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Updated: June 5, 2025
Lights thicker and thicker a factory illuminated by arc-lamps, the baggage the porter the eager trail of people in the aisle climbing down to the platform red caps passing the puffing engine which had brought them in the procession to the gate faces behind a grill Eugene Gilson and Eva waving kisses, cries of "How was the trip?" and "Oh!
The park was lighted by several sputtering, sizzling arc-lamps, and their rays striking down through the trees, flung upon the pavement a wavering, exquisite tracery of sharply defined, purple-black leaves and branches. This was, indeed, an entirely new effect in our old world and to my mind its wonder surpassed nature. It was as if I had suddenly been translated to some realm of magic art.
It was bright and gay here, with the arc-lamps hanging like a row of light- birds above the asphalt, now and then beating their wings to keep themselves poised. They seemed to sweep down the darkness of night, and great shadows flickered through the street and disappeared.
In the clear June atmosphere, under the great arc-lamps which seemed suspended in the mild lambent air, the branches of the trees lining the Boulevards showed brightly, delicately green; and the tints of the dresses worn by the women walking up and down outside the cafes and still brilliantly lighted shops mingled luminously, as on a magic palette.
His mind could accept but one fact: his aunt had died alone, without his being at the bedside. It rained in Herculaneum that night. The pavement in Williams Street glistened sharply, for a wind was swinging the arc-lamps. The trees on the Warrington lawn sighed incessantly; and drip, drip, drip, went the rain on the leaves. Not a light shone anywhere in the house; total darkness brooded over it.
In the stream, fissured ice drifted down a wide, dark channel; one felt that spring was coming. Behind the town, somber pines rolled back across the rocky wilderness; in the foreground, dazzling arc-lamps flung their blue reflections on the ice, and the lights of the Hulton factory ran far up in gleaming rows. Civilization had reached the spot and stopped for a time.
From over their roofs came the glare of the high arc-lamps at the wharf-edge and the masts and the rigging of ships lifted into view.
The phantom city over there is London, New York, Paris, according to his fancy. He's going out to dinner with his girl. All those flares are arc-lamps along boulevards; that last white rocket that went flaming across the sky, was the faery taxi which is to speed him on his happy errand. It isn't so, one has only to remember. We were in the Somme for several months.
"Now, if you don't mind, there's something I want to read." Big arc-lamps flared above the railroad track that crossed the yard of the Hulton factory, but except for a yellow glimmer from a few upper windows, the building rose in a huge dark oblong against the sky.
Orme stepped back to make way for them on the platform, and as they descended and the conductor rang the bell, he looked out at the suburban landscape, with its well-lighted, macadamized streets, its vacant lots, and its occasional houses, which seemed to be of the better class, as nearly as he could judge in the uncertain rays of the arc-lamps.
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