Evening star., 1928-06-07

tWilliam Makepeace Thackeray. 18ll-ls6a,
was a British writer particularly FAMOUS
famous works include "Pendennis, Henry
Esmond" and The Newcomeso
had occasion to pass a week in the
Autumn in the little old town of Coire
or Chur, In the Grisons. where lies
buried that very ancient British king,
saint and martyr. Lucius, who founded
the Church of st. Peter. on Cornhill,
Few people note the church nowadays,
and fewer ever heard of the saint
In the cathedral at Chur his statue
appears surrounded by other s1inted
persons of his family. With tight red
breeches, a Roman habit, a curly brown
beard, and a neat little gilt crown and
scepter, he stands, a very comely and
cheerful image: and from what 1 may
call his peculiar position with regard
to Cornhill, / beheld this figure of St
Lucius with more interest than should
have bestowed upon perSonages who,
Theoretically, are, daresay, his super
iors.
The pretty little city stands. so to
speak, at the end of the world-of the
world OF today the world of rapid mo-
ton, and rushing railways, and the
commerce and intercourse of men. From
the northern gate the iron road
stretches away to Zurich, to Basle. to
Paris, to home. From the old southern
barriers, before which a little river
rushcS, and around which stretch the
crumbling battlemcntS of the ancient
town. the road bears the slow stage
coach by the shallow Rhine. through
the awful gorges of the Via Mala, and
presently over the Splugen to the
shores Of Como.
l have seldom seen place more
quaint, pretty calm, and pastoral.
What need have the Inhabitants for
walls and ramparts. except to build
Summer houses. to trail vines. and
hang clothes TO dry on them? No
enemies approach the great moulder
ing gates; only at morn and even the
cows come lowing past them, the
village maidenS chatter merrily round
the fountains, and babble like the ever
voluble stream that flows under the
old walls.
The Schoolboys, with book and
satchel, in smart uniforms march up
to the gymnasium, and return thence
at their stated time There is one
coffe-house in the town, and see one
old gentleman goes to It, There are
shops with no customers seemingly, and
the lazy tradesmen look out of their
little windows at the single stranger
sauntering by. There is a stall with
baskets of queer little black grapes and
apples. and a pretty brisk trade with a
half-dozen urchins standing round.
But. beyond this. there is scarcely
any talk or movement in the street.
There's nobody at the bookshop IF
you will have the goodness to come
again in an hour" says the banker.
with mouth full of dinner at
O'Clock. you can have the money"
There is nobody at the hotel, save the
good landlady, the kind walters, the
brisk young cook who ministers to you.
Nobody Is in the Protestant church,
nobody in the Catholic church. until
the sacristan. from his snug abode in
the cathedral close, espies the traveller
eyeing the monsters and pillars before
the old shark -toothed arch Of his
cathedral. and comes out and opens
the gate. and shows you the venerable
church. and the ancient vestments, and
the statue Of st. Lucius.
What quiet. kind. quaint, pleasant,
pretty old town! Has 1t been asleep
these hundreds and hundreds of years?
Time was when there must have been
life and hustle and commerce here.
There was a sweet pretty river walk
we used 10 take In the evening
and mark the mountains round gloom