Daily Kennebec journal., 1913-11-27
From Impossible
Autobiographies.
Theodore Roosevelt, "The Quiet"
breads Hurry Burly of Buenos
Ayres-Emcline Pankhurst Cannot
Bear Sound of Breaking Glass
Jack London.
From Lotus Days" by Th-o-o-e
Ro-s-v-lt)

oFrom Lotus Days" by Th-o-o-e
Ros-v-lt)
The ship was now stemming the
swirling current of the La Plata. In
another hour or two We should be
in Buenos Ayres. l sighed Those
soft, languorous days under the
southern sun We're over. Life with
its hurry -burly would have me in it's
grasp. l shuddered as / thought of
what awaited me there in the rest
less metropolis-t throngs in the
street; the noise; the applause; the
crowded halls; the salvos of applause; !;
the lecture platform with the glare of
the calcium lamp trained on the
speakers table; the frantic rush from
the lecture hall to the hotel, to the
City hall, to the museum, to the aqua
rum, to the founding asylum, to the
railway station; the stuffy Pullman
berth-the prospect terrified me. |
smiled wistfully at the captain of the
boat. He was a good man. Through
a terrific three-days' gale he had nav
igated his ship without a word of ad-
vice from me. From him l turned to
my friend the archaeologist, for whom
/ had formed a particular attachment.
We had spent many hours together
every day of the voyage, but / had
told him nothing of the latest exca-
vations in northern Arabia, of the
funeral customs of the Aztecs, of the
law of divorce among the Egyptians
of the seventeenth dynasty. He used
to beat me regularly at quoits and
l1;lt ,ls I
he defeated Now 1t was all over. :.
The ship was swinging in to
her dock. ! looked down on the wait
ing crowd and discerned several
young men with note books and lead
pencils. Gentlemen of the press,
the captain whispered. l shuddered.
(From Fragments and Embers," by
E-m-l-ne P-nkh-rst)
In the garden where l used to play
during my long summer vacations
there was gay Chinese pagooa'
where the grown-ups drank tea when
the weather was fine. At other times
it stood locked as precautlon
against us children. The Chlnese pa
CODA was a palace of faery to u.s.
There was just one window, large
window with many little panes OF blue
and red and yellow. We would CLIMB
ND on chairs and peer through this
window into the dim, mysterious in
terror. The window fascinated me-
Ii seemed to shut off the common
world we knew from world OF en-
chantment. 1t held me spellbound,
but it frightened me, too. l was torn
between the desire to find out what
Law beyond the window and the fear
that something might happen to those
lovely little panes of glass. one DAY
the village drunkard's son climbed
over the garden wall. He picked up
stone and sent it crashing through the
window. l shrieked and fled. To the
day cannot hear the noise OF
broken glass without a rush of tears
TO my eyes.
(From Confessions of a Vegetarian"
by J-ck L-ndon)
My evolution into a lover of peanut
outter was predetermined from the
first moment the cosmic life breathed
nto the plasmic germ that was des-
tined through the aeons to become
Ne. How otherwise explain this
horror for blood which possesses me |
It the sight of mutton chop? l am I
/ Socialist. but my gorge will rise at /
he sight of the red flag, because ii |
'eininds me of raw beefsteak. AS we
at so shall we think. So long as hu-
molars go tearing through
,rawn and muscle and cartilage how
hall man attain the life of mystic :.
of surcease from strug- |
lie, of sublime acquiescence? So l
eason as a man. AS an author l
ind walnuts and whole wheat ideal.
they give me the requisite energy for
my novel once every four
ears, and my short stories twice a