Fort Worth gazette. [volume] (Fort Worth, Tex.) 1891-1898, 1891-09-10

| lLdJ Jile man ) accent MIN is Aulefl-
! can, that was all. ''Of course be went on.
.'you can't engage in any enterprises on q
| grand scale without encountering the win
| dictive hostility Of some unlucky losers or
| jealous rivals, and there are many more UNI
likely ways of gratifying this malice than
| the hiring of ruffians TO iniure or annoy
| one
I This was a Very reasonable guess at q
| solution of the mystery, and after all, I'M
| provoked assaults are common enough even
| in the West End of London. Sir John
| agreed that it would be mistake TO prose
| cute the fellow. so. next morning the charge
was dismissed in the absence of a complain
| ant, Us the prisoners black eye was held to
| be sufficient punishment for resisting the
| police.
Oh. the myriad mysteries Of the stones of
| Old London! We lightly talk of its sights
/ and its shows. We take our euidebook
with us and dutifully do the
! delightful wearisome rounds. We buy
i'll its shops, we promenade in its
parks, we patronize its amusements, and
say our prayers in its holy places, and come
home with u headful of whirling notions of
its over-vastness and confused recOllectiOus
of its superintendent charms. And little
goOd-humored cynicism spices our talk of
its glorious fogs, nutritious smoke, and
SavOry underground railway. For noise,
we can conscientiouSly claim our own New
VI ~ do NlliLI pIOl III ~ silttl
This item of metropolitan noise in some
wise hits of the characteristics of the ma
tions. New York has its fearsome rattle
clatter, sharp, pungcnt nerve-racking, in
ceSsant, typical of the ceaselcss ''hurry-up''
of its folk, in talk and motion. All is
rapid transit movement, anyhow. any
where, accepted as progress" Paris has
its, light, rushing, fitting, skipping, pity
pat noise, as OF a million magpies busy
Sh iffiptr ,1Inp | b1S nj ba,.
another noise-a deep, soft, diapasou, Nj
agara-ike III its immensely and pitch. \
low, mclodiouS roar, the noise of 1.-The roar
ing loom Of time as Lowell once finely
quoted from was ii not Wordsworth,
Noises of the past; great booming echoes of
dead centuries; the wailings of populations
crushed by endless wars, oppressed by
dynaSties of tyrants, crowned and I'M
crowned; smitten to death by plaques;
swept out of life by Ignorance, Pow
erty, evil Fate Great London has gathered
the voices of the peoples in Il thousand
years of matchless history, ana he wh0 lis
tens Alright can hear them all as they 90 up
TO heaven in the mighty volume Of its sun
dImming incense of smoke.
This London is 4 miniature world. 1t is
made up Of representatives, of every nation
atty. is the hive Of every lands industries,
the market-place for every country's pro
ducts. II is the mart where traders from
AL the ends Of The earth transact their bust
ness: the bank to which every nation and
tribe intrust their gains; the parlor, the
pareying- place. the parliament of the
earth, where rulers and subjects, races and
clans leaders and followers, travellers. eX-
plorers, scholars, philosophers, do their
best talking, most of it in the hearing OF
all, at least. who know the English tongue.
the language of the future Tor all
London is more than all this. 1t is the
I r1,-.
Brltains great souls. As the centuries
have cast their hallowing tints of som5cr
gray over her dumbly eloquent stones they
have seen long professions OF sad figures
threading the old, quaint, crooked byways
and highways of gaunt men and
weary women, dropping out from the ranks
here and there from sheer want of the
wherewithal of life. These have been the
forerunners, the seed-sowers, the pioneers
of England's greatness. Singers and
prophets planners and day-dreamerS,
toilers with hand and brain, potential
Caesars and AlfrcdS, Shakespeares and Ark
wrightS and Wattses Wrens, Reynoldses
and WellingtonS. Old England had its
genius breeders long before the lucller
later sons We're born. Not a stone of st.
Pdul's that gl0rities the powers OF its de-
Slgner but Is also, when you rightly look, a
tombstone to the memory of some unknown
toiler, whose brain, heart, muscle or blood
was spent to make that cathedral sublime.
Nor can you pick up page of your Chau-
GERS. ShakeSpeares, Millions, GoldSmithS and
TennysOns but if you scan it close enough
You will find 1t stained with the tears of
countless strugGlerS, who wrought them
selves sore in the cause of mans elevation,
only to earn Z nameleSs grave for them
selves. Pioneers. They sank, but their
bones so enriched the soil that the London
which was a purgatory to them is an elys-
hos. ,T-S-, III,
shades we may see, if we close our eyes ON
inferior sights, the ghosts of the legion of
Greatheal'tS who haunt the old home,
whose coldncSS to them i'll their own day
they have avenged by making it glow with
the glory of their names and works.
This is the browning charm of London.
the unlque-that we lead on ground every |
inch of which has its has its thrilling story
TO tell. Here Shakespeare trod. Here
Niarowe fell. Here Otway died starved. |
Here Carey tainted, foodlesS Here Gold |
smith trailed footSore. hungry. deSpairing |
of fame. Here johnson and Savage |
tramped the street all night with three |
cents between them for coffee at the street !
stall in the early morning. Here gentle |
De Quincy slept on the doorSteps. Hear |
him: so then, Oxford street. stony !
hearted step-mother, thou that listenest to |
the signs of orphans and drinkest the tears |
of children. the time was come, at last. that |
no more SllOulu pace III anguish tiny never |
ending terraces; no more should dream and |
wake in captivity to the pangs of hunger. |
Thou, Oxford street. hast echoed to the |
oroanS Of innumerable hearts" Ave and |
still do thy throbbmg streets. O gOr-
iOus, pitiless London. reverberate with |
the walls Of unsupported thousands, To-
day. this very day, the artist, the poet, the |
scholar the inventor the helpless sons of |
genius may perish, and most literally do
of the heartbreak that is born
Of hunger, in the wilderness of London.
Who cannot readily recall a score of in |
where genius, talent, worth, character, in |
1ustry, patience, failed to win recognition
for the Inflated ones-until the day after
their Ia entdble death!
Such thoughts as these kindled the SYM
pathy of Sir John Tyrwhitt as he parted
from his American friend. Who knows
what romance, what tragedy may not he
behind this abSurd-loohing adventure in
the Malli But, thought he, these Yankees |
are all so confoundediy full of bushes they
have never either the time or inclination to
ponder human nature. except for business
ends. What to Barnaby or his kind is !
iream like this! Sheer waste of time.
They take their romance in doses. at
he theater or in book-form, because it
'omes hot and strong while it lasts, like
he finger" of straight whisky they
yulp down and then take cold water to
leutrallze It inside. Romance in such a
ming as the career of an unsuccessful |
author! Romance in the thought of for
yotten workers who were heroes! What
lext, indeed? As well say the bricks that
lie away down out of sight at the fOunda- !