Wheeling register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1878-1935, 1899-05-27
A GHOST or LONG AGO.

There is nothing more interesting
to the traveller than the contemplation
of the ruins of antiquity. 1t affords
a peculiar and subtle pleasure to stand
in silent meditation before the relics of
a past age-to gaze upon the worn
columns of the Parthenon-the crumb-
ing tombs Of the Pharoahs-the ruined
and disappearing temples of Thebes-or
the B. & O. depot on South street.
These masterpieces of a past people
and forgotten age always bear the
chief attractions to the traveller, and
it has been the antiquaries' care and
hope that the vandal hand of progress
will not further wreck and mutilate
these monuments of remote and glori-
Gus age.
Some tourists seek the misty CLAM
our of Egypt and gaze in awe upon the
speechless Sphinx; some wonder in
archaic India. the cradle of the race,
while others. more dream-like, amid
the broken temples of Homeric and
Alexandrine Greece-and others, thou
sands, visit the B. & O. depot on South
street.
Singly, by twos and threes, in
every day Of the year, travellers ap-
proach this gaunt and curious struct-
ure.
Looming upward before them, vague
ly bringing to mind the Alhambra,
minus the moonlight, stands this fad
ing flower of Greco-Moresque archi-
lecture. 1t was the terminal blossom
that grew from the main stem of the
first great trunk line in America. Here
it has stood since the morning of
western commercial enterprise. All its
contemporaries that lourished with it
have passed silently into oblivion. 1t
alone has stood a witness to the mighty
advances of the forces that brought it
into being. 1t has seen the railway
system of this country dart hither and
thither like lightning at play, piercing
kill and mountain crossing river and
valley, weaving a network of glisten-
ing steel across the broad face of the
continent, bringing all points of the
compass in touch and binding ocean
and ocean. In the accomplishment of
this it has witnessed the mileage ex-
pand from less than two thousand to
nearly two hundred thousand miles of
continuous railway. 1t has watched
the Star of Empire rising in the West.
1t has seen colossal cities spring up in
the path of the buffaloes' trail. From
the spot where the smoke curls from
the Indian teepee, it has seen great
railway stations rise, and of such mag
nitude and beauty that this poor struct-
ure here. by comparison, would seem
howell by Solomon's Temple.
All these things, and more, has this
silent structure lived to see. 1t has
seen, from the slow spelled-out system
Of Morse, the flashing and miraculous
growth of multiple biography It has
witnessed the birth of the cable and
the submarine binding of continents
together. Yet it still stands, the most
venerable structure of its kind-the
Methuselah of railway depots.
Generations have passed through its
broad doors in infancy, and the same
generations have again passed through
them in old age. It's worn and ancient
floors have echoed to the travel of
statesmen and legislators, governors
and senators, soldiers and citizens. 1t
was here that Conan Doyle one mid
night scrubbed his autograph and
handed it through the open ticket win
dow to Arthur Little, whom he saw
deeply absorbed in the mysteries of
Sherlock Holmes. It has echoed to the
merry peal Of bridal parties and has