The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 17, 1897, Page 20

18 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1897. NEW YORK CHURCHES The Some of Metropolis Contains the Finest Houses of Worship in the Cordova, in the far-away Argentine Re- public, is called “The City of Numberless Churches,”’ but the first thing the traveler notices is that they are all of one denomi- nation, the Roman Catholic, and that they are all of one style of architecture. Many of them are undoubtedly very beau- tiful, but the sameness robs them of their grace. In our own couniry we bid fair to rival very soon the O'd World in ecclesiastical architecture. Few modern churches are being t in Europe, the people being v, 100, With theirs for thoroughly satisfied, and righ the cburches that have been centuries. But here in America another state of af- fai xists. Our beautiful churches are thin, ilate creation, buiit according to the ideas of ern architects, who mere- ly took the antique for a moagel. The people, too, are wiliing to spend great sums of money on the places where they congregate to worship God, and nothing is considered too good for the ma- terials of bis hou When the call goes forth for money the congregation gives it up willingly and plenteously, and the re- sult is seen in the numerous graceful churcies end cathedrals and synagogues that rise up from one end of the country to the other. The Catholic catbedrals the world over are renowned for their on Fifth avenue, Fiftieth and Filty-first streets, is no ex- ception to the rule. This cathedral is the head of the great archdioces: of M York, and is said to have had more mon expended on it than oth r ecclesi- astical structure of its denomination in the country. It was projected by Archbishop Hughes, in 1 and New York, aiterward by James Renwick, one of | the world's greatest architects. The cor- nerstone was laid in 1858 and the caihe- drul was openei and dedicated in 1879. The style oi archite re used in this im- posing building is wn as the Deco- rated Gothic of the thirteenth century, and is the same as that used in i cathedrals of Rheims and Cologne. With the rector’'s house and the palatial man- sion of the Archbishop it occupies tha en- tire block, d either by dayhght or at night time is one of the most imposing sights in New York. Itis built of white marble and the effect thereot can better be imagined than described or portrayed. The decors work on the grand portal v rich, and the buttresses, ypinnacles rved ornamentation work appear in great profusion. The altar was World. - architectural | beauty, and that of St Patrick, situate | between | the plans were drawn soon | | made in Italy, and is of the purest Carrara wmarble, the front of it being inlaid with alabaster and stones of incalculable value. | The decorative work in the nterior Is also of great beauty. At the easternend of the south aisle there is a_bronze altar of the Sacred Heart, which is on» of the finest and most elaborate castings ever made. Twenty-six hundred people can be seated | in the cathedral and the aisles will hold almost as many more. The interior is lighted by seventy beautiful windows, mostof which are memorial windows made | in Chartres, France, at an enormous cost. | Visitors when in New York cannot fail to bave remarked the beautiful Cathedral of St. John the Divine, between One Hun- dred and Tenth and One Hundred and Thirteenth streets and Morningside and Tenth avenues. Its seven towers, the cen- tral one of which is crowned by one of the | tallest spires in the world, rise lr-cglully | from the ground, and compare in point of perfect symmetry with any of those of Ergland’s historical churches. About ten years ago the authorities of | the Episcopal church in the diocese of | New York determinea to erect a cathedral. | The Episcopal cuurches were increasing so rapidly and their congregations were becoming so fashionable and wealtby that | a cathedral had tecome an sbsolute neces- sity as a center for: the numerous re- [ ligious and charitable activities of that | powerful denomination. Preliminary | meetings resuited in. the receipt of sub- | scriptions o the amount of $850,000. With this enormous sum the present site, then i TEMPL “Shall Night bring Sorrow? Ay, Night brings Sorrow.” So the bird-call runs, question and ane i | swer in plaintive repetition, while the nant life. eveningshadows become accentuated with | the ncreasing twilight. To-day’s heat has biazed upon us the