g upon the
globular perimeter we spoke of, keeps us safely elevated above the
floor. We have had some leather stirrups sewed into the bottom of our
overcoat, in which we slip our feet to keep them from dangling
uncomfortably. Another feature of our technique is that we always go
into the car with our arms raised and crossed neatly on our chest, so
that they will not be caught and pinioned to our flanks. In that
position, once we are gently nested among the elastic mass of genial
humanity, it is easy to draw out from our waistcoat pocket our copy of
Boethius's "Consolations of Philosophy" and really get in a little
mental improvement. Or, if we have forgotten the book, we gently droop
our head into our overcoat collar, lay it softly against the shoulder of
the tall man who is always handy, and pass into a tranquil nescience.

The subway is a great consolation to the philosopher if he knows how to
make the most of it. Think how many people one encounters and never sees
again.

NOTES ON A FIFTH AVENUE BUS

[Illustration]

Far down the valley of the Avenue the traffic lights wink in unison,
green, yellow, red, changing their colours with well-drilled promptness.
It is cold: a great wind flaps and tangles the flags; the tops of the
buses are almost empty. That brisk April air seems somehow in key with
the mood of the Avenue--hard, plangent, glittering, intensely material.
It is a proud, exultant, exhilarating street; it fills the mind with
strange liveliness. A magnificent pomp of humanity--what a flux of
lacquered motors, what a twinkling of spats along the pavements! On what
other of the world's great highways would one find churches named for
the material of which they are built?--the _Brick Church_, the _Marble
Church_! It is not a street for loitering--there is an eager, ambitious
humour in its blood; one walks fast, revolving schemes of worldly
dominion. Only on the terrace in front of the Public Library is there
any temptation for tarrying and consideration. There one may pause and
study the inscription--_But Above All Things Truth Beareth Away the
Victory_ ... of course the true eloquence of the words lies in the
_But_. Much reason for that _But_, implying a previous contradiction--on
the Avenue's part? Sometimes, pacing vigorously in that river of lovely
pride and fascination, one might have suspected that other things bore
away the victory--spats, diamond necklaces, smoky blue furs nestling
under lovel