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diff --git a/40884.txt b/40884.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f83132f..0000000 --- a/40884.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11286 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Personality of American Cities, by Edward Hungerford - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Personality of American Cities - -Author: Edward Hungerford - -Illustrator: E. Horter - -Release Date: October 1, 2012 [EBook #40884] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERSONALITY OF AMERICAN CITIES *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Charlie Howard and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - -[Illustration: _From an etching by E. Horter_ - -MADISON SQUARE, NEW YORK] - - - - - THE PERSONALITY - OF - AMERICAN CITIES - - BY - EDWARD HUNGERFORD - - _Author of_ "_The Modern Railroad_," - "_Gertrude_," _etc._ - - WITH FRONTISPIECE BY - E. HORTER - - NEW YORK - McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY - 1913 - - - Copyright, 1913, by - MCBRIDE, NAST & CO. - - Published November, 1913 - - - - - TO - MY LITTLE DAUGHTER - ADRIENNE. - - - - -PREFACE - - -This book has been in preparation for nearly four years. In that time -the author has been in each of the cities that he has set forth to -describe herein. With the exception of Charleston, New Orleans and the -three cities of the North Pacific, he has been in each city two or three -or even four or five times. - -The task that he has essayed--placing in a single chapter even something -of the flavor and personality of a typical American town--has not been -an easy one, but he hopes that he has given it a measure of fidelity and -accuracy if nothing more. Of course, he does not believe that he has -included within these covers all of the American cities of distinctive -personality. Such a list would include necessarily such clear-cut New -England towns as Portland, Worcester, Springfield, Hartford and New -Haven; it would give heed to the solid Dutch manors of Albany; the -wonderful development of Detroit, builded into a great city by the -development of the motor car; the distinctive features of Milwaukee; the -southern charm of Indianapolis and Cincinnati and Louisville; the breezy -western atmosphere of Omaha and of Kansas City. And in Canada, Winnipeg, -already proclaiming herself as the "Chicago of the Dominion," Vancouver -and Victoria demand attention. The author regrets that the lack of -personal acquaintance with the charms of some of these cities, as well -as the pressure of space, serves to prevent their being included within -the pages of his book. It is quite possible, however, that some or all -of them may be included within subsequent editions. - -The author bespeaks his thanks to the magazine editors who were gracious -enough to permit him to include portions of his articles from their -pages. He wishes particularly to thank for their generous assistance in -the preparation of this book, R. C. Ellsworth, and Cromwell Childe of -New York; C. Armand Miller, D.D., of Philadelphia; Nat Olds, formerly of -Rochester; Edwin Baxter of Cleveland; and Victor Ross of Toronto. -Without their aid it is conceivable that the book would not have come -into its being. And having aided it, they must be content to be known as -its foster fathers. - - E. H. - - Brooklyn, New York, September, 1913. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - 1. OUR ANCIENT HUB 1 - - 2. AMERICA'S NEW YORK 17 - - 3. ACROSS THE EAST RIVER 61 - - 4. WILLIAM PENN'S TOWN 76 - - 5. THE MONUMENTAL CITY 95 - - 6. THE AMERICAN MECCA 108 - - 7. THE CITY OF THE SEVEN HILLS 127 - - 8. WHERE ROMANCE AND COURTESY DO NOT FORGET 135 - - 9. ROCHESTER--AND HER NEIGHBORS 153 - - 10. STEEL'S GREAT CAPITAL 171 - - 11. THE SIXTH CITY 185 - - 12. CHICAGO--AND THE CHICAGOANS 198 - - 13. THE TWIN CITIES 212 - - 14. THE GATEWAY OF THE SOUTHWEST 225 - - 15. THE OLD FRENCH LADY BY THE RIVERBANK 236 - - 16. THE CITY OF THE LITTLE SQUARES 256 - - 17. THE AMERICAN PARIS 266 - - 18. TWO RIVALS OF THE NORTH PACIFIC--AND A THIRD 280 - - 19. SAN FRANCISCO--THE NEWEST PHOENIX 288 - - 20. BELFAST IN AMERICA 307 - - 21. WHERE FRENCH AND ENGLISH MEET 318 - - 22. THE CITY THAT NEVER GROWS YOUNG 332 - - - - -THE ILLUSTRATIONS - - - Madison Square, New York _Frontispiece_ - - FACING - PAGE - - Tremont Street, Boston 2 - - Park Street, Boston 10 - - The Brooklyn Bridge 18 - - View of New York from a Skyscraper 30 - - Washington Square, New York 46 - - A Quiet Street on Brooklyn Heights 64 - - An old Brooklyn Homestead 72 - - City Hall Philadelphia 84 - - In Baltimore Harbor 96 - - Charles Street, Baltimore 102 - - The Union Station, Washington 114 - - The Capitol 122 - - St. Michael's Churchyard, Charleston 146 - - The Erie Canal, in Rochester 154 - - A Home in Rochester 160 - - Syracuse--the canal 168 - - The waterfront, Pittsburgh 180 - - One of Cleveland's broad avenues 192 - - Michigan Avenue and lake-front, Chicago 204 - - The River at St. Paul 220 - - Entrance to the University, St. Louis 226 - - A home in the newer St. Louis 232 - - Steamboat at the New Orleans levee 244 - - The big cathedral, San Antonio 256 - - San Juan Mission, San Antonio 262 - - The arch at 17th Street, Denver 270 - - Seattle, Puget Sound and the Olympics 282 - - Where the Pacific rolls up to San Francisco 294 - - The Mission Dolores, San Francisco 302 - - A Church parade in Montreal 320 - - Looking from the Terrace into Lower Quebec 334 - - Four Brethren upon the Terrace 340 - - - - -THE PERSONALITY OF AMERICAN CITIES - - - - -1 - -OUR ANCIENT HUB - - -There are more things forbidden in Boston than in Berlin--and that is -saying much. You may be a citizen of a republic, but when you come to -the old Bay State town you suddenly realize that you are being ruled. At -each park entrance is posted a code of rules and regulations that would -take a quarter of an hour to read and digest; in the elevated and -trolley cars, in public institutions and churches, even in shops and -hotels, the canons laid down for your conduct are sharp in detail and -unvarying in command. You may not whistle in a public park, nor loiter -within a subway station, nor pray aloud upon the Charlesbank. And for -some reason, which seems delightfully unreasonable to a man without the -pale, you may not take an elevated ticket from an elevated railroad -station. It is to be immediately deposited within the chopping-box -before you board your train. As to what might happen to a hapless human -who emerged from a station with a ticket still in his possession, the -Boston code does not distinctly state. - -And yet--like most tightly ruled principalities--Boston's attractiveness -is keen even to the unregulated mind. The effect of many rules and -sundry regulations seems to be law and order--to an extent hardly -reached in any other city within the United States. The Bostonian is -occasionally rude; these occasions are almost invariably upon his -overcrowded streets and in the public places--until the stranger may -begin to wonder if, after all, the street railroad employes have a -monopoly of good manners--but he is always just. His mind is judicial. -He treats you fairly. And if he knows you, knows your forbears as well, -he is courtesy of the highest sort. And there is no hospitality in the -land to be compared with Boston hospitality--once you have been admitted -to its portals. - -[Illustration: Boston's _Via Sacre_--Tremont Street--and Park Street -church] - -So we have come in this second decade of the twentieth century to speak -of the inner cult of the Boston folk as Brahmins. The term is not new. -But in the whole land there is not one better applied. For almost as the -high caste of mystic India hold themselves aloof from even the mere -sight of less favored humans, do these great, somber houses of Beacon -street and the rest of the Back Bay close their doors tightly to the -stranger. Make no mistake as to this very thing. You rarely read of -Boston society--her Brahmin caste--in the columns of her newspapers. -There are, of course, distinguished Boston folk whose names ring there -many times--a young girl who through her athletic triumphs and her sane -fashion of looking at life forms a good example for her sisters across -the land; a brilliant broker, with an itching for printer's ink, who -places small red devils upon his stationery; a society matron who must -always sit in the same balcony seat at the Symphony concerts, and who -houses in her eccentric Back Bay home perhaps the finest private art -gallery in America. These folk and many others of their sort head the -so-called "Society columns" of the Sunday newspapers. But the real -Bostonese do not run to _outre_ stationery or other eccentricities. They -live within the tight walls of their somber, simple, lovely old -red-brick houses, and thank God that there were days that had the names -of Winthrop or Cabot or Adams or Peabody spelled in tinted letters -along the horizon. - -A. M. Howe, who knows his Boston thoroughly, once told of two old ladies -there who always quarreled as to which should have the first look at the -_Transcript_ each evening. - -"I want to see if anybody nice has died in the _Transcript_ this -evening," the older sister would say as she would hear the thud of the -paper against the stout outer door,--and after that the battle was on. - -We always had suspected Mr. Howe of going rather far in this, until we -came to the facts. It seems that there were two old ladies in Cambridge, -which--as every one ought to know, is a sort of scholastic annex to -Boston--and that they never quarreled--save on the matter of the first -possession of the _Transcript_. On that vexed question they never failed -to disagree. The matter was brought to the attention of the owners of -the newspaper--and they settled it by sending an extra copy of the -_Transcript_ each evening, with their compliments. And that could not -have happened anywhere else in this land save on the shores of -Massachusetts Bay. - -Yet these old Bostonians the chance visitor to the city rarely, if ever, -sees. They are conspicuous by their very absence. He will not find them -lunching in the showy restaurants of the Touraine or in its newest -competitor farther up Boylston street. They shrink. He may sometime -catch a glimpse of a patrician New England countenance behind the -window-glass of a carriage-door, or even see the Brahmins quietly -walking home from church through the sacred streets of the Back Bay on a -Sunday morning, but that is all. The doors of the old houses upon those -streets are tightly closed upon him. - -But if one of those doors will open ever and ever so tiny a crack to -him, it will open full-wide, with the generous width of New England -hospitality, and bid him enter. We remember dining in one of these -famous old houses two or three seasons ago. It was in the heart of -winter--a Boston winter--and the night was capriciously changing from -rain to sleet and sleet to rain again. The wind blew in from the sea -with that piercing sharpness, so characteristic of Boston. It bent the -bare branches of the old trees upon the Common, sent swinging overhead -signs to creaking and shrieking in their misery, played sad havoc with -unwary umbrellas, and shot the flares from the bracketed gas-lamps along -the streets into all manner of fanciful forms. In such a storm we made -our way through streets of solid brick houses up the hill to the famous -Bulfinch State House and then down again through Mount Vernon street and -Louisburg square--highways that once properly flattened might have been -taken from Mayfair or Belgravia. Finally our path led to a little -street, boasting but eight of the stolid brick houses and arranged in -the form of a capital T. The shank of the T gave that little colony its -sole access to the remainder of the world. - -To one of these eight old houses--an austere fellow and the product of -an austere age--we were asked. When its solid door closed behind us, we -were in another Boston. Not that the interior of the house belied its -stolid front. It was as simple as yellow tintings and bare walls might -ever be. But the few pieces of furniture that were scattered through the -generous rooms were real furniture, mahogany of a sort that one rarely -ever sees in shops or auction-rooms, the canvases that occasionally -relieved those bare walls were paintings that would have graced even -sizeable public collections. The dinner was simple--compared with New -York standards--but the hospitality was generous, even still compared -with the standards of New York. To that informal dinner had been bidden -a group of Boston men and women fairly representative of the town, a -Harvard professor of real renown, the editor of an influential daily -newspaper, a barrister of national reputation, a sociologist whose heart -has gone toward her work and made that work successful. These folk, -exquisite in their poise because of their absolute simplicity, discussed -the issues of the moment--the city's progress in the playground -movement, the possibilities of minimum wage laws, the tragic devotion of -Mrs. Pankhurst and her daughter to woman suffrage. In New York a similar -group of folk similarly gathered would have discussed the newest and -most elaborate of hotels or George M. Cohan's latest show. - -It is this very quality that makes Boston so different--and so -delightful. She may look like a cleanly London, as she often -boasts--with her sober streets of red brick--and yet she still remains, -despite the great changes that have come to pass in the character of her -people within the past dozen years--a really American town. A few hours -of study of the faces upon the streets and in the public conveyances -will confirm this. And perhaps it is this very fact that makes a -certain, well-known resident of the Middle West come to Boston once or -twice each year without any purpose than his own announced one of -dwelling for a few days within a "really civilized community." - - * * * * * - -We well remember our first visit to Boston some--twenty years ago. We -came over the Boston & Albany railroad down into the old station in -Kneeland street. For it was before the day that those two mammoth and -barnlike terminals, the North and the South stations, had been built. In -those days the railroad stations of Boston expressed more than a little -of her personality--even the dingy ark of the Boston & Maine which -thrust itself out ahead of all its competitors along Causeway street -and reached into Haymarket square. The Providence station in Park square -and the Lowell and the Albany stations bespoke in pretentious -architecture something of the importance and elegance of those three -railroads, while as for the gray stone castellated station of the -Fitchburg railroad--that sublimated passenger-house made timid travelers -almost feel that they were gazing at the East portal of the Hoosic -tunnel itself. It originally held a great hall--superimposed above the -train-shed--and in that hall Jenny Lind sang when first she came to -Boston. Afterwards it was decided that a concert hall over a noisy -train-house was hardly a happy ingenuity and it was torn out. By that -time, however, the Fitchburg station had taken its place in the annals -of Boston. - -But the Fitchburg railroad, even in its palmiest days, was never to be -compared with "the Albany." Even the railroad to Providence, with its -forty-five miles of well-nigh perfect roadbed, over which the trains -thundered in fifty-five minutes, even a half century