New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1895-10-11
OFFICIAL HOLIDAYS ARE WANING.

About this time the plump and pngud fisher
man n Ruzzards Bay reluctantly folds up his
rod and winds the line on It's reel. The sum
NOR DAYS have fled. No longer does the catspaw
wantonly caress the Bay and ftful lightning
initiate upon the outer rim OF things. Blne
fish trout, the meek menhadcn and the bashfui
scud-all these have passed The angie
worm prepares his place OF Information. Inc
crimson Of the Cape Cod nose takes on purplish
huc The woodland aslcs are strcwn with rus
sc leaves. and. far inland, beyond hearing OF the
oceon's sullcn roar, the echoes thrill with memo
rios Of harvest songs The plump and pingud
fisherman breaks into signs. lie reefs the
furniture of summer days and turns his broad
reluctant face TO Washington. His holiday Is
over Now for the stress and turmoil of the
madding crowd, the jealousics of courtiers' the
| Cuckoos futtcring intrigue, the stalwart's i'm
nious doubts. the tcdium of Office and soon "A
congress Oh Ny hands"
one can hardly wonder that Mr.. Cleveiahd
reurns to his duties at the Capital with re-
gret If not with u sense of actual injury. lie
does not relish contact with the multitude. lhe
noise If eager suppliants at the outer door has
| lost the charms Of novelty. There is not reVer-
encc enough in men. Surrounded by the Thur
| world he brcathcs the atmosphere that fits his
luncs. but the rude air that comes win Morgan
IIiu and blackburn makes him pant. He loves
the dim religious light of the sanctuary Ike
hates the rude glare of active life. Incense ana
adulatlon are the meats he feeds upon. Inc
friction Of opinion thns and wears his soul. ii
he could have Congresses made up or pretty Ht'ie
fcathercd things that chirped the hour as ne
| struck II. all would be well. There would not
| be n wrinkle in the rose leaf OF His Majesty
If there were only Grays and Ransoms III the
Senate and If the House were filled with 'iarkes
| and Catchingscs and Isidors. there woulc De no
sorrow in his world But It's not so, ANA there $
the rub. Mr.. Cleveland goes home TO trouble
and horizon of discomfort
ar all Ihe official household that will soon be
| transferred from Buzzard's Bay to Washington
| there is only one who takes his happiness along
with him Thurbcr asks for nothing but the
| Atmosuherc Whether he digs bait in the
| shadow Of the Gray Gables woodshed or swellS
his little chest in the White House antc-room,
Thurbcr asks only that the Consccratcd One be
near. He shrkS no toll. avoids no contumely,
feels no sc0rn or harsh rebuff. provided only he
he within reach of the Presence Rather. far
| rather JoSshouse than feast in the palaces OF
| the ungodly. He cares for nothing-no not he
| EXCEPT the one Being. in the light of whose
greatness his soul expands and his whole nature
| bccomes A strain Of Re Dcum music. Thur
her will travel radiant and happy thing. He
will have no personal cares upon the Journey,
nothing TO do Lut watch the great man with his
shining eyes of reverence and wait upon his
uchtcSt nod. Naugh to him the vulgar crowds
nj stations on the way. the camor of the wheels,
the mcagrc fare The broodng cloud Of labor and
distraction at the end. He will reach Washing
! ton as full Of ecstasy rs he was when he turned
his palpitatng back upon the hallowed Bay.
| His hands will be rough with much digging for
| ancleworms his cheek will bear the brand Of
fcrvcnt suns hui joy win burn in that upliftcd
eve and his whole mdrinf will be given up to
ardor.
| Thurbcr will be happy