It has been my privilege for nearly thirty years to occupy this space in your paper, that I might offer observations upon the state of our world and the peculiarities of human nature. In all my years of practice in this profession, I have witnessed transformations most remarkable—the rise of the motorcar, the marvel of electric illumination, and now this talk of flying machines.
Yet amid all this progress, certain truths remain immutable. The human heart yearns for connection. The mind craves understanding. The spirit seeks meaning in a world that often seems bent upon obscuring it.
Last Tuesday, whilst taking my constitutional through the park, I observed a curious sight. A gentleman of considerable years was feeding the pigeons, and nearby, a young child watched with unbridled fascination. Neither exchanged words, yet in that moment of silent communion with the natural world, both seemed transported beyond the cares that weigh upon modern existence.
This is the truth I have endeavored to document: that amid the clamor of our great cities, amid the constant churn of commerce and politics, there persist moments of profound quiet. These moments remind us of what truly matters.
"The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers."
The poet Wordsworth wrote those lines more than a century ago, yet they ring as true today as ever. We have given ourselves over to the pursuit of the newfangled and the extraordinary, when perhaps what we require is a return to the simple and the genuine.
Our modern newspapers trumpet the sensational. Inventors parade their creations. Politicians thunder their promises. But rarely do we pause to consider what has been lost in our rush toward tomorrow.
I do not argue for a return to barbarism. The advances in medicine alone have saved countless lives. The ability to communicate across great distances has fostered understanding between peoples. But let us not forget the cost of progress—a certain loss of rootedness, of community, of the unhurried contemplation that once characterized civilized life.
The answer, I believe, is not to resist change, but to integrate it thoughtfully with the wisdom of ages past. To retain what is good in tradition whilst embracing what is beneficial in innovation.
As I sit here in my study, pen in hand, composing these thoughts for your consideration, I am struck by the paradox of my own position. I write upon a typewriter—a marvel of modern engineering—about the virtues of the old ways. Yet perhaps there is no contradiction here. The typewriter is merely a tool. The question that matters is: what worthy thoughts shall it convey?
In these uncertain times, as our nation grapples with great questions of economy and conscience, I urge each reader to seek moments of quiet reflection. Look upon nature. Speak with friends and family. Consider the deeper questions that give life its substance and meaning.
For in the end, we shall not be remembered for the automobiles we owned or the electric lights we commanded, but for the kindness we showed, the wisdom we imparted, and the love we shared.
—H.W.