly howery
speeches OF Harry was proof of her being a
veteran in the arena of love.
He grew eloquent, and as he developed in
eloquence, he drew nearer, in truly 'sBarkis
is willin" style He almost laid his picturesque
face against her, so wrapt was he in vocifera-
ting over and over, that he truly loved; she
was evidently convinced he was fake. She
felt that he meant we'll but did not know his
own soul.
Mayhap her early affections had been
blghted; but her six feet two inch height
seemed proof Of heart large enough to stand
semi-annual blight. and still put out more
leaves
R,,+
back against the seat, his vocabulary used up,
ditto his breath, she still sat calmly looking
far beyond him.
He was pulling himself together prepara-
tory to beginning anew, when our station was
reached and we were obliged to leave without
beholding the finale.
But alas, she was only one woman; down
along the river they are not so cynical-so
cold There we saw them with slyly clasped
hands walking dreamily to and fro. On
bench we heheld great strapping fellow with
his arm about the neck of the woman who
shared the seat with him.
His obese countenance was reflected in
sort of electric-light smile of complacency
and childish JOY, as, from time to time, he
contemplated, with silent rapture, the ungainly
and red face of his lovey-dovey at his side; and
we reminded ourselves of the old time-time
song.
"What are the wild waves saying love?''
One of our party suggested the probability of
the waves, were they able to artculate, voic-
ing the vulgar parlance: "Get up, you FOOLS
you make me tired" But we silenced him by
mentioning the name of one Sara, who had
been the cause Of n sudden influx into his once
guileless and unsuspicious heart, of cynical
doubts and aversions to the divine passion
known as love.
#%a
In every station of the elevated way, is
pasted large placards calling attention to
Rudyard Kipling's, latest story 'sThe Finest
Story in the World, . that appeared last Sunday
in the World. Mr.. Kipling sailed for Lon
don in the Aller a week ago Saturday
leaving his story behind him. Mr.. Frank
Munsey has ridden himself of the Continent,
and is very glad to be free of such cumber-
some piece of property. He now treads the
streets of New York with bouyant step, and
feels as II an entire hemisphere had been roll
ed from his weary shoulders.
w.
Mr. Blakely Hall, editor of Truth, is a
great man-from standpoint of avolrdupois
his hair is black, and he parts it in the middle
exactly. Mr.. McVickar is associate editor; he
is out in the country recuperating That story
he had in Truth of week ago should ne
cessitate whole summers vacation 1t was
stated to me on good authority that he him
self considered 1t very fine piece of work
But writers are generally so void of conceit.
and so given to undertaking their own work
(heaven help them), that hardly think this
charge against Mr.. McVickar can be substan-
tiated. Mr.. Potts, the business manager, is
quite youthful in appearance. He has pale
hair; and has miscalculated in regard to the
Importance of his present position, to a great
extent; ia conversation it is easy to detect the
fact that, 81 am Potts, business manager of
Irath!"
Well, what If you are, old man!
A greater contrast we could hardly imagine
than in Hall, the editor, big, black, and mas
siye, and Potts, the manager, small, inflated,
and pale-haired.
W.
1t is rumored that Bill Nye has given an
order to a well-known hairdresser in the city
for wig, leaving the style and cut of his
head adornment TO the barber. The truth of
this statement cannot, however, vouch for.
a#ss
Some evenings ago party Of us went up to
Washington Bridge, that crosses the Harlem
River We were in a most facetious humor.
Our promenade through the portion of the
city known as GoatVille, and our contempla-
ton of the diminutiye and dirtily picturesque
abodes'of some Of the "squatters,n which, in