sta, of for the p ation death in tent buzz of the | out perceptible vibration. mosquito old earth might be dead—of ex- | RENEE WALTZ. InTRODUCTION Tempo di Marcla » WILLIAM FURST = o FIFTH AVENUE AND FORTY-THIRD STREET. | ground to the top of the cross. occupied by the Leake and Watts Orphan Asylum, was purchased. The leading architects of the world were invited to compete in the matter of de- signs, and finally the firm of Heins& La Fage was declared successful. The cornerstone was laid on St. John’s day, lar Sunday services are maintained {the synagogue in addition to the usual s(u,. day worship. ’ These three homes of prayer are unue of their kind, and can compare favonly with anything the O d World can offein the way -of sacred architecture. NEW EPISCOPALIAN CATHEDRAL, December 17, 1892, by Bishop Potter, amid most impressive ceremonies. The ground plan of the cathedral is in the shape of a cross, the four arms of which are formed by the nave and tran- septs and chancel, with central and side aisles. The cathedral faces toward the west, and the glory of the evening sun lingers on its face, Its chief dimensions are as follows: Total length outside, 520 feet; width across front, 192 feet: height of front towers, 248 feet. The central tower, on which is the spire, is 445 feet from the The chan- cel consists of seven aspidal chapels, in each of which 150 people can comfortably be seated. The structure has cost in the neighbor- hood of $600,000, and exteriorally and in- teriorally the cathedral can be numbered among the finest in the world. The Jews are among the most wealthy and influential citizens in New York, and their places of worship are also marvels of magnificent and substantial architecture, Tue Temple Emanu-El, on Fifth svenue and East Forty-third street, is certainly one of the handsomest and most cosily synagogues in the country. This struc- ture was completed in 1868 at a costof $600,000. It is Moorish in design and in decoration, with two towers, and faces on the avenue. The auditortum seats over 2000 people. The pulpit and ark are beau- tiful pieces of work and the interior deco- ration is stately and impressive. The Rev. Dr. Samuel Adler was the rabbi of the congregation for a long time. Regu- - THE SPIRIT OF THE BUSH and our bush clearing is still fiercely vith cessof vitality. Zephyror bum ot life there none; the red-hot rays pour down with- | Ragged ba- | nanas hang limp, like torn green paper with never a rustle left in it; indented papaw leaves curl up, showing hard fruit | which is incapable of reaching the edible stage, 1t wil! rot, uurivened, unless some reviving rain falls on it. The Kuropean vegetables in the hali-formed garden, the cucumbers and watermelons, the tomatoes and beans, appeal to the brazen air with parched leaf and straightened tendril and withered pod, while parasitic fungi—the vegetable crow and vulture—make merry over heir 1nanition. Then from a branch near by comes a short, strident cry, a high-pitched note and a jugged shake—'‘to-be, to-be, to-be, to-be, to-ve.”” The jewel hasfound voice. It is the blithe littie kingfisher, ever on the slert to announce that inertia is over and bu-iness looking up. The olive-green ino, with spectacled, yellow eyes, hustles along resentfully. It is the iao’s task to irtone morning and even song, and the kingtisher has gotahead of him with rasp- | ing cry. Instantly the chorister pours forth his soft, quick, broken warble; sometimes as a soft melody snapped at the first phrase, but oftener an imperative adjuration to ‘‘hurry-hurry-hurry up quick-quick-quick.” The others do hurry up. The large brown fuia utters his prolonged whistie of dismay; the pale green-and-cream manu- tangi, the metallic green-and-purple dove, | moan and plain as if Cock Robin's fune- ral were in rehearsal; the swooping swal- low twit-twits impauently. As violet shadows creep on golden rays the chatter of the flying fox and hoot of the gray ow! wander among the treetops. Then, when the sky waxes rosy and the land purples, the Spirit of the Samoan Bush rouses its own special interpreter and again sad again the cry quivers over the awaken- ingearth: “Bhall Night bring Sorrow? Ay, Night brings Sorrow.” The life of the Bush comes borne on the evening breeze. Leaf and stem and blos- som, noxious and pure, are stimulated intoarenewal of existence; strange sounds quiver in the gathering dimness, strange odors arise from the ground; the hour that brings rest and sleep otherwhere brings