ago, was not to be -mentioned in the same breath with the Boston & Albany. There _was_ a -railroad. And even if its charter did compel it to pay back to the -commonwealth of Massachusetts every penny that it earned in excess of -eight per cent. dividends upon its stock, that was not to be counted -against it. It had never the least difficulty in earning more than that -sum and, as far as we know, it never paid the state any money. But the -commonwealth of Massachusetts did not lose. It gained a high-grade -railroad--in the day when America hardly knew the meaning of such a -term. The stations along "the Albany" were rare bits of architecture -while the average railroad depot, even in good-sized towns, was a dingy, -barnlike hole. It ripped out wooden and iron bridges by the dozens along -its main line and branches and set the pace for the rest of the country -by building stout stone-arch bridges--of the sort that last the -centuries. These things, and many others, were typical of the road. - -The Boston & Albany was unique in the fact that each stockholder who -lived along its lines received as a yearly perquisite a pass to the -annual meeting in Boston. The annual meetings were always well attended. -Staid college professors, remembering the joys of Boston book shops, old -ladies wearing black bombazine, tiny bonnets and prim expressions--all -these and many others, too, looked forward to the annual meeting of -their railroad as a child looks forward to Christmas. - -This is not the time or place to discuss the vexatious railroad -situation in New England, but it is worth while to note that when the -New York Central railroad leased the Boston & Albany--a little more than -a dozen years ago--and began blotting out the familiar name upon the -engines and the cars, a wave of sentimental anger swept over Boston that -it had hardly known since it had inflamed over slavery and laid the -foundations for the greatest internecine conflict that the world has -ever known. Boston held no quarrel with the owners of the New York -Central--if they would only not disturb the traditions of its great -railroad. But the owners of the New York Central did not understand. It -was not them. It was that word "New York" being blazoned before Boston -eyes that was making the trouble. The old town had seen the Boston & -Providence and then, horror of horrors, the New England disappear before -a railroad that called itself the New York, New Haven & Hartford. And -after these the offense was being created against its pet railroad--the -Boston & Albany. - -The other day the New York Central saw a great light. And in that mental -brilliancy it gave back to Boston its old railroad. As this is being -written "Boston & Albany" is reappearing upon whole brigades of engines -and regiments of freight and passenger cars. A friendly sentiment, -reared in traditions, has not been slow to show its appreciation of the -act of the railroad in New York. And the men in charge of the great -consolidation of the other railroads east of the Hudson river have not -been slow to follow in their action. They have announced that they plan -to build their railroads into one great system called the "New England -Lines." It begins to look as if, after all these years, they have begun -to read the Boston mind. - - * * * * * - -We have strayed far from our text--from our long ago early visit to -Boston. Our first impression of the town then came from a policeman whom -we saw in the old Kneeland street station. The policeman had white -side-whiskers and he wore gold-bowed spectacles. We have never, either -before or after our first arrival in Boston, seen a policeman adorned, -either simultaneously or separately, with white "mutton-chops" or -gold-bowed spectacles, and so it was that this Bostonian made a distinct -impression. Boston, itself, made many impressions. Twenty years ago many -of the institutions of the town that have since disappeared, still -remained. True it is that the horse-cars were going from Tremont street, -for the first of the diminutive subways that have kept the city years -ahead of most American towns in the solution of her intra-urban -transportation problems had been completed and was a nine-days' marvel -to the land. The coldly gray "Christian Science Cathedral," with its -wonderful Sunday congregations, could hardly have existed then, even as -a dream in the mind of its founder. And the Boston Museum still existed. -To be sure, many of its glories in the days of William Warren and Annie -Clarke had disappeared and it was doomed a few months later to such -attractions as the booking syndicates might allot it, but its row of -exterior lamps still blazed in Tremont street: until in June, 1903, it -rang down its green baize curtains and closed its historic doors for the -last time. - -And yet Boston has not changed greatly in twenty years--not in outward -appearance at least. When she builds anew she builds with reverent -regard for her ideals and her past traditions. Her architects must be -steeped in both. Nearly twenty years ago she builded her first -skyscraper--a modest and dignified affair of but twelve stories--and was -then so shocked at her own audacity that she promised to be very, very -good for ever after and never to do anything of that sort again. So when -she found that a new hotel going up near Copley Square had overstepped -her modest limit of seven stories--or is it eight?--she showed that she -could have firmness in her determination. She chopped the cornice and -the upper story boldly off the new hotel, and so it stands today, as if -someone had passed a giant slicing-knife cleanly over the structure. - -So it is that Boston still holds to her attractive sky-line, the -exquisite composition of such distinctive thoroughfares as Park street -from the fine old church at Tremont street up the hill to Beacon street, -the pillared, yellow front of the old State House; still keeps her -meeting-houses with their delicate belfried spires standing guard upon -her many hilltops; maintains the rich traditions of her history in the -infinite detail of her architecture--in some bit of wall or section of -iron fence, in the paneling of a door, the set of a cupola, the thrust -of a street-lamp, and even in the chimney-pots that thrust themselves on -high to the attention of the man upon the pavement. She cherishes her -memories. And when she builds anew she does not forget her ideals. - -She never forgets her ideals. And if at times they may lead her to -regard herself a bit too seriously, they make for the old town one of -the things that too many other American towns lack--a real and -distinctive personality. For instance, take her public houses, her -taverns and inns. They are notable in the fact that they are -distinctive--and something more. In a day and age when the famous -American hotels of other days and generations and the things for which -they stood, have been rather forgotten in the strife to imitate a -certain type of New York skyscraper hotel, the Boston hotels still stand -distinctive. Not that the New York type of skyscraper is not excellent. -It must have had its strong points to have been so copied across the -land. But if all the hotels in every town, big and little, are to be -fashioned in the essentials from the same mold what is to become of the -zest for travel? You travel for variety's sake, otherwise you might as -well go to the local skyscraper hotel in your own town and save railroad -fare and other transportation expenses. - -But no matter what may be true of other towns, the Boston hotels are -different. "I like the Quincy House for its sea-fud," said an old -legislator from Sandisfield more than forty years ago, and as for the -Tremont House, turn the pages of your "American Notes" and recall the -praise that Charles Dickens gave that not-to-be-forgotten hostelry. It -was one of the very few things in the earlier America that did not seem -to excite his entire contempt. - -[Illustration: Up Park Street, past the Common to Boston's famous State -House] - -The Tremont House has gone--it disappeared under the advance of -modernity in the serpent-like guise of the first subway in America, -creeping down in front of it. But other hotels of the old Boston remain -a'plenty, the staid Revere House, Parker's, Young's, the Adams -House,--ages seem to have mellowed but not lessened their comforts to -the traveler. Where else can one find a catalogue of the hotel library -hanging beside his dresser when he retires to the privacy of his room, -not a library crammed with "best-sellers" like these itinerant -institutions on the limited trains, but filled with real books of a far -more solid sort--where else such wisdom on tap in a tavern--but Boston? -And if the traveler fails to be schooled to such possibilities, we might -ask where else in Christendom can he get boiled scrod, or Washington -pie, or fish balls, or cod tongues with bacon, or that magna charta of -the New England appetite, that Plymouth rock from which has come all the -virtues of its sturdy folk, baked beans with brown bread? Eating in -Boston is good. In these things it is superlative. And it is pleasing to -know that Boston's newest hotel--the Copley-Plaza--perhaps the finest -hotel in America, since it has discarded new-fashioned details for the -old--observes the traditions of the town in which it truly earns its -bread and butter. - -And if the traveler have magic sesame, the clubs of the old town may -open to him, clubs with spotless integrity and matchless service, all -the way from the stately Somerset and the Algonquin through to the -democratic City Club--with its more than four thousand enthusiastic -members. This last is perhaps the most representative of Boston clubs. -Its old house--unfortunately soon to be vacated--stands in Beacon -street, within a stone's throw of King's Chapel and Tremont street. It -is a rare old house; two houses in fact, lending tenderly to the Boston -traditions of delicate bow fronts and severity of ornament. Its rooms -are broad and long and low, filled with hospitable tables and -comfortable Windsor chairs. In its great fireplace hickory logs crackle -and the New England tradition of an ash-bank is preserved to the -minutest detail. Its dun-colored walls are lined with rare prints and -old photographs--pictures for the most part of that old Boston which was -and which never again can be. The dishes that come out from its kitchen -are from the best of traditional New England recipes. And as your host -leads you out from the dining-room he delves deep into a barrel and -brings out two bright red apples. He hands you one. - -"We New England folk think that most of the real virtues of life are -seated in red apples," he says--and there is something in his way of -saying it that makes you believe that he is right. - -Another day and he may lead you to still another club--this one down -under the roof of one of those solid old stone warehouses with -steep-pitched roofs that thrust themselves abruptly out into the -harbor-line. It is a yacht club, and its fortress-like windows, shaped -like the port-holes of a ship, look direct to a brisk water highway to -the open sea. Underneath those very windows is the rush and turmoil of -one of the busiest fish markets in the land. There is nothing on either -coast, no, not even down in the picturesque Gulf that can compare with -this place, which reeks with the odors and where the fishermen handle -the cod with huge forks and paint the decks of their staunch little -vessels a distinctive color to show the nationality of the folk who man -it. We remember that the Portuguese have a whimsical fancy for painting -the decks of their little fishing schooners a most unusual blue. - -Of Boston harbor an entire book might easily be written--of the quaint -craft that still tie to its wharves, the brave show of shipping that -passes in and out each day, of Boston Light and that other silent, -watchful sentinel which stands upon Minot's Ledge; of the Navy Yard over -in Charlestown at which the _Constitution_, most famous of all -fighting-ships, rusts out her fighting heart through the long years. And -looking down upon that old Navy Yard from Boston itself is Copp's Hill -burying-ground, a rich grubbing-place for the seekers of epitaphs and of -genealogical lore. We remember once winning the heart of the keeper of -the old cemetery and of being permitted to descend to the vault of one -of the oldest of Boston families. In the dark place there were three -little groups of bones and we knew that only three persons had been -buried there. - -Above, the sunshine beat merrily down upon Copp's Hill, with its -headstones arranged in neat rows along the tidy paths and the elevated -trains in an encircling street fairly belying the bullets in the -stones--shot there from Bunker Hill a century and a quarter before.... -There are many other such burying-grounds in Boston--in the very heart -of the city the Granary and King's Chapel burying-ground where a great -owl sometimes comes at dusk and opens his eyes wide at the traffic of a -great city encircling one of God's acres. And a soul that revels in -these things will, perchance, journey to Salem, seventeen miles distant, -and see the moldering seaport that once rivaled Boston in her prosperity -and that sent her clipper ships sailing around the wide world. There are -many delightful side-trips out from Boston--the sail across the tumbling -bay to Provincetown, which still boasts a town crier, down to Plymouth -or up to Gloucester, with its smart, seaside resorts nearby. And back -from Boston there are other moldering towns, filled with fascination and -romance. Some of them have hardly changed within the century. - -Even Boston does not change rapidly. Thank God for that! She keeps well -to the old customs and the old traditions, holds tightly to her ideals. -Only in the folk who walk her awkward streets can the discerning man see -the new Boston. The old types of Brahmins are outclassed. Some of them -still do amazingly well in the professions but these are few. Long ago -the steady press of immigration at the port of Boston took political -power away from them. Yet the old guard stands resolute. And the -impress of its manners is not lost upon the Boston of to-day. - -For instance, take the vernacular of the town. Boston has a rather -old-fashioned habit of speaking the English language. It came upon us -rather suddenly one day as we journeyed out Huntington avenue to the -smart new gray and red opera house. The very colorings of the _foyer_ of -that house--soft and simple--bespoke the refinement of the Boston -to-day. - -In the Metropolitan Opera House, New York, in every other one of the big -opera houses that are springing up mushroom-fashion across the land, our -ears would have been assailed by "Librettos! Get your librettos!" Not so -in Boston. At the Boston Opera House the young woman back of the _foyer_ -stand calmly announced at clock-like intervals: - -"Translations. Translations." - -And the head usher, whom the older Bostonians grasped by the hand and -seemed to regard as a long-lost friend, did not sip out, "Checks, -please." - -"Locations," he requested, as he condescended to the hand-grasps of the -socially elect. - -"The nearer door for those stepping out," announces the guard upon the -elevated train and as for the surface trolley-cars, those wonderful -green perambulators laden down with more signs than nine ordinary -trolley-cars would carry at one time, they do not speak of the newest -type in Boston as "Pay-as-you-enter cars," after the fashion of less -cultured communities. In the Hub they are known as Prepayment cars--its -precision is unrelenting. - -All of these things make for the furthering of the charm of Boston. They -are tangible assets and even folk from the newer parts of the land are -not slow to realize them as such--remember that man from the Middle West -who makes a journey once or twice each year to be in the very heart of -civilization. There was another Westerner--this man a resident of Omaha, -who sent his boy--already a graduate of a pretty well-known university -near Chicago--to do some post-graduate work at Harvard. A few weeks -later he had a letter from his son. It read something after this -fashion: - -"It seems absurd, Dad, but Harvard does have some absurd regulations. In -fine, they won't let me go out in a shell or boat of any sort upon the -river without special written permission from you. Will you fix me up by -return mail and we will both try to forget this fool undergraduate -regulation, etc...." - -That regulation struck Daddy about as it had hit Sonny. But he hastened -to comply with the request. When he had finished, he felt that he had -turned out quite a document, one that would be enjoyed in the faculty -and perhaps framed and hung up in some quiet nook. It read: - - "To all whom it may concern: - - This is to certify that my son, John Japson Jones, is hereby - authorized and permitted to row, swim, dive or otherwise disport - himself upon, above or under the waters of the Charles river, - Massachusetts bay and waters adjacent to them until especially - revoked. Given under my hand and seal at the city of Omaha in - the state of Nebraska, on the ....th day of October, 19.... - - (Signed) - JAMES JONES." - -Then James Jones awaited the consequences. It was not long after that -the letter came from John Japson. - -"--How could you do it, Dad?" he demanded. "You don't know these folks. -They're not our sort. They don't know humor. They're afraid of it. The -only man I dared to show that awful thing to was the janitor and he -stuck up his nose. 