The San Francisco call., 1898-04-24
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By HENRY JAMES.

s s s 8 s. 8 g 8 8 8 8 s. s 8 ss 8 s voices broke in tears. They sought to | speak a final message to him, and could | only press flower into his hand. They wished him godspeed and could not say it. And yet they had been strangers, moving In different walks of life. At last they stood on a. common plane. The shadow of the stars and stripes was over all; in every mind, one thought. There could not have been a sight more beautiful than the scene on Van Ness avenue as the First filed by. Children were there, thousands of them. They did not laugh as children are wont, but seemed to realize the solemnity of the event. It was not music and brightness wholly. There was an undertOne of sorrow, and the little ones, not able to understand, yet took their tone from it. Along the avenue was double line of color. Ban- ners were waving in countless hands, ribbons decorated the old and young, while flowers were in such profusion that the air was perfume. The infantry approached with steady tramp, tramp, tramp, there was the sound of drums, and over the dual lines of color rolled a wave of life and motion as across field a mimic pillow is driven by the breeze. Even the babes stood on tip toe and trebled their enthusiasm, greet ing the soldiers with smiles, gazing at them, almost wondering and looking after them as long as the troop, like one great living thing. could be seen undulating down the thoroughfare. There was then a mist before more than the eyes of the children. What ever the future may bring to these sol- diers, the memory of their last hours in this city by the western sea must be with them to take from hardship and even from death a measure of bitter ness. From an alien shore 1t must be they will send back to San Francisco kindly thought, for when the people turned out to say to them, God bless you," 1t was more than a farewell; it was benediction and a prayer. So have the boys in blue been treated in every place. If some poet inspired by the spirit of patriotism which possesses this great land were to give form to the sentiments causing the present pulsebeats of emotion he would sing a sweeter and mightier song of war than has ever thrilled the human heart.
 
 It is not a pleasing task to call at tention to a brutal and untimely dis play made recently by the Examiner One night during the week the build ing in which that sheet is fabricated was wreathed in red fire, bombs ex- n1O6P6 from fha tS whizzed into the sky, while a band played lively airs. There was every sign of jubilation. The pretext was that war had become certain. The real reason was that the scarlet woman of Journalism had once more bedecked herself with gauds and obtruded upon decency. As the painted creature of the street thrusts herself into notice, so does her journalistic prototype, each unabashed in the presence of rebuke. The certainty of war is nothing over which to rejoice. War is at best a dread calamity. It means. that men will take up arms and bear them to death. It means suffering, mutilation, broken hearts, sorrows that never heal. It means that homes will be given over to desolation, that poverty will come into the house of plenty. War may be necessary to uphold the national honor but whatever it's cause, and whatever it's outcome, the better na- ture shrinks from it, and pity gives way to tears. Only a heartless and sordid concern, dead to the impulse now stirring the minds of the people, would take advantage of the oppor- tunity to paint it's character red against the black shadow of an ap- preaching tragedy, and with sounding bombs attract notice to it's own degra- dation.
 The hope that the war with Spain will be an incident eliminating in complete surrender of the Dons does not seem to have a foundation so far as lay observers have been able to dis cover. There is no doubt the Spanish are convinced that the only purpose of this country in interfering with Cuba Is to take the island and keep it. It Is natural for them to think it. They are not subject to the same emotions as may arouse civilized people. Their own career has been one of bloody conquest and bloody efforts to retain that which violence had won. They have never acted on a humane im- pulse, never having experienced one. But they will fight as long as they have aught to fight with or for. The Latin temperament does not readily submit. It is the temperament which impels the dying soldier to bite at the heel of the triumphant enemy who steps across him. There seems noth- | ing unreasonable in supposing the Spanish shrewd enough to keep out of the way as long as possible, and while American ships guard Cuban waters