freshened activity to us. Outside the ac- tivity is subtle—rather feit than realized; inside it is assertive, palpitating, exasper- ating almost as the day's torrid inertia. Insect life is with us in a new form. The ‘“ginbugs,” large as a pin’s head, lie like brown dust upon your table, ipsinu- ate themselves insolentiy bezeath your clothing, dispute your food and drink with you. The mimic beeties, when not pleasingiy emvloyed nipping your skin, are boring holes in your siapo draperies or linen, Butin numbers and energy the moths undoubtedly carry the day. They bhan: about vocu as a cloud of witches, they make a funeral pyre in the lamp chimneys, finally extinguishing the lights or starting a conflagration; they pattern the ceiling, hang in festocns and diagrams on the walls, and execute quadrilles and country dances of wondrous figure. They act on your irritable nerves and send your temper to some unknown re- gion, yet they gratify your artistic per- ceptions, for they are exceeding beauti- ful, these insect pests, with a minute At first you are only aware of an army of unassuming brownies, but watching them carefully you discover that a skilled artist has daintily adorned each member of this host and given it a distinct individuality. No two are to be found of precisely the same tint and wing pattern—soft grays, varied browns, black and white, copper, bronze, silver, burnished gold, vandyked, epotted, spancied, scalioped, smoothe edged, with quivering, feathered ane tenne or without plumes. These mites in fur and feather are undoubtedly things of beauty and might be joys forever if we could be content toignore their proceedings and view them patiently ithrough the magnifying glass. Some of the smallest are but tiny scraps of gold or silver tinsel, and with each troop invariably come two leaders of fashion—my lady Greenwings and my lady Whitesatin, queens and rivals, each with her court and pride of place, yet living in apparent harmony. Dame Whitesatin and Dame Greenwings are not in reulity one whit superior to their satellites, rather perhaps the revérse —their exquisite tinting is absoluteiy expressionless; there is no attempt at tracery or artistic work in their <himmering attire. Yet our senses are so appealed to by the exquisite transparent jade of the ome, the opal sbeen of the other, that we make pers stent effort to save them from the sacrificial lampin which their followers are immolated with impunity. The sirens of the eye, they, whose subtle spell make us ignore more classic beauty, Or perchance the invading army is not our metallic legion, with its jade and opaline leaders; perhaps these are crowded out by the Biack Musquetecrs, large, heayy, self-assertive, with maguiti- cent sable velvet wings, which, when spread, display undergarments ot black satin, studded with turquoise—our picked regiment of grands seigneurs, their black caps formed of miniature osirich feathers, and Old World pride of caste stamped on every one of them. Trust them not, there- fore; their bilue blood is vitiated, .their souls are fetid; they are the Regiment of Evil. Wherever they pass the air grows heavy with a nauseous smell; wherever they poise they leave their trace of dirt and disease. Their mad and noisy dance, their wild orgy, 1asts far into the night, and in the morning the place that has known them is foul and noisome; the food they have brushed is evil-emelling or rank. And as they flop and whirl, flutter and buzz in mad revel, the Spirit of the Bush wails its cry out- side: “Shall night bring sorrow? Ay, labor and sorrow.” The bush bird may we!l wail piteously up here in Avele, for his cry quivers across ghostly soil. It is not only the spirit of the outraged bush that haunts the place; not only the phan oms of dese- | crated earth and uptorn creeper and felled wree. . Thereare other phantoms—those of a scattered, decimated race, for legend has it that Avele was thickly populated till an epidemic came, sweeping away the inhabitants by hundreds. Time has fled, tree and undergiowth have covered the once-tilled ground in rich profusion, bat the land remains a cemetery and- its ghosts wander forth at night. As the bours of vigil wane and the datkness deepens you.recail the tradition, you be- <come creepingly alive to strange forms and nameless mysteries lurking benind every busb. But the voices of the night keep you company; the birds vie with each other to cheer you. -Loung after twilight hour they are still keeping up the