'Guess your pop must have been a little full,' was -his comment." - -James Jones decided to come to Boston forthwith. He wanted to see for -himself what sort of a community John Japson had strayed into. He did -see Boston, Cambridge too, to his heart's content. Boston was his -particular delight. Two of its citizens took the gentleman from Omaha -well in hand. They showed him the Frog Pond--it was just before the -season when they remove the Frog Pond for the season and put down the -boardwalks in the Common--and they showed him the crookedest streets of -any town upon the American continent. They filled him with beans and -with codfish, tickled his palate with the finest Medford rum. He mingled -and he browsed and before they were done with him his barbaric soul -became enraptured. - -"Boston is great," he admitted, frankly. Then, in an afterthought, he -added: - -"I think that I should like to call her the Omaha of the East." - - * * * * * - -The owl still comes on cloudy, troubled nights and sits in a high -tree-limb above the quiet graves in the graveyard of King's Chapel. When -he comes he sees the tardiest of the Boston men, carrying the green -bags, that their daddies and their granddaddies before them carried, as -they go slipping down the School street hill. He is a very old owl and -he loves the old town--loves each of its austere meeting-houses with -their belfried towers, loves the meeting places behind the rows of -chimney-pots, the open reaches of the Common and the adjoining Public -Gardens, where children paddle in the swan-boats all summer long. He -loves the tang and mist of the nearby sea, but best of all he likes the -tree-limb in the old graveyard, the part of Boston that stands -changeless through the years--that thrusts itself into the very face of -modernity with the grimy stone church at its corner and seems to say: - -"I am the Past. To the Past, Reverence." - -And in Boston Modernity halts many times to make obeisance to the Past. - - - - -2 - -AMERICA'S NEW YORK - - -I - -Before the dawn, metropolitan New York is astir. As a matter of far more -accurate fact she never sleeps. You may call her the City of the -Sleepless Eye and hit right upon the mark. For at any time of the lonely -hours of the night she is still a busy place. Elevated and subway trains -and surface cars, although shortened and reduced in number, are upon -their ways and are remarkably well filled. Regiments of men are engaged -in getting out the morning papers--in a dozen different languages of the -sons of men--and another regiment is coming on duty to lay the -foundations of the earliest editions of the evening papers. There are -workers here and there and everywhere in the City of the Sleepless Eye. - -But before the dawn, New York becomes actively astir. Lights flash into -dull radiance in the rows of side-street tenement and apartment houses -all the way from Brooklyn bridge to Bronx Park. New York is beginning to -dress. Other lights flash into short brilliancy before the coming of the -dawn. New York is beginning to eat its breakfast. And right afterwards -the stations of the elevated and the subway, the corners where the -speeding surface cars will sometimes hesitate, become the objects of -attack of an army that is marching upon the town. Workaday New York is -stretching its arms and settling down to business. - -Nor is the awakening city to be confined to the narrow strip of island -between the North and East rivers. Over on Long island are Brooklyn, -Long Island City, Flushing, Jamaica and a score of other important -places now within the limits of Greater New York. Some folk find it more -economical to live in these places than in the cramped confines of -Manhattan, and so it is hardly dawn before the great bridges and the -tubes over and under the East river are doing the work for which they -were built--and doing it masterfully. - -The Brooklyn bridge is the oldest of these and yet it has been bending -to its superhuman task for barely thirty years. In these thirty years it -has been constantly reconstructed--but the best devices of the -engineers, doubling and tripling the facilities of the original -structure, can hardly keep pace with the growth of the communities and -the traffic it has to serve. So within these thirty years other bridges -and two sets of tunnels have come to span the East river. But the work -of the first of all man's highways to conquer the mighty water highway -has hardly lessened. The oldest of the bridges, and the most beautiful -despite the ugliness of its approaches, still pours Brooklynites into -Park Row, fifty, sixty, seventy thousand to the hour. - -[Illustration: The Brooklyn Bridge is the finest of transportation -structures] - -The overloading of the Brooklyn bridge is repeated in the subway--that -hidden giant of New York, which is the real backbone of the island of -Manhattan. Built to carry four hundred thousand humans a day, that busy -railroad has begun to carry more than a million each working day. How it -is done, no one, not even the engineers of the company that operates it, -really knows. The riders in the great tube who have to use it during the -busiest of the rush hours are willing to hazard a guess, however. It is -probable that in no other railroad of the sort would jamming and -crowding of this sort be tolerated for more than a week. Yet the patrons -of the subway not only tolerate but, after a fashion, they like it. -You can ask a New Yorker about it half an hour after his trip down town, -sardine-fashion, and he will only say: - -"The subway? It's the greatest ever. I can come down from Seventy-second -street to Wall street in sixteen minutes, and in the old days it used to -take me twenty-six or twenty-seven minutes by the elevated." - -There is your real New Yorker. He would be perfectly willing to be bound -and gagged and shot through a pneumatic tube like a packet of letters, -if he thought that he could save twenty minutes between the Battery and -the Harlem river. No wonder then that he scorns a relatively greater -degree of comfort in elevated trains and surface cars and hurries to the -overcrowded subway. - -But New York astir in the morning is more even than Manhattan, the Bronx -and the populous boroughs over on Long island. Upon its westerly edge -runs the Hudson river--New Yorkers will always persist in calling it the -North river--one of the masterly water highways of the land. The busy -East river had been spanned by man twice before any man was bold enough -to suggest a continuous railroad across the Hudson. Now there are -several--the wonderful double tubes of the Pennsylvania railroad leading -from its new terminal in the uptown heart of Manhattan--and two double -sets of tunnels of a rapid-transit railroad leading from New Jersey both -uptown and downtown in Manhattan. This rapid transit railroad--the -Hudson & Manhattan, to use its legal name, although most New Yorkers -speak of it as the McAdoo Tubes, because of the man who had the courage -to build it--links workaday New York with a group of great railroad -terminals that line the eastern rim of New Jersey all the way from -Communipaw through Jersey City to Hoboken. And the railroads reach with -more than twenty busy arms off across the Jersey marshes to rolling -hills and incipient mountains. Upon those hills and mountains live -nearly a hundred thousand New Yorkers--men whose business interests are -closely bound up in the metropolis of the New World but whose social and -home ties are laid in a neighboring state. These--together with their -fellows from Westchester county, the southwestern corner of Connecticut -and from the Long island suburban towns--measure a railroad journey of -from ten to thirty miles in the morning, the same journey home at night, -as but an incident in their day's work. They form the great brigade of -commuters, as a rule the last of the working army of New York to come to -business. - -The commuter has his own troubles--sometimes. By reason of his -self-chosen isolation he may suffer certain deprivations. The servant -question is not the least of these. And the extremes of a winter in New -York come hard upon him. There are days when the Eight-twenty-two -suddenly loses all that reputation for steadiness and sobriety that it -has taken half a year to achieve, days when sleepy schooners laden with -brick and claiming the holy right-of-way of the navigator get caught in -the draw-bridges, days when the sharp unexpectedness of a miniature -blizzard freezes terminal switches and signals and tangles traffic -inexplicably--days, and nights as well, when the streets of his suburban -village are well-nigh impassable. But these days are in a tremendous -minority. And even upon the worst of them he can put the rush and -turmoil of the city behind him--in the peace and silence of his country -place he can forget the sorrows of Harlem yesteryear--with the noisy -twins on the floor below and the mechanical piano right overhead. - - * * * * * - -For nearly four hours the steady rush toward work continues. You can -gauge it by a variety of conditions--even by the newspapers that are -being spread wide open the length of the cars. In the early morning the -popular penny papers--the _American_ and the _World_ predominating, with -a sprinkling of the _Press_ in between. Two hours later and while these -popular penny papers are still being read--they seem to have a -particular vogue with the little stenographers and the shopgirls--the -more staid journals show themselves. Men who like the solid reading of -the _Times_, with its law calendars and its market reports; men of the -town who frankly confess to an affection for the flippancy of the _Sun_, -or who have not lost the small-town spirit of their youth enough to -carry them beyond the immensely personal tone of the _Herald_. And in -between these, men who sniff at the mere mention of the name of -Roosevelt, and who read the _Tribune_ because their daddies and their -grand-daddies in their turn read it before them, or frankly business -souls who are opening the day with a conscientious study of the _Journal -of Commerce_ or the Wall street sheets. - -New York goes to work reading its newspaper. And before you have -finished a Day of Days in the biggest city of the land you might also -see that it goes to lunch with a newspaper in its hand, returns home -tired with the fearful thoughts of business to delve comfortably into -the gossip of the day in the favorite evening paper. - -Just as you stand at the portals of the business part of the town and -measure the incoming throng by its favorite papers so can you sieve out -the classes of the workers almost by the hours at which they report for -duty. In the early morning, in the winter still by artificial light, -come those patient souls who exist literally and almost bitterly by the -labor of their hands and the sweat of their brows. With them are the -cleaners and the elevator crews of the great office-buildings--those -tremendous commercial towers that New York has been sending skyward for -the past quarter of a century. On the heels of these the first of the -workers in the office-buildings, office-boys, young clerks, girl -stenographers whose wonderful attire is a reflection of the glories that -we shall see upon Fifth avenue later in this day. It is pinching -business, literally--the dressing of these young girls. But if their -faces are suspiciously pinky or suspiciously chalky, if their pumps and -thin silk stockings, their short skirts and their open-necked waists -atrocious upon a chill and nasty morning, we shall know that they are -but the reflection of their more comfortable sisters uptown. Not all of -this rapidly increasing army of women workers in business New York is -artificial. Not a bit of it. There are girls in downtown offices whose -refinement of dress and deportment, whose exquisite poise, whose -well-schooled voices might have come from the finest old New York -houses. And these are the girls who revel in their Saturday afternoons -uptown--all in the smartness of best bib and tucker--at the matinee or -fussing with tea at Sherry's or the Plaza. - -An army of office workers pours itself into the business buildings that -line Broadway and its important parallel streets all the way from -Forty-second street to the Battery--that cluster with increasing -discomfort in the narrow tip of Manhattan south of the City Hall. -Clerks, stenographers, more clerks, more stenographers, now department -heads and junior partners--finally the big fellows themselves, coming -down democratically in the short-haul trains of the Sixth avenue -elevated that start from Fifty-eighth street or even enduring the -discomforts of the subway, for it takes a leisurely sort of a -millionaire indeed who can afford to come in his motor car all the way -downtown through the press and strain of Broadway traffic. After all -these, the Wall street men. For the exchange opens at the stroke of ten -of Trinity's clock and five brief and bitter hours of trading have -begun. - -For four hours this flood of humans pouring out of the ferry-house and -the railroad terminals, up from the subway kiosks and out from the -narrow stairways of the elevated railroads. The narrow downtown streets -congest, again and again. The sidewalks overflow and traffic takes to -the middle of the streets. But the great office buildings absorb the -major portion of the crowds. Their vertical railroads--eight or ten or -twenty or thirty cars--are working to capacity and workaday New York