Explore "The Sowers" by Henry Seton Merriman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It is to be feared that there is a lamentable lack of local color in the present narrative. Having safely arrived at Petersburg, we have nothing to tell of that romantic city -- no hints at deep-laid plots, no prison, nor tales of jailbirds -- tales with salt on them, bien entendu -- the usual grain. We have hardly mentioned the Nevski Prospekt, which street by ancient right must needs figure in all Russian romance. We have instead been prating of drawing-rooms and mere interiors of houses, which today are the same all the world over. A Japanese fan is but a Japanese fan, whether it hang on the wall of a Canadian drawing-room or the matting of an Indian bungalow. An Afghan carpet is the same on any floor. It is the foot that treads the carpet which makes one to differ from another.
Whether it be in Petersburg or Peking, it still must be the human being that lends the interest to the still life around it. A truce, therefore, to picturesque description -- sour grapes to the present pen -- of church and fort and river, with which the living persons of whom we tell have little or nothing to do.