The chance visitor to Fall River may be said, like the old fisherman
in "Bartholomew Fair," to have "seen half the world, without tasting
its savor." Wandering down the Main Street, with its clanging
trolley-cars and noisy drays, one wonders (as, indeed, one may well
wonder), if all this is a manifestation so much of Fall River as it is
of that for which Fall River stands.
Frankly, I do not know.
But there is something in the air, something ineffable in the swirl of
the smoke from the towering stacks, which sings, to the rhythm of the
clashing shuttles and humming looms, of a day when old gentlemen in
belted raglans and cloth-topped boots strolled through these streets,
bearing with them the legend of mutability. Perhaps "mutability" is
too strong a word. Fall Riverians would think so.
And the old Fall River Line! What memories does that name not awaken
in the minds of globe-trotters? Or, rather, what memories _does_ it
awaken? William Lloyd Garrison is said to have remarked upon one
occasion to Benjamin Butler that one of the most grateful features of
Fall River was the night-boat for New York. To which Butler is
reported to have replied: "But, my dear Lloyd, there is no night-boat
to New York, and there won't be until along about 1875 or even later.
So your funny crack, in its essential detail, falls flat."
But, regardless of all this, the fact remains that Fall River is Fall
River, and that it is within easy motoring distance of Newport, which
offers our art department countless opportunities for charming
illustrations.