Evening star., 1929-12-19

"As-I came down the Highgate Hill.
The Highgate Hill, the Highgate Hill,
AS 1 came down the Highgate Hill
l met the suns bravado,
And saw below me, fold on fold,
Gray to pearl and pearl to gold,
This London like land of old,
The land of Eldorado."
Henry Bashford.
Emerson wrote in one of his journals:
when I bought my farm, I did not
know what bargain had in the blue
birds, bobolinks, and thruShes; as little
did I know what sublime mornings and
sunsets I was buying"
If We of Washington, as 1929 draws
to a close, can see some OF BaShtordS S
'braVado," or keep our eyes open for
Emerson's sublime mornings and sun
sets, we shall be all the better.
We saw a great full moon the other
evening, apparently sitting on top of a
house in the next block. 1t was a great
dishlike moon, not exactly yellow, nor
white nor silver, but just good moon
color.
It took a second look to see that it
was not reposing in sort of celestial
siesta on the tin roof, but was in reality
so many thousands of miles away.
That is one thing the world has al
ways liked about the moon, it is such
friendly, close-in sort of body, not dis
daining to mingle-at least it seems
with our trees and houses.
Babies reach out their hands for it,
especially these modern infants, who
never go to bed, and dogs insist on bark
ing at it, never learning anything from
generation to generation.
X X X
It is difficult in this age to keep alive
in one the poetical aspirations which
men of the elder generations had by
birth, at least if we may judge from
their writings.
Especially is it hard for the POLITICALLY
inclined to see the beauty in the every
day. We become so used to seeing the
Washingtcl Monument, and the Capitol,
and Rock Creek Park, that we forget
just how good looking they are.
Coming down the Massachusetts, ave-
nue. hill in the early morning, one may
see the suns "bravado" shining down
over Washington, and no doubt the
sight has warmed many a motoring
heart, but few there are to ever speak
of it, and, so far as is known, no one
ever has burst into lyric over it.
Lord Byron saw London, to get back
to BashfordS Eldorado, as a gray, dirty
place of low houses, confused streets
and bridges. To him it was not a thing
of pearl and gold, nor did it resemble
a land of old.
X X X x
The mental attitude must be permit
ted to play part, then, even in things
of beauty, but we are convinced that
the thing itself plays more.
In other words, it is not so much the
mental attitude of the gazer, or his
own temperament in regard to beauty,
as the simple quickness of eye which
instantly recognizes the values of color,
line, perspective.
One need not make the mistake how
ever, of thinking that one must DE an
artist. There is a bit of the artist in
all of us, ready to Jump out when a
big new moon pushes the electric but
ton.
Every one responds to a moon or
rainbow; not every one by any means
sees beauty in the fiat gray day which
clamps down over city like a cloud.
X X y
The city resident does not have to
buy farm, as Emerson did. to get sab
lime mornings and evenings. His may
be bird songs without price.
What he must do is to keep on the
lookout for them. He will not hear his
birds as easily as the sage CT Concord
did his, nor will he so readily get his fill
Of fine sunrises and sunsets.
There is one thing that even the