is -sifting itself to its task. By ten o'clock the office buildings are -aglow with industry--the great machine of business starting below the -level of the street and reaching high within the great commercial -towers. - - -II - -New York is the City of the Towers. - -Sometimes a well-traveled soul will arise in the majesty of -contemplation and say that in the American metropolis he sees the -shadowy ghost of some foreign one. Along Madison square, where the -cabbies still stand in a long, gently-curving, expectant line he will -draw his breath through his teeth, point with his walking stick through -the tracery of spring-blossoming foliage at Diana on her tower-perch and -whisper reverently: - -"It is Paris--Paris once again." - -And there is a lower corner of Central Park that makes him think of -Berlin; a long row of red brick houses with white trimmings along the -north shore of Washington square that is a resemblance to blocks of a -similar sort in London. - -But he is quite mistaken. New York does not aim to be a replica of any -foreign metropolis. She has her own personality, her own aggressive -individualism; she is the City of the Towers as well as the City of the -Sleepless Eye--and no mean city at that. Take some clever European -traveler, a man who can find his way around any of the foreign capitals -with his eyes shut, and let him come to New York for the first time; -approach our own imperial city through her most impressive gateway--that -narrow passage from the sea between the ramparts of the guarding -fortresses. This man, this traveler, has heard of the towers of the -great New World city--they have been baldly pictured to him as giant, -top-heavy barracks, meaningless compositions of ugly blank walls, -punctuated with an infinity of tiny windows. That is the typical libel -that has gone forth about New York. - -He sees naught of such. He sees a great city, the height of its -buildings simply conveying the impression from afar that it is builded -upon a steep ridge. Here and there a building of still loftier height -gives accent to the whole, emphasis to what might otherwise be a -colorless mass; gives that mysterious tone and contrast which the artist -is pleased to call "composition." Four of these towers already rise -distinct from the giant skyscrapers of Manhattan. Each for this moment -proclaims a victory of the American architect and the American builder -over the most difficult problem ever placed before architect or builder. - -The European traveler will give praise to the sky-line of New York as he -sees it from the steamer's deck. - -"It is the City of the Towers," he will say. - - * * * * * - -In this, your Day of Days in New York, come with us and see the making -of a skyscraper. This skyscraper is the new Municipal Building. It is -just behind the tree-filled park in which stands New York's oldest bit -of successful architecture--its venerable City Hall. A long time before -New York dreamed that she might become the City of the Towers they -builded this old City Hall--upon what was then the northerly edge of the -town. So sure were those old fellows that New York would never grow -north of their fine town hall that they grew suddenly economical--the -spirit of their Dutch forbears still dominated them--and builded the -north wall of Virginia freestone instead of the white marble that was -used for the facings of the other walls. - -"No one will ever see that side of the building," they argued. "We might -as well use cheap stone for that wall." - -Today more than ninety-nine per cent. of the population of the immensely -populated island of Manhattan lives north of the City Hall. That cheap -north wall, hidden under countless coats of white paint, is the one -acute reminder of the days that were when the Hall was new--when the -gentle square in which it stood was surrounded by the suburban -residences of prosperous New Yorkers and when the waters of the Collect -Pond--where the New York boys use to skate in the bitterness of -old-fashioned winters--lapped its northerly edge. There was no ugly -Court House or even uglier Post Office to block the view from the -Mayor's office up and down Broadway. New Yorkers were proud of their -City Hall then--and good cause had they for their pride. It is one of -the best bits of architecture in all America. And an even century of -hard usage and countless "restorations" has only brought to it the charm -of serene old age. - -But the City Hall long since was outgrown. The municipal government of -New York is a vast and somewhat unwieldy machine that can hardly be -housed within a dozen giant structures. To provide offices for the -greater part of the city's official machinery, this towering Municipal -Building has just been erected. And because it is so typical of the best -form of the so-called skyscraper architecture, let us stop and take a -look at it, listen to the story of its construction. In appearance the -new Municipal Building is a gray-stone tower twenty-five stories in -height and surmounted by a tower cupola an additional fifteen stories in -height. In plan the structure is a sort of semi-octagon--a very shallow -letter "U," if you please. But its most unusual feature comes from the -fact that it squarely spans one of the busiest crosstown highways in the -lower part of the city--Chambers street. The absorption of that busy -thoroughfare is recognized by a great depressed bay upon the west -front--the main _facade_ of the building. And incidentally that -depressed bay makes interior courts within the structure absolutely -unnecessary. So much for the architectural features, severe in its -detail, save for some ornate and not entirely pleasing sculptures. You -are interested in knowing how one of these giants--so typical of the new -New York--are fabricated. - -This young man--hardly a dozen years out of a big technical school--can -tell you. He has supervised the job. Sometimes he has slept on it--in a -narrow cot in the temporary draughting-house. He knows its every detail, -as he knows the fingers of his hands. - -"Just remember that we began by planning a railroad station in the -basement with eight platform tracks for loading and unloading -passengers." - -"A railroad station?" you interrupt. - -"Certainly," is his decisive reply. "Downstairs we will soon have the -most important terminal of a brand new subway system crossing the -Manhattan and the Williamsburgh bridges and reaching over Brooklyn like -a giant gridiron." - -He goes on to the next matter--this one settled. - -"There was something more than that. We had to plant on that cellar a -building towering forty stories in the air; its steel frame alone -weighing twenty-six thousand tons--more than half the weight of the -heaviest steel cantilever bridge in America--had to be firmly set." - -The young engineer explains--in some detail. To find a foothold for this -building was no sinecure. Tests with the diamond drill had shown that -solid rock rested at a depth of 145 feet below street level at the south -end of the plat. At the north end, the rock sloped away rapidly and so -that part of the building rests upon compact sand. The rock topography -of Manhattan island is uncertain. There are broad areas where solid -gneiss crops close to the street level, others where it falls a hundred -feet or more below water level. There is a hidden valley at Broadway and -Reade street, a deep bowl farther up Broadway. Similarly, the north -extremity of the Municipal Building rests upon the edge of still another -granite bowl--the sub-surface of that same Collect Pond upon which the -New York boys used to skate a century or more ago. - -"That bothered some folks at first," laughs the engineer, "but we met it -by sinking the caissons. We've more than a hundred piers down under this -structure hanging on to Mother Earth. You don't realize the holding -force of those piers," he continues. He turns quickly and points to a -fourteen story building off over the trees of City Hall park. Out in one -of the good-sized towns of the Middle West people would gasp a little at -sight of it--in New York it is no longer even a tower. - -"Turn that fellow right upside down into the hole we dug for this -building," says the engineer, "and the rim of his uppermost cornice -would about reach the feet of our own little forest of buried concrete -piers." - -That was one detail of the construction of the building. Here is -another; the first six stories of the new structure involved elaborate -masonry, giant stones, much carved. From the seventh story the plain -walls of the exterior developing into an elaborate cornice were of -simple construction. If the setting of these upper floors had waited -until the first six stories of elaborate stonework had been made ready -there would have been a delay of months in the construction work. So the -contractor began building the walls--which in the modern steel -skyscraper as you know form no part of the real structure but act rather -as a stone envelope to keep out hard weather--from the seventh story -upward. Eventually the masons working on the first six stories, working -upwards all the time, reached and joined the lower edge of the masonry -that had been set some weeks before. Time had been saved and you know -that time _does_ count in New York. Remember the Wall street man who -preferred to have his ribs crushed and his hat smashed down over his -nose in the subway rather than lose ten minutes each day in the -elevated. - -Now you stand with the young engineer at the topmost outlook of the -tower in the Municipal Building and look down on the busy town. Before -you is that mighty thoroughfare, Broadway--but so lined with towering -buildings that you cannot see it, save for a brief space as it passes -the greenery of the City Hall Park; behind you is that still mightier -highway--the East river. Over that river you see the four bridges--the -oldest of them landing at your very feet--and crawling things upon them, -which a second glance shows to be trains and trolley-cars and -automobiles and wagons in an unending succession. Beyond the East river -and its bridges--the last of these far to the north and barely -discernible--is Brooklyn, and beyond Brooklyn--this time to the -south--is a shimmering slender horizon of silver that the man beside you -tells you is the ocean. - -You let your gaze come back to the wonderful view which the building -squarely faces. You look down upon the towers of New York--big towers -and little towers--and you lift your eyes over the dingy mansard of the -old Post Office and see the greatest of all the towers--the creamy white -structure that a man has builded from his profits in the business of -selling small articles at five and ten cents apiece. It is fifty-five -stories in height--exquisitely beautiful in detail--and the owner will -possess for a little time at least, the highest building in the world. -You can see the towers in every vista, puffing little clouds of white -smoke into the purest blue air that God ever gave a city in which to -spin her fabrications. To the north, the south, the west, they show -themselves in every infinite variety and here and there between them -emerge up-shouldering rivals, steel-naked in their gaunt frames. If your -ears are keen and the wind be favorable perhaps you can hear the clatter -of the riveters and you can see over there the housesmiths riding aloft -on the swinging girders with an utter and immensely professional -indifference, threading the slender, dizzy floor-girders as easily as a -cat might tread the narrow edge of a backyard fence. - -Off with your gaze again. Look uptown, catch the faint patch of dark -green that is Central Park, the spires of the cathedral, the wonderful -campanile at Madison square. Let your glance swing across the gentle -Hudson, over into a New Jersey that is bounded by the ridges of the -Orange mountains, then slowly south and even the great towers that -thrust themselves into almost every buildable foot of Broadway below the -City Hall cannot entirely block your view of the wonderful upper harbor -of New York--of the great ships that bring to an imperial city the -tribute that is rightfully hers. - -Now let your vision drop into the near foreground--into the tracery of -trees about the jewel-box of a City Hall. Let it pause for a moment in -the broad-paved street at your feet with the queer little openings -through which humans are sweeping like a black stream into a funnel; -others from which the human streams come crawling upward like black -molasses and you are again reminded that some of the greatest highways -of New York are those that are subterranean and unseen. The sidewalks -grow a little blacker than before. - -"It's lunch-time," laughs the young engineer. - -Bless you, it is. The morning that you gave to one of the most typical -of the towers has not been ill-spent. - - -III - -Thirty minutes before the big bell of Trinity spire booms out noon-tide -New York's busiest grub-time begins. A few early-breakfasting clerks and -office-boys begin to find their way toward the shrines of the -coffee-urns and the heaped-up piles of sandwiches. - -[Illustration: The view of New York from the lunch club in the -skyscraper] - -Of course, in New York breakfast is an almost endless affair--generally -a fearfully hurried one. But lunch is far more serious. Lunch is almost -an institution. Fifteen minutes after it is fairly begun it is gaining -rapid headway. Thin trails of stenographers and clerks are finding their -ways, lunch-bound, through the canyon-like streets of lower Manhattan, -streams that momentarily increase in volume. By the time that Trinity -finally booms its twelve stout strokes down into Broadway there is -congestion upon the sidewalks--the favorite stools at the counters, the -better tables in the higher-priced places are being rapidly filled. At -twelve-thirty it begins to be luck to get any sort of accommodations at -the really popular places; before one o'clock the intensity of grubbing -verges on panic and pandemonium. And at a little before three cashiers -are totaling their receipts, cooks, donning their hats and coats to go -uptown, and waiters and 'buses are upturning chairs and scrubbing floors -with scant regard for belated lunchers who have to be content with -the crumbs that are left after the ravishing and hungry army has been -fed. Order after pandemonium--readiness for the two hours of gorge upon -the morrow. The restaurants and lunch-rooms are as quiet as Trinity -church-yard and something like three quarters of a million hungry souls -have lunched in the business section of Manhattan south of Twenty-third -street--at a total cost, according to the estimate of a shrewd -restauranteur of a quarter of a million dollars. - - * * * * * - -You may pay your money and take your choice. The shrewd little newsboys -and office-boys who find their way to the short block of Ann street -between Park Row and Nassau--the real Grub street of New York--are -proving themselves financiers of tomorrow by dickering for -sandwiches--"two cents apiece; three for a nickel." They always buy them -in lots of three. That is business and business is not to be scorned for -a single instant. Or you can pay as high prices in the swagger -restaurants downtown as you do in the swagger restaurants uptown--and -that is saying much. When lunch-time comes you can suit the inclinations -of your taste--and your pocket-book. But the average New Yorker seems to -run quite strongly to the peculiar form of lunch-room in which you help -yourself to what you want, compute from the markers the cost of your -midday meal, announce that total to the cashier, who is perfectly -content to take your word for it, pay the amount and walk out. It seems -absurd--to any one who does not understand New Yorkers. The lunch-room -owners do understand them. New York business men and business boys are -honest, as a general thing--particularly honest in little matters of -this sort. - -"It is all very simple," says the manager of one of these big -lunch-rooms, who stands beside you for a moment at the entrance of one -of his places--it boasts that it serves more than two thousand lunches -each business day between eleven and three. "I've been through the whole -mill. I've been check boy and oyster man, cashier--now I'm looking out -for this particular beanery. Honor among New York business men? There's -a lot of it." - -"And you don't run many risks?" you venture. - -"Not many here," he promptly replies. "But there was a man in here -yesterday, who runs a cafeteria out in Chicago. I was telling him some -of the rules of the game here--how when a customer comes in and throws -his hat down in a chair before he goes over to the sandwich and coffee -counters that chair is his, until he gets good and ready to go. My -Chicago friend laughed at that. 