The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1895-11-07

the fading LEAKAGE of trees. How quiet
and restful it all is You feel that you
might indeed learn to love this i'm
mense, strange London.
Boom, boom! Big Ben thunders his
grave, solemn notes across the water.
Boom, boom And on it goes till the
giant bell finishes its task. The hour
has gone into history. An awe is upon
you. How grand are the titan tones 1t
is as if tho soul, the genius of mighty
London arose and cried out stupendous-
Iy.
Upon the benches lovers sit closely to-
gether. They are telling each other
nothing-telling each other everything.
They are Of the slave c1ass-the poor
working Glass whose blood and life have
been given for countless generations to
the rearing up of the magniicence and
stateliness and solidness of this London,
the class that builds so that others may
use. And they come here to make love.
Ab, how grand is Lowell 1t is as sweet to
the poor worker as it is to the idler, the
"aristocrat, Nay, it is sweeter. It is
the magic wand that eases all pain
life's elixir. Romeo with grimy hands
is none the less Romeo. Juliet is Juliet
whether she picks rags or wears a crown.
YOGder IS Westminster abbey. Here
from the bridge you can see its dark,
soft shadows. In it the great men Of
England sleep. Over them it stands
guard, worn by the fret and change of
centuries. Surrounding are the rush and
whirl and roar Of the great city, but it
calmly awaits with its dead while epochs
come and 60. Requiescat in pace!
Plash, plash, plashi 1t is the voice of
the dark old river as trims out to meet
the sea. Oh, how steady and grand it
isl You are filed with a strange calm,
and you think and dream. What secrets
might it tell, this old, old Thames! Of
foreign invaders, of crushing, barbarous
hosts, of the eagles of world conquering
Romans, of pomp and magnifcence of
pageant, of crime, of love, of hate, of
innocent pleasure What an array there
would be if the ghosts of its dead arose !
Oh, have learned to love this river
even if I have not learned to love Lon
don, for its mighty, kindly bosom gives
peace and rest and lasting sleep to the
poor miserables whom the world pushes
from off the plank of life into the I'M
known, the eternal sea.
look through the darkness, and be-
fore my imagination arise the masts of
strange, rude ships On their decks 1 see
throngs of fair haired Danes - fierce
Mortimer, mighty muscled and mighty
thewed, fine barbarians. And hear the
clash of axes. In the air is the shock of
arms. Clouds of British arrows are fly
ing. Blood vets the decks. Men fall
wounded; men fall dying; men fall
Io ci1
torn faces. am thrilled. The flame of
the fighting instinct is kindled within
myself. But 1 look and look, and the
vision fades. Around me is the soft,
clear peace of night, and the Thames is
flowing, flowing to the sea.
The moon is clear and bright, and in
the distance is to be seen the low lying
western arch of Waterloo bridge. 1t is
most beautiful, is this arch. I like SO
much to look at and admire it whenever
approach it. The line of its curve is SO
clear and defined. 1t rests and is CRATE
full to the eye. Often 1 walk along the
embankment here with my friend the
countess. She is divinely tall and fair,
is this countess, and, though from prin-
ciple dislike and assail aristocrats col
lectively, still individually they are
often most charming.
The night before last the countess and
I stood before Cleopatra Needle and
speculated concerning it. How and
when was it built? By what magic had
the great stones been raised and put in
to place and fastened so as to defy the
power of time to loose and crumble
them? What were the men like who had
built it? We're they driven slaves with
great dumb, dark eyes? And what was
this queen, this Cleopatra, like? Surely
woman supple of figure, and great and
luminous of eyes, and subtle under
stander of men, I thought.
BART KENNEDY.