Public Ledger

A STREET THOUGHT

An old inhabitant of Memphis cannot walk our streets now without recalling vividly to mind scores of faces that were once familiar, but are seen no more. He meets great throngs hurrying by. He looks in vain for some old friend—some one who knew Memphis when it was a small village, and killed squirrels where Odd Fellows' Hall now stands. The masses are strangers, with faces unlike the ones of the old time. With them he is solitary, for the one who has outlived and outloved the companions of his youth, the throng is a solitude. We miss some faces that were ever pleasant, and others that beamed like stars on our existence.

Who does not miss the face, the form, the soul of Samuel P. Walker? It was so pleasant to meet him. A kind word was ever on his lips, and a great, noble heart ever beating in his bosom. The poor miss him, for he was their friend. Everyone who knew him misses him. But a large circle of friends felt that when he went to his final rest, a part of Memphis was buried with him.

And who that admires great talents and personal qualities rarely, if ever equaled, does not feel that the world is less bright, and that this city is not its old self, since Edwin M. Yerger is met no more upon our streets? Rufus Choate, in his eulogy on Daniel Webster, exclaimed: "O for one more hour with Daniel Webster!" There are many who would like nothing so much as another hour with Yerger. Along the street he seemed to diffuse a positive radiance. He knew many people and they knew him. His face was grand, kind and gentle. He spoke to everybody and everybody spoke to him. We have seen struggles on the streets to monopolize his attention. The disappearance of such a man is an event that sinks a silent sorrow into the minds of many people.

We cannot now mention the names of many of the old stock who have gone from us. Others are dropping away like the fruits of the autumn. We shall soon have a population wholly new. The sharp man of business will take the place of him who assisted to lay out these streets and to erect these great blocks of buildings. The voice of the stranger advocate will be heard in those halls where the eloquence of Yerger was the delight of the just and the terror of the law-breaker. The little beggar, the starving widow, whom Walker befriended, must turn now with their appealing eyes to another who will perchance turn from them with a curse, or with a look of disgust that will freeze into their very veins.

Let us cherish the "old folks" that linger among us, for they are the last of those who fashioned this fine city on the Mississippi. Peace to the ashes of those who have gone before, and health and long life to those who will presently or remotely follow.