He Comes
Across A Thousand Little Peculiarities Of Speech, Manner, And
Thought - Matters Of Nerve And Stomach Developed By Everlasting
Friction - And They Are All Just The Least Little Bit In The World
Lawless.
No more so than the restless clicking together of horns in a
herd of restless cattle, but certainly no less.
They are all good - good
for those who wait.
On the other hand, to consider the matter more humanly, there are
thousands of delightful men and women going to pieces for the pitiful
reason that if they do not keep up with the procession, 'they are left.'
And they are left - in clothes that have no back to them, among mounds of
smilax. And young men - chance-met in the streets, talk to you about
their nerves which are things no young man should know anything about;
and the friends of your friends go down with nervous prostration, and
the people overheard in the trains talk about their nerves and the
nerves of their relatives; and the little children must needs have their
nerves attended to ere their milk-teeth are shed, and the middle-aged
women and the middle-aged men have got them too, and the old men lose
the dignity of their age in an indecent restlessness, and the
advertisements in the papers go to show that this sweeping list is no
lie. Atop of the fret and the stampede, the tingling self-consciousness
of a new people makes them take a sort of perverted pride in the futile
racket that sends up the death-rate - a child's delight in the blaze and
the dust of the March of Progress.
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