'If we were to do that out in my -neck-o'-the-woods,' says he, 'the customer would lose his hat.' And the -uptown department stores don't take any chances, either. At one of the -biggest of them they make the women decide what they will eat, but -before they can start they must buy a check--pay in advance, you -understand. They've tried the downtown way--and now they take no -chances." - -The floor manager laughs nervously. - -"It's different with the girls downtown. We've started one quick buffet -lunch on the honor plan, same dishes and prices and service as the men's -places, but this one is for business girls. They said at first that we -wouldn't make good with them--but we're ready to start another within -the month. The business girls don't cheat--no matter what their uptown -sisters may try to do." - - * * * * * - -As a matter of fact downtown business girls in New York eat very -sensibly. Sweets are popular but not invariable. They prefer candy, with -fruit as a second choice, to be eaten some time during the afternoon. -In big offices, where many girls are employed, "candy pools" are often -made, each girl contributing five cents and getting her pro rata, one -member of the staff being delegated to make the purchases. Eaten in this -way the candy acts as a stimulant during the late afternoon hours, in -much the same way as the invariable tea of the business man in London. - -The business girl in New York takes her full hour for luncheon. It is -seldom a minute more or a minute less. She is willing as a rule to stay -overtime at night but she feels that she must have her sixty minutes in -the middle of the day. A part of the lunch hour is always a -stroll--unless there be a downpour. Certain downtown streets from twelve -to one o'clock each day suggest the proximity of a nearby high school or -seminary. There is much pairing off and quiet flirtation. This noon-day -promenade of girls--for the most part astonishingly well-dressed girls -and invariably in twos and threes--is one of the sights of downtown New -York. Some of the girls gather in the old churchyards of Trinity and St. -Paul's--in lower Broadway--on pleasant days. They sit down among the -tombstones with their little packages of food and eat and chat and then -stroll. No one molests them and the church authorities, although a -little flustered when this first began, have seen that there is no harm -in it and let the girls have their own way. There is always great -decorousness and these big open-air spaces in the midst of the crowded -street canyons are enjoyed by the women who appreciate the grass and -winding paths after the hard pavements. - -All the business girls downtown are not content with sitting after lunch -among the tombstones of St. Paul's churchyard or of Trinity. He was -indeed a canny lunch-man who took note of all the girls strolling in the -narrow streets of downtown Manhattan, who remembered that all New York, -rich or poor, loves to dance and who then fitted up an unrentable third -floor loft over his eating place as a dancing hall. Two violins and a -piano--a gray-bearded sandwich man to patrol the streets with "DANCING" -placarded fore and aft upon his boards--the trick was done. Mamie told -Sadie and Sadie told Elinor and Elinor told Flossie and the lunch-man -began to grow famous. He made further study of the psychology of his -patrons. There were the young fellows--shipping and file clerks and even -ambitious young office-boys to be considered. There were the after-lunch -smokes of these young captains of industry to come into the reckoning. -The lunch-man placed a row of chairs along one edge of his dancing-hall -and over them "Smoking Permitted at This End of the Room." After that -Mamie and Sadie and Elinor and Flossie had partners and the lunch-man -was on the highway to a six-cylinder motor car. He has his imitators. If -you were in business in lower New York and your stenographer began to -hum the "Blue Danube" along about half an hour before noon you would -very well know she was gathering steam for the blissful twenty minutes -of dancing that was going to help her digest her lunch. - - * * * * * - -You, yourself, are going to lunch in still another sort of restaurant. -It is characteristic of a type that has sprung up on the tip of -Manhattan island within the past dozen years. You reach this -grubbing-place by skirting the front doors of unspeakably dirty -eating-houses in a mean street of the Syrian quarter. Finally you turn -the corner of a dingy brick building, which was once the great house of -one of the contemporaries of the first of the Vanderbilts and which has -managed to escape destruction for three quarters of a century and -face--the only skyscraper in congested New York which stands in a -grass-platted yard--the whim of its wealthy owner. A fast elevator -whisks you thirty stories to the top of the building and you step into -the lobby of what looks, at first glance, to be the entrance hall of -some fine restaurant in uptown's Fifth avenue. But this is a -lunching-club--one of the newest in the town as well as one of the most -elaborate. - -Elaborate did we say? This is the elaboration of perfect -taste--unobtrusive rugs, hangings, lighting fixtures and -furniture--great, broad rooms and from their windows there comes to you -another of the spectacular views that lay below the man-made peaks of -Manhattan. To the south--the smooth, blue surface of the upper bay--in -the foreground a nine hundred foot ship coming to the new land, her -funnels lazily breathing smoke at the first lull in her four-day race -across the Atlantic; to the east, a mighty river and its bridges, -Brooklyn again and on very clear days, visions of Long island; to the -north the most wonderful building construction that man has ever -attempted, Babylonic in its immensity; to the west the brisk waterway of -the North river and beyond it, Jersey City, sandwiched in between the -smoky spread of railroad yards. This is the sort of thing that Mr. -Downtown Luncher may have--if he is willing to pay the price. On torrid -summer days he may ascend to the roof-garden, may glance lazily below -him at the activities of the busiest city in the world and sip up the -cool breezes from the sea, while folk down in the bottom of the Broadway -chasm are sweltering from heat and humidity. And in winter he will find -a complete gymnasium in operation on another floor of the club, with a -competent instructor in charge. The "doctor," as they call him, will lay -out a course of work. And that course of work, calling for a half-hour -of exercise each day just before lunch will make dyspeptic and paunchy -old money-grubbers alike, keen as farmhands coming into dinner. - -And yet this club, typical of so many others in the downtown business -heart of Manhattan, is but a cog in the mighty machine of the lunching -of the workaday multitudes of downtown. Its doors are closed and lights -are out at six o'clock in the evening, save on extraordinary occasions; -while most of its hundred or more well-trained waiters go uptown to -assist in the dinner and the late supper rushes of the fashionable -restaurants in the theater and hotel district. Like most of its -compeers, it is an outgrowth of the wonderfully comfortable old Lawyers' -Club, which was completely destroyed in the great fire that burned the -Equitable Building in January, 1912. From that organization, famed for -its noon-day hospitality and for the quality of the folk you might meet -between its walls, have sprung many other downtown lunch clubs--the -Whitehall, the Hardware, the Manufacturers, the Downtown Association, -the new Lawyers--many, many others; almost invariably occupying the -upper floors of some skyscraper that has been planned especially for -them. These clubs are not cheap. It costs from sixty to a hundred -dollars to enter one of them and about as much more yearly in the form -of dues. Their restaurant charges are far from low-priced. They are -never very exclusive organizations and yet they give to the strain of -the workaday New Yorker his last lingering trace of hospitality--the -hospitality that has lingered around Bowling Green and Trinity and St. -Paul's church-yards since colonial days and the coffee houses. - - * * * * * - -Even the hospitality of the genial host seems to end--with the ending of -the lunch-hour. As he takes his last sip of _cafe noir_ he is tugging at -his watch. - -"Bless me," he says, "It is going on three o'clock. I've got that -railroad crowd due in my office in fifteen minutes." - -That is your dismissal. For ninety minutes he has given you his -hospitality--his rare and unselfish self. He has put the perplexing -details of his business out of his mind and given himself to whatever -flow of talk might suit your fancy. Now the hour and a half of grace is -over--and you are dismissed, courteously--but none the less dismissed. -With your host you descend to the crowded noisome street. He sees you to -the subway--gives you a fine warm grasp of his strong hand--and plunges -back into the great and grinding machine of business. - -Lunch in your Day of Days within the City of the Towers is over. Three -o'clock. Before the last echoes of Trinity's bell go ringing down -through Wall street to halt the busy Exchange--the multitude has been -fed. Miss Stenographer has had her salad and eclair, two waltzes and -perhaps a "turkey trot" into the bargain, and is back at the keys of her -typewriter. Mr. President has entertained that Certain Party at the club -and has made him promise to sign that mighty important contract. And the -certain Party and Mr. President rode for half an hour on the mechanical -horses in the gymnasium. What fun, too, for those old boys? - -Three o'clock! The cashiers are totaling their receipts, the waiters and -the 'buses are upturning chairs and tables to make way for the -scrub-women, some are already beginning to don their overcoats to go -uptown; but the three-quarters of a million of hungry mouths have been -fed. New York has caught its breath in mid-day relaxation and once more -is hard at work--putting in the last of its hours of the business day -with renewed and feverish energy. - - -IV - -You had planned at first to walk up Broadway. You wanted to see once -again the church-yards around Trinity and St. Paul's, perhaps make a -side excursion down toward Fraunces' Tavern--just now come back into its -own again. Some of the old landmarks that are still hidden around -downtown New York seemed to appeal to you. But your host at luncheon -laughed at you. - -"If you want to spend your time that way, all right," he said, "but the -only really old things you will find in New York are the faces of the -young men. You can find those anywhere in the town." - -And there was another reckoning to be figured. Three o'clock means the -day well advanced and there is a _vis-a-vis_ awaiting you uptown. Of -course, there is a Her to enjoy your Day of Days with you. And just for -convenience alone we will call her Katherine. It is a pretty name for a -woman, and it will do here and now quite as well as any other. - -Katherine is waiting for you in the Fourteenth street station of the -subway. She is prompt--after the fashion of most New York girls. And it -is a relief to come out of the overcrowded tube and find her there at -the entrance that leads up to sunshine and fresh air. She knows her New -York thoroughly and as a prelude to the trip uptown she leads you over -to Fifth avenue--to the upper deck of one of those big green -peregrinating omnibuses. - -"It's a shame that we could not have started at Washington square," she -apologizes. "When you sweep around and north through the great arch it -almost seems as if you were passing through the portals of New York. It -is one of the few parts of the town that are not changing rapidly." - -For Fifth avenue--only a few blocks north of that stately arch--has -begun to disintegrate and decay. Not in the ordinary sense of those -terms. But to those who remember the stately street of fifteen or twenty -years ago--lined with the simple and dignified homes of the town--its -change into a business thoroughfare brings keen regrets. Katherine -remembers that she read in a book that there are today more factory -workers employed in Fifth avenue or close to it, than in such great mill -cities as Lowell or Lawrence or Fall River, and when you ask her the -reason why she will tell you how these great buildings went soaring up -as office-buildings, without office tenants to fill them. They represent -speculation, and speculation is New Yorkish. But speculation in -wholesale cannot afford to lose, and that is why the garment -manufacturers and many others of their sort came flocking to the great -retail shopping district between Fourth and Seventh avenues and -Fourteenth and Thirty-fourth streets, and sent the shops soaring further -to the north. It has been expensive business throughout, doubly -expensive, because absolutely unnecessary. Some of the great retail -houses of New York built modern and elaborate structures south of -Thirty-fourth street within the past twenty years in the firm belief -that the retail shopping section had been fixed for the next half -century. But the new stores had hardly been opened before the deluge of -manufacturing came upon them. Shoppers simply would not mix with factory -hands upon lower Fifth avenue and the side streets leading from it. And -so the shop-keepers have had to move north and build anew. And just what -a tax such moving has been upon the consumer no one has ever had the -audacity to estimate. - -"They should have known that nothing ever stays fixed in New York," says -Katherine. "We are a restless folk, who make a restless city. Stay -fixed? Did you notice the station at which you entered today?" - -Of course you did. The new Grand Central, with its marvelous blue -ceiling capping a waiting-room so large that the New York City Hall, -cupola, wings and all could be set within it, can hardly escape the -attention of any traveler who passes within its portals. - -"It is the greatest railroad station in the world," she continues, "and -yet I have read in the newspapers that Commodore Vanderbilt built on -that very plat of ground in 1871 the largest station in the world for -the accommodation of his railroads. He thought that it would last for -all time. In forty years the wreckers were pulling it down. It was -outgrown, utterly outgrown and they were carting it off piece by piece -to the rubbish heaps." - -She turns suddenly upon you. - -"That is typical of our restless, lovely city," she tells you. And you, -yourself, have heard that only two years ago they tore down a nineteen -story building at Wall and Nassau streets so that they might replace it -by another of the towers--this one thirty stories in height. - - * * * * * - -The conductor of the green omnibus thrusts his green fare-box under your -nose. You find two dimes and drop it into the contrivance. - -"You can get more value for less money and less value for much money in -New York than in any other large city in the world," says Katherine. - -She is right--and you know that she is right. You can have a glorious -ride up the street, that even in its days of social decadence is still -the finest highway in the land--a ride that continues across the town -and up its parked rim for long miles--for a mere ten cents of Uncle -Sam's currency and as for the reverse--well you are going to dinner in -a smart hotel with Katherine in a little while. - -You swing across Broadway and up the west edge of Madison square, catch -a single, wondering close-at-hand glimpse of the white campanile of the -Metropolitan tower which dominates that open place and so all but -replaces Diana on her perch above Madison Square Garden--a landmark of -the New York of a quarter of a century ago and which is apt to come into -the hands of the wreckers almost any day now. Now you are at the south -edge of the new shopping district, although some of the ultra places -below Thirty-fourth street have begun to move into that portion of the -avenue just south of Central Park. In a little while they may be -stealing up the loveliest portion of the avenue--from Fifty-ninth street -north. - -The great shops dominate the avenue. And if you look with sharp eyes as -the green bus bears you up this _via sacre_, you may see that one of the -greatest ones--a huge department store encased in architecturally superb -white marble--bears no sign or token of its ownership or trade. An -oversight, you think. Not a bit of it. Four blocks farther up the avenue -is another great store in white marble--a jewelry shop of international -reputation. You will have to scan its broad _facade_ closely indeed -before you find the name of the firm in tiny letters upon the face of -its clock. Oversight? Not a bit of it. It is the ultra of shop-keeping -in New York--the assumption that the shop is so well known that it need -not be placarded to the vulgar world. And if strangers from other points -fail to identify it--well that is because of their lack of knowledge and -the shopkeeper may secretly rejoice. - -But, after all, it is the little shops that mark the character of Fifth -avenue--not its great emporiums. It is the little millinery shops where -an engaging creature in black and white simpers toward you and calls -you, if you are of the eternal feminine, "my dear;" the jewelry shops -where the lapidary rises from his lathe and offers a bit of -craftsmanship; the rare galleries that run from old masters to modern -etchers; specialty shops, filled top to bottom with toys or Persian -rugs, or women's sweaters, or foreign magazines and books, that render -to Fifth avenue its tremendous cosmopolitanism. These little shops make -for personality. There is something in the personal contact between the -proprietor and the customer that makes mere barter possess a real -fascination. And if you do pay two or three times the real value in the -little shop you have just so much more fun out of the shopping. And -there are times when real treasures may come out of their stores. - -"Look at the cornices," interrupts Katherine. "Mr. Arnold Bennett says -that they are the most wonderful things in all New York." - -Katherine may strain her neck, looking at cornices if she so wills. As -for you, the folk who promenade the broad sidewalks are more worth your -while. There are more of them upon the west walk than upon the east--for -some strange reason that has long since brought about a similar -phenomenon upon Broadway and sent west side rents high above those upon -the east. Fifth avenue thrusts its cosmopolitanism upon you, not alone -in her shops, with their wonderfully varied offerings, but in the very -humans who tread her pavements. The New York girl may not always be -beautiful but she is rarely anything but impeccable. And if in the one -instance she is extreme in her styles, in the next she is apt to be -severe in her simplicity of dress. And it is difficult to tell to which -ordinary preference should go. These girls--girls in a broad sense all -the way from trim children in charge of maid or governess to girls whose -pinkness of skin defies the graying of their locks--a sprinkling of -men, not always so faultless in dress or manner as their sisters--and -you have the Fifth avenue crowd. Then between these two quick moving -files of pedestrians--set at all times in the rapid _tempo_ of New -York--a quadruple file of carriages; the greater part of them motor -driven. - -Traffic in Fifth avenue, like traffic almost everywhere else in New York -is a problem increasing in perplexity. A little while ago the situation -was met and for a time improved by slicing off the fronts of the -buildings--perhaps the most expensive shave that the town has ever -known--and setting back the sidewalks six or eight feet. But the -benefits then gained have already been over-reached and the traffic -policeman at the street corners all the way up the avenue must possess -rare wit and diplomacy--while their fellows at such corners as -Thirty-fourth and Forty-second are hardly less than field generals. And -with all the _finesse_ of their work the traffic moves like molasses. -Long double and triple files of touring cars and limousines, the -combined cost of which would render statistics such as would gladden the -heart of a Sunday editor, make their way up and down the great street -tediously. If a man is in a hurry he has no business even to essay the -Avenue. And occasionally the whole tangle is double-tangled. The shriek -of a fire-engine up a side street or the clang of an ambulance demanding -a clear right-of-way makes the traffic question no easier. Yet the -policemen at the street corners are not caught unawares. With the shrill -commands of their own whistles they maneuver trucks and automobiles and -even some old-fashioned hansom cabs, pedestrians, all the rest--as -coolly and as evenly as if it had been rehearsed for whole weeks. - - * * * * * - -New York is wonderful, the traffic of its chief show street--for Fifth -avenue can now be fairly said to have usurped Broadway as the main -highway of the upper city--tremendous. You begin to compute what must be -the rental values upon this proud section of Fifth avenue, as it climbs -Murray Hill from Thirty-fourth street to Forty-second street, when -Katherine interrupts you once again. She knows her New York thoroughly -indeed. - -"Do you notice that house?" she demands. - -You follow her glance to a very simple brick house, upon the corner of -an inconsequential side street. Beside it on Fifth avenue is an open -lot--of perhaps fifty feet frontage, giving to the avenue but a plain -brown wooden fence. - -"A corking building lot," you venture, "Why don't they--" - -"I expected you to say that," she laughs. "They have wanted to build -upon that lot--time and time again. But when they approach the owner he -laughs at them and declines to consider any offer. 'My daughter has a -little dog,' he says politely, 'It must have a place for exercise.' We -New Yorkers are an odd lot," she laughs. "You know that the Goelets kept -a cow in the lawn of their big house at Broadway and Nineteenth street -until almost twenty years ago--until there was not a square foot of -grass outside of a park within five miles. And in New York the man who -can do the odd thing successfully is apt to be applauded. You could not -imagine such a thing in Boston or Baltimore or Philadelphia, could you?" - -You admit that your imagination would fall short of such heights and ask -Katherine if you are going up to the far end of the 'bus run--to that -great group of buildings--university, cathedral, hospital, divinity -school--that have been gathered just beyond the northwestern corner of -Central Park. - -"No, I think not," she quickly decides, "You know that Columbia is not -to New York as Harvard is to Boston. Harvard dominates Boston, Columbia -is but a peg in the educational system of New York. The best families -here do not bow to its fetich. They are quite as apt to send their boys -to Yale or Princeton--even Harvard." - -"Then there's the cathedral and the Drive," you venture. - -"We have a cathedral right here on Fifth avenue that is finished and, in -its way, quite as beautiful. And as for the Drive--it is merely a rim of -top-heavy and expensive apartment houses. The West Side is no longer -extremely smart. The truth of the matter is that we must pause for -afternoon tea." - -You ignore that horrifying truth for an instant. - -"What has happened to the poor West Side?" you demand. - -Katherine all but lowers her voice to a whisper. - -"Twenty years ago and it had every promise of success. It looked as if -Riverside Drive would surpass the Avenue as a street of fine residences. -The side streets were preeminently nice. Then came the subway--and with -it the apartment houses. After that the very nice folk began moving to -the side streets in the upper Fifties, the Sixties and the Seventies -between Park and Fifth avenues." - -"Suppose that the apartment houses should begin to drift in there--in -any numbers?" you demand. - -"Lord knows," says Katherine, and with due reverence adds: "There is the -last stand of the prosperous New Yorker with an old-fashioned notion -that he and his would like to live in a detached house. The Park binds -him in on the West, the tenement district and Lexington avenue on the -East--to the North Harlem and the equally impossible Bronx. The old -guard is standing together." - -"There is Brooklyn?" you venture. - -"No New Yorker," says Katherine, with withering scorn, "ever goes -publicly to Brooklyn unless he is being buried in Greenwood cemetery." - - * * * * * - -Tea for you is being served in a large mausoleum of a white -hotel--excessively white from a profuse use of porcelain tiles which can -be washed occasionally--of most extraordinary architecture. Some day -some one is going to attempt an analysis of hotel architecture in New -York and elsewhere in the U.S.A. but this is not the time and place. -Suffice it to say here and now that you finally found a door entering -the white porcelain mausoleum. What a feast awaited your eyes--as well -as your stomach--within. Rooms of rose pink and rooms of silver gray, -Persian rooms, Japanese rooms, French rooms in the several varieties of -Louis, Greek rooms--Europe, the ancients and the Orient, have been -ransacked for the furnishing of this tavern. And in the center of them -all is a great glass-enclosed garden, filled with giant palms and tiny -tables, tremendous waiters and infinitesimal chairs. A large bland-faced -employe--who is a sort of sublimated edition of the narrow lean hat-boys -who we shall find in the eating places of the Broadway theater -districts--divests you of your outer wraps. You elbow past a band and -arrive at the winter garden. A head waiter in an instant glance of -steel-blue eyes decides that you are fit and finds the tiniest of the -tiny tables for you. It is so far in the shade of the sheltering palm -that you have to bend almost double to drink your tea--and the orchestra -is rather uncomfortably near. - -[Illustration: Washington Square and its lovely Arch--New York] - -Katherine might have taken you to other tea dispensaries--an unusual -place in a converted stable in Thirty-fourth street, another stable loft -in West Twenty-eighth--dozens of little shops, generally feminine to -an intensified degree, which combine the serving of tea with the -vending of their wares. But she preferred the big white hotel. - -"Tea at the Plaza is so satisfactory and so restful," she says, as you -dodge to permit two ladies--one in gray silk and the other in a cut of -blue cloth that gives her the contour of a magnified frog--to slip past -you without knocking your tea out of your untrained fingers. "We might -have gone to the Manhattan--but it's so filled with young girls and the -chappies from the schools--the Ritz is proper but dull, so is -Sherry's--all the rest more or less impossible." - -She rattles on--the matter of restaurants is always dear to the New York -heart. You ignore the details. - -"But why?" you demand. - -"Why what?" she returns. - -"Why tea?" - -You explain that afternoon tea in its real lair--London--in a sort of -climatic necessity. The prevalence of fog, of raw damp days, makes a cup -of hot tea a real bracer--a stimulant that carries the human through -another two or three hours of hard existence until the late London -dinner. The bracing atmosphere of New York--with more clear days than -any other metropolitan city in the world--does not need tea. You say so -frankly. - -"I suppose you are right," Katherine concedes, "but we have ceased in -this big city to rail at the English. We bow the knee to them. The most -fashionable of our newest hotels and shops run--absurdly many times--to -English ways. And afternoon tea has long since ceased to be a novelty in -our lives. Why, they are beginning to serve it at the offices -downtown--just as they do in dear old London." - -You swallow hard--some one has recommended that to you as a method of -suppressing emotion--for polite society is never emotional. - - -V - -Dinner is New York's real function of the day. And dinner in New York -means five million hungry stomachs demanding to be filled. The New York -dinner is as cosmopolitan as the folk who dwell on the narrow island of -Manhattan and the two other islands that press closely to it. The -restaurant and hotel dinners are as cosmopolitan as the others. Of -course, for the sake of brevity, if for no other reason, you must -eliminate the home dinners--and read "home" as quickly into the cold and -heavy great houses of the avenue as into the little clusters of rooms in -crowded East Side tenements where poverty is never far away and next -week's meals a real problem. And remember, that to dine even in a -reasonably complete list of New York's famous eating places--a new one -every night--would take you more than a year. At the best your vision of -them must be desultory. - -Six o'clock sees the New York business army well on its way toward -home--the seething crowds at the Brooklyn bridge terminal in Park Row, -the overloaded subway straining to move its fearful burden, the ferry -and the railroad terminals focal points of great attractiveness. To make -a single instance: take that division of the army that dwells in -Brooklyn. It begins its march dinnerward a little after four o'clock, -becomes a pushing, jostling mob a little later and shows no sign of -abatement until long after six. Within that time the railroad folk at -the Park Row terminal of the old bridge have received, classified and -despatched Brooklynward, more than one hundred and fifty thousand -persons--the population of a city almost the size of Syracuse. And the -famous old bridge is but one of four direct paths from Manhattan to -Brooklyn. - -Six o'clock sees restaurants and cafes alight and ready