Evening star., 1932-01-27
THIS AND THAT
BY CHARLES Z. TRACEWELL.

from 1t Is that time, aS a thing. does
not exist at all.
x X X "
Italy, Egypt and other countries in
which archaeological expeditions are be-
ing carried on have done the wise thing
in putting these glorified diggers under
governmental control. Their endeayors
are of too much concern to the entire
people to permit them TO become per-
sonal to any one group.
It is a strange fascination, this, which
these discoveries hold for so many men
and women who, at first glance, one
might not think interested in more
than the latest Jazz tune on the radio.
They might not be interested in the
remote or present causes Of the expedi-
tion or the scientifls results to be OBJ
tanned but they know about lipsticks
and pomade, about drinking and eating
vessels and about clothes.
Such matters are of daily interest, in
some cases almost hourly talk. 1t is,
therefore, of surprising interest to them
to be able to realize that ancient peo-
Piles, instead of being mere curiositieS
out of history books, were real flesh
and-blood human beings.
This realization comes aS a surprise
to many, as they read Of the latest
digging, which has brought to light a
succession of old cities, one on top Of
the other, each totally forgotten by the
ones which came after.
X X k X
So many people lived and loved, so
many people are gone. What became OF
them? All they left behind them, which
now comes to light, are few dishes,
and monuments, and walls. We are
hi hot
dwellings are SO and so.
Perhaps one Of their great sages. as
he sat at his window one moonlight
night, thought to himself as did great
American philosopher;
Il am sometimes diScontented with
my house because 1t lies on a dusty
road, and with its sills and cellar al
most in the water OF q meadow.
But when I creep out into the Night
or Morning and see what majestic and
what tender beauties daily wrap me in
theH bosom, I see how Indifferent 1t is
wlMe eat and sleep.
~This very street the moon will trans
form. She is the apologtst Of apologists
and hides every meanness in a silver
edged darkness"
There is a flavor Of what we call
modernity to this which puts its form
Of expression beyond the ability OF any
man who lived so many thousands Of
years ago. He might nave given the
world the same ideas, substantially, but
his sentence forms would not have been
the same.
1t is easy enough to see that he was
right Contemplating these ancient
ruins, whether on the scene or only by
means Of the imagination, the while the
eyes look at black symbols on white
paper, one realizes full well that where
he slept and where he ate actually were
matters indifferent to him
How impossible 1t is, except for few,
to hold the same thought while they
breathe! There is only a certain type
Of person to whom any place he hangs
his hat is home.
Yet something of this philosophy
must take hold Of every one, and the
fact that it does, no doubt, is what
helps to account for the universal in
terest in discoveries of ancient places.
He who sits and reads about them
realizes that rocks and stones are not
all that are here, but that here are
hopes and dreams, ended forever-and
yet eternally alive! There can be few
greater mysteries than this.