Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1909-12-04

of being ignored.
time he experienced the poignant hui
initiation of being ignored. And when
he tried to reduce this brilliant, swiftly
changing, ice cold city to n formula he
failed utterly. Poet though he was, 1t
offered him no color no SMILES, no
points of comparison, no flaw In Its
polished facets, no handle by which he
could hold 1t up and view it's shape and
structure, as he Familiarity and often
contemptuously had done with other
towns. The houses were interminable
rampartS loopholed for defense: the
people were bright but bloodless spec
ters passing In sinister and selfish ar
ray.
The thing that weighed heaviest on
Raggles' soul and clogged his poets
fancy was the spirit of absolute ego
tism that seemed to saturate the peo-
pie as toys are saturated with paint.
Each one that he considered appeared
monster of abominable and inSolent
conceit. Humanity was gone from
them. They were toddling idols of
stone and varnish, worshiping them
selves and greedy for. though oblivious
Of, worship from their fellow craven
images Frozen, cruel, implacable, i'm
pervlous, cut to an Identical pattern,
they hurried on their ways like statues
brought by some miracles to motion,
while soul and feeling lay unaroused
in the reluctant marble.
Gradually Raggles became conscious
Of certain types. One was an elderly
gentleman with a snow white short
beard, pink, unwrinkled face and
stony, sharp blue eyes, attired in the
fashion Of Il gilded youth. who seemed
to personify the City's wealth, ripeness
and frigld unconcern. Another type
was n woman, tall, beautiful, clear as
a steel engraving, gOddess-like, calm,
clothed like the princesses of old, with
eyes as coldly blue as the reflection Of
sunlight on glacier. And another
was n byproduct of this town of mari
onettes-a broad, staggering, grim,
threateningly sedate fellow, with
jowl as large as n harvested wheat
field, the complexion Of baptized In
FAINT and the knuckles of a prize fighter,
This type leaned against cigar signs
and viewed the world with trapped
contumely.
A poet is sensitive creature, and
Raggles soon shrlveled in the bleak
embrace of the undecipherable. The
chill, sphinx-like, ironical, illegible un-
natural, ruthless expression Of the city
left him downcast and bewildered.
Had 1t no heart? Better the wood pile,
the scoding of vinegar faced house
wives at back doors, the kindly spleen
OF bartenders behind provincial free
lunch counters, the amiable turbulence
of rural constables, the kicks, arrests
and happy go-lucky chances of the
other vulgar, loud, crude cities than
this freezing heartlcssness.
Raggles summoned his courage and
sought aims from the populace. In
needing, regardless, they passed on
tify that they were conscious of his
existence. And then he said to himself
that this fair but pitiless city Of Man
haitian was without soul, that Its in
habitants were manikins moved by
wires and springs and that he was
alone In great Wilderness.
Raggles started to cross the street.
There was a blast, roar, kissing
and a crash as something struck him
and hurled him over and over six
yards from where he had been. AS he
was coming down like the stick OF
rocket the earth and all the cities
thereof turned to fractured dream.
Raggles opened his eyes. First an
odor made itself known to him, an
odor of the earliest spring flowers Of
paradise. And then hand soft as
falling petal touched his brow. Bend
ing over him was the woman clothed
like the princess of old, with blue
eyes, now soft and humid with human
sympathy. Under his head on the
pavement were silks and furs. With
Raggles' hat In his hand and with his