Los Angeles herald., 1892-12-08
EAVESDROPPINGS.

winter day like that, anywhere but in
Los Angeles, would have been deemed
something supernatural, but here it was
taken as matter Of course. l was out
on high ridge back of Redondo in the
afternoon. and it seemed to me that the
fresh-eprouting grass had given to the
whole face tf nature new garb. Even
the sterile peaks CT the Sierra MadIe
seemed to have changed from somoer
russet shade to an indescribable hue
that was neither purple nor brown. To
the westward Catalina lowered into the
zenith and the bay before me was as
blue as baby's eye. The man who
could not admire the environs of Los
Angeles that day, had certainly no eye
for the beautiful.
#*y
The McCook- -Craighead wedding was
the social event OF the week, indeed, OF
the entire season. The dailies have
given the details OF the wedding with
more than usual accuracy, but w0r1
or two row may not be amiss. The
bride and her bridesmaids were dressed
in such exquisite taste-she in plain
white silk and they in plain Fare Fran
Gals, with pale blne ribbons-that 1T
seemed pleasing contrast to some OF
the modern fashionable weddings | have
witnessed. AT this late day good breed
ing revolts at anything verging toward
garishness and in this respect, the
great Redondo bridal was something
just to my liking.
The bride was soldiers daughter, :,
and | have always had Il secret admira-
tion for the men OF the sword, although
l have no real knowledge of their knight
ly vocation. Some people have fashion
OF addressing letters to me with the
title of colonel" prefxed and l can
assure them il is excessively annoying,
for don't suppose there is man in
America less conversant with military
matters than myself. hardly know q
mitrailleuse from a magazine rifle, but
for all that II dote on the military" like
the grande duchess de Gerolstein. Did
you ever read what poor Adam Lindsay
Gordon wrote about the Light Brigade
at Balaklava, where he says:
"Did they quail, these steeds of the squadron
Did they finch at the canons roar,
When they burst on the gu"s.o of the Muscovite
By the echOing slack seas shore?
Where mortars below and round shot whiz,
And broadswords are flashing bare
God send me an ending as fair as his
Who died in his stirrups there"
x*x
Some of the pleasantest acquaintances
1 have ever had were men who wore the
blue-and few who had worn the gray.
70 the latter belong Col. Will Effinger,
Gen. w. H. Jackson, Maj. Gen. Joe
Johnston and Capt. jeff Howell OF the
Shenandoah. To the former belonged
Gems. w. T. Sherman, W. S. Hancock,
Joseph Hooker, Phil Sheridan and Col.
Morrow, now gone into the holy silence
that surrounds "the bivouac of the
dead" There are periods in the life of
ID nation when factions speak louder
than words;" and while the world will
not long recall what others have said, it
can not forget what they did.
The Mexican war was but pageant
for the Anglo-Saxon descendants who
for the first time in the history of Amer
lea waved the sword to strike down 8
Latin foe. was but child when they
were talking about "a little more grape,
Captain Bragg" and read about
Worth towering like new Marlborough
above the smoky apotheosis of Cerio
Gordo. And we'll do l remember the
song of Buena Vista, about Santa Ana
running off in such hurry as TO leave
his wooden leg behind him in his car
riage, as well as the unfinished dinner.
But the war of the great rebellion was
someting different. Americans were
fighting Americans that time, and God
forbid that they ever ehould fight again,
except with foreign foe. With the
smoke of Antietam swept away the flag
OF Fort McHenry floats aloft, prouder
and more beautiful than ever.
The sword that at Lookout Mountain flashed
Is now to a powshire beaten:
And they've furiei forever the bullet-torn flag
That waved DER the smoke of Antietam.
And the voice of the silent zero, Grant,
Unto countless ages shall ring:
Take home your cavalry horses, Lee,
TO plow the land i'll the spring."
We honor the brave and the noble dead
But our nation loves them the best;
For Clusters name and sheridans fame
Shall live when we've sunk to rest.
Pour out the wine. so our flag and land
Well drink-snd who shall blame us?
Though our saddles may rot and our rides be
forgot,
"Dum yiv4mus, vivamus!"
x**
1t seems to me that, although we are
said (by people abroad) to be city
of real-estate agents, we boast the larg-
est etage-struck element of population
of any city in the whole western portion
of America. Within the past five
months an opera troupe whose stage
setting and ensemble was far in advance
of anything previously given here,
by Carlton, Emma Juch or even Gels
finger (Which is saying good deaD,
played to one paying house in seven
performances. Whole rows of seats
were vacant at the excellent rendition