The age-herald., 1900-09-15
SKETCHES FROM
 EVERYDAY LIFE

The heart of great city is like the heart of man--it never sleeps Like the heart of woman it is dangerous In the small hours of the night the footfall echoes from the opposite houses, sound starnge to the ear. They are mocking, and seem to mimic you. These echoes tell the thoughts of the passers blythe weary homeward tread the shuffiing gait of the reveller, the stealthy tread of the criminal. Some times the echo of a careless walker is drowned in the rush of many feet, then all is silent. Some one has been sandbag. ged. Then there is a wild babble of thun- derous echoes. A cab is coming down the avenue. Some poor horse is being robbed of his sleep.
 The arc lights glitter at the corners, showing more plainly the intermediate darS.ess. Down in the alleys all things are possible. In the light of the lamps is per- feet safety.
 There Is life and movement all night. Fruit stands, restaurants, depots and hOlCiS diC all Opcll LAS SlISdul Ol tidNcl ebbs and flows never ceasing. Trains rive and depart filled with passengers driven by necessity or lured by pleasure The police docket keeps record of the night. The telegraph never stops-clicking out the news of the past day. The type machines get 1t ready for breakfast The police count the hours and the gamblers count the spots on their cards.
 It is all commonplace, but of interest to each, so long as his footfall echoes.
 It was 1 o'clock at night. The Louisville and Nashville train had just arrived. Most of the passengers had left the train and passed through the gates. The last one came struggling up. He was a good imi- tation of a minstrel, with his cheap band bag, his black face, his excessive white collar, and his general rural air. He look ed as if he had just stepped off the stage. the only defect being that he was too genuine. Half dazed with sleep he slouch- ed up to the gateman.
 What time de Jackson train leave, Boss?"
 Twelve o'clock tomorrow"
 Great Lawd! Whar I gwine ter sleep till den?"
 "I don't know" said the gateman. You can't sleep here anyway. Pass on through"
 He passed-as Beatrice Harriden would say-another ship in the night.
 Pants were advertised in the window at "only $1s9''-the 99 being in very small letters. A brilliant light displayed them to advantage. In parenthesis let it be said, that they are usually trowsers, but under Tba except for two gentlemen of color who stood on the sidewalk lost in contempla- ton of the window.
 Look mighty good from de outside" said one.
 tive tone. What you reckon dat 99 mean?''
 Oats 99 cents," said the first, "one dol- lar and ninety-nine cents"
 Well, femme see. 99 cents-dats one dol lar, and another dollars two dollars. Dem pants cost two dollars. La! dat man most fooled me. I thought dem pants was cheap"
 At Twentieth and Second avenue is a night hawA stand Rivalry in business Is so keen that an unwary wanderer may be hustled into cab and driven off before he knows it. Here to hesitate Is to be lost, and to barley means ultimate sur render. A mere word, or an Inquisitive look is sufficient introduction to the cab men to warrant them in letting loose the flood of opportunities which they know so we'll how to use. The man who halts on this corner does so at the peril of a quarter or half dollar.
 The votaries of certain trades are birds of tlo ing the needless. To speak more correctly. these are the learned professions In the profession of the bootblack, he succeeds by his art, not the art of shining shoes, but the art of getting customers. His study is human weakness and its suscepti- bility. Of the same nature is the persua- siveness of the hackman, the newsboy, the book agent and other professions not usu- ally considered learned
 There is but one way to pass a cab-stand: Look straight ahead, shut both ears and walk fast.
 "Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
 Whether the cup with sweet or bitter run, The wine of life is oozing drop by drop,
 The leaves of life are falling one by one''
 All through the night the clock in the court house tolls for the dying hours. Often a spirit passes away and no other bell Is ever tolled in honor of the dead. These are the unfortunates, for whom no requiem is sung, for whom no one mourns. One recently gone spoke thus:
 T am dying of old age. Yet I am still young. have gone to the 4ogs, and am glad to die. The fear of death is a sign of youth. Death to the young Is the great ter- TOT. There is nothing so fearful, nothing so bad, as not to be preferable to it. Death Is seen in the brilliant light of early days Every feature, every detail of its horrid countenance is distinctly seen. With ad- vancing years, as the light grows dim and the lengthening shadows soften its out lines it is not so terrible. Why was I frightened? Iris but a bug-a-boo of youth "a bogie man. Come on, old fellow-shake