for the two or -three hours of their really brisk traffic of the day. There are even -dinner restaurants downtown, remarkably good places withal and making -especial appeal to those overworked souls who are forced to stay at the -office at night. There are bright lights in Chinatown where innumerable -"Tuxedos" and "Port Arthurs" are beginning to prepare the chop-suey in -immaculate Mongolian kitchens. But the real restaurant district for the -diner-out hardly begins south of Madison square. There are still a very -few old hotels in Broadway south of that point--a lessening company each -year--one or two in close proximity to Washington square. Two of these -last make a specialty of French cooking--their _table d'hotes_ are -really famous--and perhaps you may fairly say when you are done at them -that you have eaten at the best restaurants in all New York. From them -Fifth avenue runs a straight course to the newer hotels far to the -north--a silent brilliantly lighted street as night comes "with the -double row of steel-blue electric lamps resembling torch-bearing monks" -one brilliant New York writer has put it. But before the newest of the -new an intermediate era of hotels, the Holland, the nearby Imperial and -the Waldorf-Astoria chief among these. The Waldorf has been from the day -it first opened its doors--more than twenty years ago--New York's really -representative hotel. Newer hostelries have tried to wrest that honor -from it--but in vain. It has clung jealously to its reputation. The -great dinners of the town are held in its wonderful banqueting halls, -the well-known men of New York are constantly in its corridors. It is -club and more than club--it is a clearing-house for all of the best -clubs. It is the focal center for the hotel life of the town. - -There is an important group of hotels in the rather spectacular -neighborhood of Times square--the Astor, with its distinctly German -flavor, and the Knickerbocker which whimsically likes to call itself -"the country club on Forty-second street" distinctive among them. And -ranging upon upper Fifth avenue, or close to it, are other important -houses, the Belmont, the aristocratic Manhattan, the ultra-British -Ritz-Carlton, the St. Regis, the Savoy, the Netherland, the Plaza, and -the Gotham. In between these are those two impeccable restaurants--so -distinctive of New York and so long wrapped up in its history--Sherry's -and Delmonico's. - -Over in the theatrical brilliancy of Broadway up and down from Times -square are other restaurants--Shanley's, Churchill's, Murray's--the list -is constantly changing. A fashionable restaurant in New York is either -tremendously successful--or else, as we shall later see, they are -telephoning for the sheriff. And the last outcome is apt more to follow -than the first. For it is a tremendous undertaking to launch a -restaurant in these days. The decorations of the great dining-rooms must -rival those of a Versailles palace while the so-called minor -appointments--silver, linen, china and the rest must be as faultless as -in any great house upon Fifth avenue. The first cost is staggering, the -upkeep a steady drain. There is but one opportunity for the -proprietor--and that opportunity is in his charges. And when you come to -dine in one of these showy uptown places you will find that he has not -missed his opportunity. - -All New York that dines out does not make for these great places or -their fellows. There are little restaurants that cast a glamour over -their poor food by thrusting out hints of a magic folk named Bohemians -who dine night after night at their dirty tables. There are others who -with a Persian name seek to allure the ill-informed, some stout German -places giving the substantial cheer of the Fatherland, beyond them -restaurants phrasing themselves in the national dishes and the cooking -of every land in the world, save our own. For a real American restaurant -is hard to find in New York--real American dishes treats of increasing -rarity. A great hotel recently banished steaks from its bills-of-fare, -another has placed the ban on pie; and as for strawberry -short-cake--just ask for strawberry short-cake. The concoction that the -waiter will set before you will leave you hesitating between tears and -laughter--ridicule for the pitiful attempts of a French cook and tears -for your thoughts of the tragedy that has overwhelmed an American -institution. Some day some one is going to build a hotel with the -American idea standing back of it right in the heart of New York. He is -going to have the bravery or the patriotism to call it the American -House or the United States Hotel or Congress Hall or some other title -that means something quite removed from the aristocratic nomenclature -that our modern generation of tavern-keepers have borrowed from Europe -without the slightest sense of fitness; and to that man shall be given -more than mere riches--the satisfaction that will come to him from -having accomplished a real work. - -The truth of the matter is that we have borrowed more than nomenclature -from Europe. We have taken the so-called "European plan" with all of its -disadvantages and none of its advantages. We have done away with the -stuffy over-eating "American plan" and have made a rule of -"pay-as-you-go" that is quite all right--and is not. For to the simple -"European plan" has recently been added many complications. In other -days the generosity of the portions in a New York hotel was famous. A -single portion of any important dish was ample for two. Your smiling -old-fashioned waiter told you that. The waiter in a New York restaurant -today does not smile. He merely tells you that the food is served "per -portion" which generally means that an unnecessary amount of food is -prepared in the kitchen and sent from the table, uneaten, as waste. And -a smart New York _restauranteur_ recently made a "cover charge" of -twenty-five cents for bread and butter and ice-water. Others followed. -It will not be long before a smarter _restauranteur_ will make the -"cover charge" fifty cents, and then folk will begin streaming into his -place. They don't complain. That's not the New York way. - -They do not even complain of the hat-boys--bloodthirsty little brigands -who snatch your hat and other wraps before you enter a restaurant. The -brigands are skillfully chosen--lean, hungry little boys every time, -never fat, sleek, well-fed looking little boys. They are employed by a -trust, which rents the "hat-checking privilege" from the proprietor of -the hotel or restaurant. The owner of the trust pays well for these -privileges and the little boys must work hard to bring him back his -rental fees and a fair profit beside. - -Leave that to them. Emerge from a restaurant, well-fed and at peace with -the world and deny that lean-looking, swarthy-faced, black-eyed boy a -quarter if you can--or dare. A dime is out of the question. He might -insult you, probably would. But a quarter buys your self-respect and the -head of the trust a share in his new motor car. The lean-looking boy -buys no motor cars. He works on a salary and there are no pockets in his -uniform. There is a stern-visaged cicerone in the background and to the -cicerone roll all the quarters, but the New Yorker does not -complain--save when he reaches Los Angeles or Atlanta or some other -fairly distant place and finds the same sort of highway brigandage in -effect there. - - -VI - -After the dinner and the hat-boy--the theater. You suggest the theater -to Katherine. She is enthusiastic. You pick the theater. It is close at -hand and you quickly find your way to it. A gentleman, whose politeness -is of a variety, somewhat _frappe_, awaits you in the box-office. A line -of hopeful mortals is shuffling toward him, to disperse with hope left -behind. But this anticipates. - -You inquire of the man in the box-office for two seats--two particularly -good seats. You remember going to the theater in Indianapolis once upon -a time, a stranger, and having been seated behind the fattest theater -pillar that you could have ever possibly imagined. But you need not -worry about the pillars in this New York playhouse. The box-office -gentleman, whose thoughts seem to be a thousand miles away, blandly -replies that the house is sold out. - -"So good?" you brashly venture. You had not fancied this production so -successful. He does not even assume to hear your comment. You decide -that you will see this particular play at a later time. You suggest as -much to the indifferent creature behind the wicket. He replies by -telling you that he can only give you tickets for a Monday or Tuesday -three weeks hence--and then nothing ahead of the seventeenth row. Can he -not do better than that? He cannot. He is positive that he cannot. And -his positiveness is Gibraltarian in its immobility. A faint sign of -irritation covers his bland face. He wants you to see that you are -taking too much of his time. - -Katherine saves the situation. She whispers to you that she noticed a -little shop nearby with a sign "Tickets for all Theaters" displayed upon -it. - -"You know they abolished the speculators two years ago," she explains. - -You move on to the little shop with the inviting sign. The gentleman -behind its counters has manners at least. He greets you with the smile -of the professional shopkeeper. - -"Have you tickets for 'The Giddiest Girl'?" you inquire. - -He smiles ingratiatingly. Of course he has, for any night and anywhere -you wish them. - -"What is the price of them?" - -You are not coldly commercial but, despite that smile, merely -apprehensive. And you are beginning to understand New York. - -"Four dollars." - -Not so bad at that--just the box-office price. You bring out four greasy -one-dollar bills. His eyes fixed upon them, he places a ticket down upon -the counter. - -"There--there are two of us," you stammer. - -He does not stammer. - -"Do you think that they are four dollars a dozen?" he sallies. - -You give him a ten dollar bill this time. You do not kick. Even though -the show is perfectly rotten and the usherette charges you ten cents for -a poorly printed program and scowls because you take the change from her -itching palm, do not complain. You would not complain even if you knew -that the man in the chair next to you paid only the regular prices, -because he happened to belong to the same lodge as the cousin of the -treasurer of the theater, while the man in the chair next to Katherine -paid nothing at all for his seat--having a relative who advertises in -the theater programs. You do not kick. Complaint has long since been -eliminated from the New York code and you have begun to realize that. - - * * * * * - -After the theater, another restaurant--this time for supper--more -hat-boys, more brigandage but it is the thing to do and you must do it. -And you must do it well. Splendor costs and you pay--your full -proportion. If up in your home town you know a nice little place where -you can drop in after the show at the local playhouse and have a glass -of beer and a rarebit--dismiss that as a prevailing idea in the -neighborhood of Long Acre square. The White Light district of Broadway -can buy no motor cars on the beer and rarebit trade. Louey's trade in -his modest little place up home is sufficient to keep him in moderate -living year in and year out, but Louey does not have to pay Broadway -ground rent, or Broadway prices for food-stuffs or Broadway salaries--to -say nothing of having a thirst for a bigger and faster automobile than -his neighbor. And as we have said, the opportunity for bankruptcy in the -so-called "lobster palaces" of Broadway runs high. As this is being -written, one of the most famous of them has collapsed. - -Its proprietor--he was a smart caterer come east from Chicago where he -had made his place fashionable and himself fairly rich--for a dozen -years ran a prosperous restaurant within a stone-throw of the tall white -shaft of the _Times_ building. And even if the heels were the highest, -the gowns the lowest, the food was impeccable and if you knew New York -at all you knew who went there. It was gay and beautiful and -high-priced. It was immensely popular. Then the proprietor listened to -sirens. They commanded him to tear down the simple structure of his -restaurant and there build a towering hotel. He obeyed orders. With the -magic of New York builders the new building was ready within the -twelvemonth. It represented all that might be desired--or that upper -Broadway at least might desire--in modern hotel construction. - -But it could not succeed. A salacious play which made a considerable -commercial success took its title from the new hotel and called itself -"The Girl from R----'s." That was the last straw. It might have been -good fun for the man from Baraboo or the man from Jefferson City to come -to New York and dine quietly and elegantly at R----'s, but to stop at -R----'s hotel, to have his mail sent there, to have the local paper -report that he was registered at that really splendid hostelry--ah, that -was a different matter, indeed. Your Baraboo citizen had some fairly -conservative connections--church and business--and he took no risks. The -new hotel went bankrupt.[A] - - [A] Another hotel man has just taken the property. His first - step has been to change its name and, if possible, its - reputation. E. H. - -Beer and rarebits, indeed. Sam Blythe tells of the little group of four -who went into a hotel grillroom not far from Forty-second street and -Broadway, who mildly asked for beer and rabbits. - -"We have fine partridges," said the head-waiter, insinuatingly. - -"We asked for beer and rabbits," insisted the host of the little group. -He really did not know his New York. - -"We have fine partridges," reiterated the head-waiter, then yawned -slightly behind his hand. That yawn settled it. The head of the party -was bellicose. He lost his temper completely. In a few minutes an -ambulance and a patrol wagon came racing up Broadway. But the hotel had -won. It always does. - - * * * * * - -One thing more--the _cabaret_. We think that if you are really fond of -Katherine, and Katherine's reputation, you will avoid the restaurants -that make a specialty of the so-called _cabarets_. Really good -restaurants manage to get along without them. And the very best that can -be said of them is that they are invariably indifferently poor--a -_melange_ contributed by broken-down actors or actresses, or boys or -girls stolen from the possibilities of a really decent way of earning a -living. As for the worst, it is enough to say that the familiarity that -begins by breeding contempt follows in the wake of the _cabaret_. It may -be very jolly for you, of a lonely summer evening in New York and -forgetting all the real pleasures of a lonely summer night in the big -town--wonderful orchestral concerts in Central Park, dining on open-air -terraces and cool quiet roofs, motoring off to wonderful shore dinners -in queer old taverns--to hunt out these great gay places in the heart of -the town. Easy _camaraderie_ is part and parcel of them. But you will -not want such comrades to meet any of the Katherines of your family. And -therein lies a more than subtle distinction. - - -VII - -It has all quite dazed you. You turn toward Katherine as you ride home -with her in the taxicab--space forbids a description of the horrors and -the indignities of the taxicab trust. - -"Is it like this--every night?" you feebly ask. - -"Every night of the year," she replies. "And typical New Yorkers like -it." - -That puts a brand-new thought into