concert, chatterirg, piping, coolng, mewing, whistling with joyousenergy. The iao is the latest songster of all, as he will be the _ L beauty that grows on closer acquaintance. | eariiests But at last even bis serenade is| 4 ST. PATRICK’S CHURCH, ¥ b m’.i y Y Sy L 7 R EW YORK CITY. ended, and with a final spasmodic warble hel-aves the coast clear for the one bird who never seems to sleep, whose voice ac- ¢ mpanies your dreams—he whom, the natives call the Bird of the Seven Throats. He is neither ‘beautiful nor conspicuouns with his dull, brown plumage; but he is tnique and mysteriots. Always heard, rarely seen, nobody seems certain as to his | parentage or fumily or even his rightful name; only this they know, that his cries are as variéd as those of half a dozen ordi- nary birds, hence the legend of his multi- ple throat. Varied, perhaps, but always vlaintive, often painful. “You can hear him now at midnight, when living thinrs are asleep and ghosts abroad, still wailing his mo- notonous question and eanswer. And whether It be two birds responding or one answering himself you cannot tell; but the weird effect is the same and the dis- mal depression. *Shall Night bring Sorrow ?* You shiver and move restlessly. “Labor and Sorrow.” You go to the shanty door and gaze, | fascinated, into the mysierious chadows | and dream of the brown ‘ghosts around. Then, as the meonlight slowly steals into-the Iandscape, shimmering ard quiv- ering around the strange vegetation, illn- mining twisted forme, grotesque shapes, distorted outlines, you glance npward and become aware of that other larger Shadow, which broeds day and night over the place—the Shadow of the Tomb, For Avele liés directly under the mount where Samoa’s English poet-writer is buried. As'you raite your eyes to the mountain peak & moonray slants acfoss the cutting in the bush which indicates is resting-place, and a great wavs of depression, ' the depression with which you have been struggling all througin the devitalizing day, engulis your soul. You turn away, bitter and pessimistic, pondering over man’s fevered helpless- ness and nature's stolid endurance. The Bird of the Seven Throats bursts forth afresh: *‘Shall Night bring Sorrow 2" “Labor and Sorrow.”’ You lie. open-eved. through the sorrow- stirring ful night, and the Shadow of the Tomb extends and reaches over to you, set- tling down upon Avele as a pall. S:ill- ness and rest are upon the land at last, but the weariness of li‘e is with you, and the dreariness of death. Suddenlv anew cry startles your ear, a shart, rich, full- throated warble as of a singer shakepn with a passion of delight. “Jug-jug-jug-jug- jug-jug-jug” the note pours forth like the voice of some South [Sea nightingale re- joicing in its strength; then—an abra panuse—and a wail of despair rings mm}% the night air. It is maddening. You sit up in scared dread, imagining some ame en peine has passed you by. Again the quivering burst of joy, again the cry of agony, and you realize that itis the Bird of the Seven Throats whois thus simulating the des spair of a soul suddenly shut out from happiness, You turn over hopelessly; you try to sleep, to dream, but through yoy dreams the Spirit of the Bus and the Shadow of the Tomb glide with you. They are with you still in the early dawn when trailing white mists float like morning wraiths wp the mountain side and the iao wakes to trill his sweet aubade. They are with you in the fierce, unrestful noon, and when eventide falls once more there still lingers in your ears that passionate night plaint of a soul mourning its broken joys. Rl e o SR ] But the Bird of the Seven Throats has & s weeter, rarer note reserved for the darg hours—a note heard once on a New Year’s eve and breathing peace and gladness. 1t was a dreary New Year's eve. The Shadow of the Tomb lay heavily on the land. Not a sound disturbed the unnat. ural stillness—joy bad fled, expectation slumbered; all nature seemed mournipg the old vear, with never a welcome for the new. Suddenly through the darknesssfid oppressive quiet thera stirred a voice iike a siiver chime; from some un- known height three erystalline notes dropped adown the air as a message from Heaven to Earth. Three notes, clear, - radiant as \he uiited cry of Faitn, fl’p; and Cnarity. Stillness fell again, bui the Shadow re- treatéd. The Bira of the Seven Throats nad evoked a blessing on the New Year and its watchers. Faiwh, Hope and Char- ity had spokem in the Shadow of the Tomb. RosE DE BOHEME.