Maryland independent. [volume] (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1874-current, 1909-04-30
The Hotel.



doris. the shining parlors with shin
ing women in them.
The French room. with its gilt and
garlands under plump little tumbling
painted loves.
The Turkish room. with its tumble
Of many carpets and its stifiy squared
un-Turkish chairs.
The English room, all heavy Grim
son and gold. with spreading palms
lifted high in round green tubs.
The electric lights in twos and
threes and hundreds, made into fes-
toons and spirals and arabesques, a
maze and magic Of bright persistent
radiance.
The people sitting in corners by
twos and threes, and cooling together
under the glare
The long rows Of silent people In
chairs, watching with eyes that see
not while the patient band tangles
the air with music.
The bell-hoys marching in with
cards, and shouting names over and
over into ears that do not heed
The stout and gorgeous dowagers
in lacy white and lilac, bedlzened
with many Jewels. with snart little
scarlet or azure hats on their gray
streaked hair.
The business men in trim and spot
less suits. who walk in and out with
eager steps, or sit at the desks and
tables, or watch the shining women.
The telephone girls forever listen
ing to far voices, with the silver band
over their hair and the little black
caps obliterating their ears.
The telegraph tickers sounding
their perpetual chit-ehit-chit from
the uttermost ends of the earth.
The walters, in black swallow-tails
and white aprons, passing here and
there with trays Of bottles and
glasses.
The quiet and sumptuous har-room,
with purpiish men softly drinking in
little alcoves, while the bar-keeper
mixing bright liquors, is rapidly ply
ing his bottles.
The great hedecked and gilded
cafe, with its glitter of a thousand
mirrors, with its little white tables
bearing gluttonous dishes whereto
bright forks, held by pampered
hands, flicker daintily back and
forth.
The white-tiled, immaculate kitch-
en-, with many little round blue fires,
where white-clad cooks are making
spiced and favored dishes.
The cool cellars filed with meats
and fruits. or layered with sealed and
bottled wines mellowing softly in the
darkness.
The Invisible stories of furnaces
and machines, burrowing deep down
into the earth. where grimy workmen
are heavily laboring
The many-windowed stories Of lit
tie homes and shelters and sleeping
places, reaching up into the night
like some miraculous, high-piled hon
I eycomb of wax-white cells.
The clothes inside of the cells
the stuffs. the silks. the laces; the
elaborate delicate DISCUSSES that wait
in trunks and drawers and closets
.eS bedrape and conceal humsn.fe6
sts people inside Of x clotheg, the
bodies we - a. soung, bodies fat
and bulging. bodies wrinkled ant
wan, all alike yelled by fine fabrics
sheltered by walls and roofs. shut ii
from the sun and stars.
The souls inside of the bodies
the naked souls; souls weazen ant
weak, or proud and brave; all i'm
4 prisoned in flesh. wrapped in wover
stuffs. enclosed in thick and painted
masonry. shut away with many shad-
ows from the shining truth.
God inside of the souls, God yelled
and wrapped and imprisoned and
shadowed In fold on fold of flesh and
fabrics and mockeries; but ever alive,
struggling and rising again, seeking
the light. freeing the world.-From
the Atlantic Monthly.