BRIDGES 153 



bridges is always one of admiration, even of awe, for 

 modern engineering. To stand on the East River 

 docks and see the gigantic, wirespun, airy boulevard 

 of the Brooklyn Bridge go leaping up into space and 

 descend in a curve of marvellous grace into the granite 

 gorges of lower Manhattan is to experience a sensation 

 no other city on earth can offer you. Even the glit- 

 tering white Matterhorn of the Woolworth Tower, 

 toward which the distant end of the bridge seems diving, 

 is less impressive than the space-hung boulevard of 

 the bridge itself. It would have been from the foot- 

 path of this bridge, too, that Wordsworth would have 

 written his sonnet to Manhattan we wonder in what 

 spirit of solemn awe or bitter scorn? 



The appeal of bridges to man's imaginative interest is 

 based, of course, upon deep racial facts. Bridges, no 

 less than ships, are a symbol of man's conquest of his 

 environment. They are an escape from the tyranny 

 of Nature. The first bridge, no doubt, was the bridge 

 the animals still use a fallen tree across a little stream. 

 The next step was to fell a tree when a bridge was 

 needed, the next to provide supports for it, the next to 

 extend the length of span by mid-stream structures. 

 Every step on the way meant a rise in the scale of civili- 

 zation, and the simplest bit of plank across a brook, 

 where the path winds down through the trees, has for 

 us the curious interest of primitive things, taking us 

 back many ages in our history. 



