New Britain herald., 1925-12-19
TIE OBSER VER- Makes Random Observations
 On the City and Its People

Bish K, lbblo, manufacturer of laughter, is back with us once more. Blsh is an ancient and honorable member of the Heralds contribut- ing staff and, as such, deserves first place in this column. Today he weaves Il rhyme about Main Street -saturday night" If you happen to be one of those who join the throngs on Saturday night with the fest of the bouloyardIers, you will know the picture poem is correct. Here 1t is:
 Main Strcct-Saturday Night
 (By Bish k. Ibble) The ever shifting, restless throng That slowly wends it way alonc, The tedious, tiresome, weary wait For some slow moving train of
 freight
 Pedestrians rooted to the spot And traffic tied up in a knot. When gates go up, the eager rush Of overyono,-a jam q crush. Tho effort made to cross the street: (Hou must be young, with nimble
 fcoD
 The squeaky brakes--the shift of
 gears
 And noise of traffic greet your ears. The smell of, oil and gasoline And greasy restaurants, none too
 clean,
 The shoppers at the Five and Ten" A drunken loafer, now and then. The traffic signals green and red, That make you stop or go ahead, The crippled sidewalk mcndicant With pencils held out at slant,- With hat or cap upon his knees Pleads weakly, with plaintive
 "Plcase?"
 The photograph in shoe shine stand A-squalking out some iazzy band The flappers with their painted
 cheeks
 Out strolling with their beaus or
 sheiks,
 4 mother with her restless brood, And hubby in an ugly mood. Related neWsboys out of luck, Still hoping that they won't get
 stuck"
 New Br-e-e-tan Herald" Is their
 cry,
 Too late--we have to pass 'em by. The one-way traffic round the green Where speeding drivers rule su-
 preme,
 The grinding wheels of trolley cars The few remaining traffic Cars. The ambulance, or Bull Patrol, With patient, or some drunken
 soul--
 The darkened hallway, where, -
 we're told That bootleg stuff is bought and sold. The alley, where, with stuff "on
 hip"
 The thirsty go,-to take 8 nip. But at this season of the year, Salvation Army pots appear; Pedestrians stop and "come across" And never even feel the loss, When in the kettle drops our dimes, Perhaps we hear the South Church
 chimes.
 Oh, Main Street I must say to thee, Thy human interest pleaSes me- A source of pleasure and delight, But more so on Saturday night" It's great to get up early these mornings, take a cold shower and a brisk rub with a turkish towel and start on a five mile hike before breakfast, About o'clock Old Sol comes 10 attention over the eastern hills and the air has just enough bite in 1t to make living worth while.
 All over the countryside folks are stirring into wakefulness. Farmers are going to the barn to take care of their stock. Fumes of smoke rise from kitchen chimneys, announcing to the new day that steaming hot breakfasts are in process of being prepared for hungry stomachs. The smoke is a sign of sizzling bacon and eggs, oat meal, mullins and all those things which tempt q man as he rises and sets his mind about the tasks that face him.
 The earth is hard with frost pat terms woven over it, Trees are stark but give promise of new wonders to come in the spring. Ponds are fro zen over and here and there are found thin traces of snow, relics of the last storm.
 Out in the woods all Is silence. Nature is sIeening. Dead leaves rat