The Other Gods and More Unearthly Tales by H.P. Lovecraft Page A

were cobblestones over which clattered many a blooded horse and rumbled many a gilded coach; and brick sidewalks with
horse blocks and hitching-posts.
    There were in that Street many trees; elms and oaks and maples of dignity; so that in the summer the scene was all soft verdure and twittering birdsong. And behind the houses were walled rose
gardens with hedged paths and sundials, where at evening the moon and stars would shine bewitchingly while fragrant blossoms glistened with dew.
    So The Street dreamed on, past wars, calamities, and changes. Once most of the young men went away, and some never came back. That was when they furled the Old Flag and put up a new Banner of
Stripes and Stars. But though men talked of great changes, The Street felt them not; for its folk were still the same, speaking of the old familiar things in the old familiar accents. And the trees
still sheltered singing birds, and at evening the moon and stars looked down upon dewy blossoms in the walled rose gardens.
    In time there were no more swords, three-cornered hats, or periwigs in The Street. How strange seemed the denizens with their walking sticks, tall beavers, and cropped heads! New sounds came
from the distance—first strange puffings and shrieks from the river a mile away, and then, many years later, strange puffings and shrieks and rumblings from other directions. The air was not
quite so pure as before, but the spirit of the place had not changed. The blood and soul of the people were as the blood and soul of their ancestors who had fashioned The Street. Nor did the spirit
change when they tore open the earth to lay down strange pipes, or when they set up tall posts bearing weird wires. There was so much ancient lore in that Street, that the past could not easily be
forgotten.
    Then came days of evil, when many who had known The Street of old knew it no more; and many knew it, who had not known it before. And those who came were never as those who went away; for their
accents were coarse and strident, and their mien and faces unpleasing. Their thoughts, too, fought with the wise, just spirit of The Street, so that The Street pined silently as its houses fell
into decay, and its trees died one by one, and its rose gardens grew rank with weeds and waste. But it felt a stir of pride one day when again marched forth young men, some of whom never came back.
These young men were clad in blue.
    With the years worse fortune came to The Street. Its trees wee all gone now, and its rose gardens were displaced by the backs of cheap, ugly new buildings on parallel streets. Yet the houses
remained, despite the ravages of the years and the storms and worms, for they had been made to serve many a generation. New kinds of faces appeared in The Street; swarthy, sinister faces with
furtive eyes and odd features, whose owners spoke unfamiliar words and placed signs in known and unknown characters upon most of the musty houses. Pushcarts crowded the gutters. A sordid,
undefinable stench settled over the place, and the ancient spirit slept.
    Great excitement once came to The Street. War and revolution were raging across the seas; a dynasty had collapsed, and its degenerate subjects were flocking with dubious intent to the Western
Land. Many of these took lodgings in the battered houses that had once known the songs of birds and the scent of roses. Then the Western Land itself awoke, and joined the Mother Land in her titanic
struggle for civilisation. Over the cities once more floated the Old Flag, companioned by the New Flag and by a plainer yet glorious Tri-colour. But not many flags floated over The Street, for
therein brooded only fear and hatred and ignorance. Again young men went forth, but not quite as did the young men of those other days. Something was lacking. And the sons of those young men of
other days, who did indeed go forth in olive-drab with the true spirit of their ancestors, went from distant places and knew not The Street