Identifier: charcoalsofnewol00smith (find matches)
Title: Charcoals of new and old New York;
Year: 1912 (1910s)
Authors: Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915
Subjects:
Publisher: Garden City, N.Y., Doubleday, Page & company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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nt ongain; the rumble of wheels and clatter of hoofs; the hum and whirr of 3 CHARCOALS OF NEW AXD OLD NEW YORK countless machines,— one great united orchestra shouting the BattleCr>- of the New Republic — Americas Song of Success. Out of the din, overlooking the struggle, are, here, and thereoases of silence, where self-contained men sit in carpeted offices behindguarded doors, armed with pens whose briefest tracings spell povertyor wealth; their fingers pressing tiny buttons that sway the marketsof the world. Hedged in but still defiant, the Old Church, undismayed, fearless,guarding its dead — still lifts its slender finger pointing up to God, itschimes calling the people to prayer. Oft-times, even in the thick of the fight, men listen; leave theirdesks and within the sacred precincts, kneel and worship. Then theresoars a note of triumph that rises above the tumult of gain and en-deavor,— a note that lifts the struggle out of the sordid,— a note thatsteadies and redeems.
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THE SKYSCRAPER II THE SKYSCRAPER THE Demon of Gain and Unrest,—that ruthless ogre whichrecognizes nothing but its own interest,—is responsible forthis, the greatest monstrosity of our time. No more time-honored treasures,—houses, churches and breathing spaces. Nomore quaint doorways and twisted iron railings; no more slantingroofs topped with honest chimneys; no more quiet back yards where aman could sit and rest. Out of my way you back numbers! So in go the testing drills,— way down into the earths vitals. Thenthe blasting begins. Never mind your old-fashioned, rickety cup-boards holding your grandmothers tea-cups — lock them up in thecellar until I get through. Now the caissons are sunk — big round as aships funnel and many times as long. Down they go, slowly — slowly— one foot at a time,— the brown ground-hogs digging like moles inthe foul air. A swarm of Titans rush in. Up go the derricks,— thecranes swing,— half a score of engines vomit steam and smoke. Then

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