THE QUIET AND THE THROB OF THE CITY.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXX, Issue 3536, 29 May 1912, Page 7

THE QUIET AND THE THROB OF THE CITY.

Weary of the ceaseless noise of the city I withdrew into quiet. Slipping into one of those wonderful squares where silence seems to dwell, the marvel of it always new, the sudden cessation of sound when the' mind, halfstunned by noises is swiftly at peace, writes Mrs C. Iv. Shorter in the 'Westminster Gazette.

“So, often do I rest, slipping away from the crowding streets of the city to gain relief. The silence falls upon my tired spirit as might a cooling hand upon a fevered brow. The quaint paved court brings fresh vigor to my weary feet, for I walk into the past upon its cobblestones. Away from the progress of to-clay into the easy ignorance of time gone by. The fine old bouses, noble in their simplicity, rest eyes weary of the elaborate false architecture of their more modern sisters.

“Here, in this deserted court, I sit upon a wooden bench, shaded by an overhanging tree. Strange as the silence it is to feel its rough bark between my fingers and I in the heart of the city. What memories has this tree, this slender child of the "woods whose brothers all have been slain about it? ... . Ah! well, I would not care to dwell upon that. Have not lovers lingered in its shadow ? Pretty ladies and gallant gentlemen passed ibeneath it in their sedan chairs Surely, too, the feet of great men. have stopped, resting a moment in the shade.

“Who could believe that outside those walls a great city moves in its circle, made and moulded by the hand of man, moving to his laws, as man in his turn is made and moulded by the Hand of God, and moves ever according to His commands? Who could believe this great world exists in the quiet place where I sit? Rather could one imagine this tree, these houses, the rough cobbles, the little square of sky, to bo all that is. Yet, as I smile, so thinking, content, with my peace and loneliness, I hear a sound break upon my silence. Throb! Throb! it comes to me faintly from a distance. I listen and surmise. It is some great engine, or some mighty tramping of an army’s feet that passes; but it does not cease. Throb! throb! it comes to me louder than before, and now I know what, it means. It is the great heart of the city beating. Throb ! throb ! throb ! it goes, as if has throbbed before ray time, and will after I am gone. My little, silent court that was the centre of the world is invaded.”