your mind. - -"What is a typical New Yorker?" you demand. - -"We are all typical New Yorkers," she laughs. - -It is a foolish answer--of course. But the strange part of the whole -thing is that Katherine is right. Either there are no typical New -Yorkers--as many sane folk solemnly aver--or else every one who tarries -in the city through the passing of even a single night is a typical New -Yorker. How can it be else in a city who is still growing like a girl in -her teens, who adds to herself each year in permanent population 135,000 -human beings, whose transient population is nightly estimated at over a -hundred thousand? They are all typical New Yorkers. - -Here is Solomon Strunsky who has just arrived through Ellis Island, -scared and forlorn, with his scared and forlorn little family trailing -on behind, Solomon Strunsky all but penniless, and the merciless -home-sickness for the little faraway town in Polish hills tearing at his -heart. Is Solomon Strunsky less a typical New Yorker than the scion of -this fine old family which for sixty years lived and died in a red-brick -mansion close by Washington square? For in four years Solomon Strunsky -will be keeping his own little store in the East Side, in another year -he will be moving his brood up to a fine new house in Harlem, an even -dozen years from the entrance at Ellis Island and you may be reading the -proud patronymic of Strunsky spelled along a signboard upon one of the -great new commercial barracks, which, not content with remaining -downtown, began the despoliation of Fifth avenue and its adjacent retail -district. Can you keep Solomon Strunsky out of the family of typical New -Yorkers? We think not. - -We think that you cannot exclude the man who through some stroke of -fortune has accumulated money in a smaller city, and who has come to New -York to live and to spend it. There are many thousands of him dwelling -upon the island of Manhattan; with his families they make a considerable -community by itself. They are good spenders, good New Yorkers in that -they never complain while the strings of their purses are never tightly -tied. They live in smart apartments uptown, at tremendously high -rentals, keep at least one car in service at all seasons of the year, -dine luxuriously in luxurious eating-places, attend the opera once a -week or a fortnight, see the new plays, keep abreast of the showy side -of New York. They are typical New Yorkers. In an apartment a little -further down the street--which rents at half the figure and comes -dangerously near being called a flat--is another family. This family -also attends the new plays, although it is far more apt to go a floor or -even two aloft, than to meet the speculator's prices for orchestra -seats. It also goes to the opera, and the young woman of the house is in -deadly earnest when she says that she does not mind standing through the -four or five long acts of a Wagnerian matinee, because the nice young -ushers let you sit on the floor in the intermissions. But this family -goes farther than the drama--spoken or sung. It is conversant with the -new books and the new pictures. That same young woman swings the Phi -Beta Kappa key of the most difficult institution of learning on this -continent. And she knows more about the trend of modern art than half of -the artists themselves. And yet she "goes to business"--is the capable -secretary of a very capable man downtown. - -These are typical New Yorkers. So are a family over in the next -block--theirs is frankly a flat in every sense of that despised word. -They have not been in the theater in a dozen years, never in one of the -big modern restaurants or hotels. Yet the head of that family is a man -whose name is known and spoken reverently through little homes all the -way across America. He is a worker in the church, although not a -clergyman, a militant friend of education, although not an educator, and -he believes that New York is the most thoughtful and benevolent city in -the world. And if you attempt to argue with him, he will prove easily -and smilingly, that he is right and you--are just mistaken. He and his -know their New York--a New York of high Christian force and precept--and -they, too, are New Yorkers. - -So, too, is Bliffkins and the little Bliffkins--although Bliffkins holds -property in a bustling Ohio city and votes within its precincts. To tell -the truth baldly, the Bliffkinses descend upon New York once each year -and never remain more than a fortnight. But they stop at a great hotel -and they are great spenders. Floor-walkers, head-waiters, head-ushers -know them. Annually, and for a few golden days they are part of New -York--typical New Yorkers, if you please. And when they are gone other -Bliffkinses, from almost every town across the land, big and little, -come to replace them. And all these are typical New Yorkers. - -What is the typical New Yorker? - -Are the sane folk right when they say that he does not exist? We do not -think so. We think that Katherine in all her flippancy was right. They -are all typical New Yorkers who sojourn, no matter for how little a -time, within her boundaries. We will go farther still. You might almost -say that all Americans are typical New Yorkers. For New York is, in no -small sense, America. Other towns and cities may publicly scoff her, -down in their hearts they slavishly imitate her, her store fronts, her -fashions, her hotel and her theater customs, her policemen, even her -white-winged street cleaners. They publicly laugh at her--down in their -hearts they secretly adore her. - - - - -3 - -ACROSS THE EAST RIVER - - -Physically only the East river separates Brooklyn from Manhattan island. -The island of Manhattan was and still is to many folk the city of New -York. Across that narrow wale of the East river--one of the busiest -water-highways in all the world--men have thrust several great bridges -and tunnels. Politically Brooklyn and Manhattan are one. They are the -most important boroughs of that which has for the past fifteen years -been known as Greater New York. - -But in almost every other way Manhattan and Brooklyn are nearly a -thousand miles apart. In social customs, in many of the details of -living they are vastly different, and this despite the fact that the -greater part of the male population of Brooklyn daily travels to -Manhattan island to work in its offices and shops and you can all but -toss a stone from one community into the other. The very fact that -Brooklyn is a dwelling place for New York--professional funny-men long -ago called it a "bed-chamber"--has done much, as we shall see, toward -building up the peculiar characteristics of the town that stands just -across the East river from the tip of the busiest little island in the -world. - -Consider for an instant the situation of Brooklyn. It fills almost the -entire west end of Long island--a slightly rolling tract of land between -a narrow and unspeakably filthy stream on the north known as Newtown -creek and the great cool ocean on the south. This entire tract has for -many years been known as Kings county--its name a slight proof of its -antiquity. Many years ago there were various villages in the old -county--among them Greenpoint, Bushwick, Williamsburgh, Canarsie, -Flatbush, Gravesend and Brooklyn. They were Dutch towns, and you can -still see some evidences of this in their old houses, although these are -disappearing quite rapidly nowadays. Brooklyn grew the most -rapidly--from almost the very day of the establishment of the republic. -Robert Fulton developed his steam-ferry and the East river ceased to be -the bugaboo it had always been to sailing vessels. Fulton ferry was -popular from the first. With the use of steam its importance waxed and -soon it was overcrowded. Another ferry came, another and another--many, -many others. They were all crowded, for Brooklyn was growing, a close -rim of houses and churches and shops all the way along the bank of the -East river from the Navy Yard at the sharp crook of the river that the -Dutch called the Wallabout, south to the marshy Gowanus bay. Upon the -river shore, north of the Wallabout, was Williamsburgh, which was also -growing and which had been incorporated into a city. But when the -horse-cars came and men were no longer forced to walk to and from the -ferries or to ride in miserable omnibuses, Brooklyn and Williamsburgh -became physically one. Williamsburgh then gave up its charter and its -identity and became lost in the growth of a greater Brooklyn. That was -repeated slowly but surely throughout all Kings county. Within -comparatively recent years there came the elevated railroad--at almost -the same time the great miracle of the Brooklyn bridge--and all the -previous growth of the town was as nothing. For two decades it grew as -rapidly as ever grew a "boom-town" in the West. The coming of electric -city transportation, the multiplying of bridges, the boring of the first -East river tunnel, all helped in this great growth. But the fairy web -of steel that John A. Roebling thrust across the busiest part of the -East river marked the transformation of Brooklyn--a transformation that -did not end when Brooklyn sold her political birthright and became part -and parcel of New York. That transformation is still in progress. - -We have slipped into history because we have wanted you to understand -why Brooklyn today is just what she is. The submerging of these little -Dutch villages with their individual customs and traditions has done its -part in the making of the customs and traditions of the Brooklyn of -today. For Brooklyn today remains a congregation of separate -communities. You may slip from one to the other without realizing that -you have done more than pass down a compactly built block of houses or -crossed a crowded street. - -And so it has come to pass that Brooklyn has no main street--in the -sense that about every other town in the United States, big or little, -has a main street. If you wish to call Fulton street, running from the -historic Fulton ferry right through the heart of the original city and -far out into the open country a main street, you will be forced to admit -that it is the ugliest main street of any town in the land: narrow, -inconsequential, robbed of its light and air by a low-hanging elevated -railroad almost its entire length. And yet right on Fulton street you -will find two department-stores unusually complete and unusually well -operated. New Yorkers come to them frequently to shop. The two stores -seem lost in the dreariness of Fulton street--a very contradiction to -that highway. - -Yet Brooklyn is a community of contradictions. Here we have called -Fulton street a possible main street of Brooklyn, and yet there is a -street in the town, for the most part miles removed from it, that is -quite as brisk by day and the only street in the borough which has any -real activity at night. Like that great main-stem of Manhattan it is -called Broadway, and it is a wider and more pretentious street than -Fulton, although in its turn also encumbered with an elevated railroad. -But up and down Broadway there courses a constant traffic; on foot, in -automobiles, in trolley-cars. Broadway boasts its own department-stores, -some of them sizable, many hundreds of small shops, cheap theaters--and -some better--by the score. It is an entertaining thoroughfare and yet we -will venture to say that not one in ten thousand of the many transients -who come to New York at regular intervals and who know the Great White -Way as well as four corners up at home, have ever stepped foot within -it. We will go further. Of the two million humans who go to make the -population of Brooklyn; a large part, probably half, certainly a third, -have never seen its own Broadway. - -This speaks volumes for the provincialism of the great community across -the East river from Manhattan. Remember all this while that it is a -community of communities, self-centered and rather more intent upon the -problem of getting back and forth between its homes and Manhattan than -on any other one thing in the world. As a rule, people live in Brooklyn -because it is less expensive than residence upon the island of -Manhattan, more accessible and far more comfortable than the Bronx or -the larger cities of New Jersey that range themselves close to the shore -of the Hudson river. It is in reality a larger and a better Jersey City -or a Hoboken or a Long Island City. - -[Illustration: A quiet street on Brooklyn Heights] - -And yet, like each of these three, it is something more than a mere -housing place for folk who work within congested Manhattan. It, too, is -a manufacturing center of no small importance. Despite the -transportation obstacles of being divided by one or two rivers from most -of the trunk-line railroads that terminate at the port of New York, -hundreds of factory chimneys, large and small, proclaim its industrial -importance. Its output of manufactures reaches high into the millions -each year. And the pay-roll of its factory operatives is annually an -impressive figure. - -The fact remains, however, that it is a community of communities, each -pulling very largely for itself. A smart western town of twenty-five -thousand population can center more energy and secure for itself -precisely what it wishes more rapidly and more precisely than can this -great borough of nearly two million population. Brooklyn has not yet -learned the lesson of concentrated effort. - -Now consider these communities of old Kings county once again. We have -touched upon their location and their growth; let us see the manner of -folk who made them grow. About the second decade of the last century a -virtual hegira of New England folk began to move toward New York City. -The New England states were the first portion of the land to show -anything like congestion, the wonderful city at the mouth of the Hudson -was beginning to come into its own--opportunity loomed large in the eyes -of the shrewd New Englanders. They began picking up and moving toward -New York. And they are still coming, although, of course, in no such -volume as in the first half of the nineteenth century. - -These New England folk found New York already aping -metropolitanism--with its unshaded streets and its tightly built rows of -houses. Over on Long island across busy Fulton ferry it was different. -There must have been something in the early Brooklyn, with its gentle -shade-trees down the streets and its genial air of quiet comfort that -made the New Englanders think of the pretty Massachusetts and -Connecticut towns that they had left. For into Brooklyn they came--a -steady stream which did not lessen in volume until the days of the -Civil War. They gave the place a blood infusion that it needed. They -crowded the old Dutch families to one side and laid the social -foundations of the Brooklyn of today. - -It was New England who founded the excellent private schools and small -colleges of Brooklyn, who early gave to her a public-school system of -wide reputation. It was New England who sprinkled the Congregational -churches over the older Brooklyn, who gave to their pulpits a Talmage -and a Storrs, who brought Henry Ward Beecher out from the wilds of the -Mid-west and made him the most famous preacher that America has ever -known. It was New England who for forty years made Brooklyn -Heights--with its exquisite situation on a plateau overlooking the upper -harbor of New York--the finest residential locality in the land. It was -New England for almost all that time who filled the great churches of -the Heights to their capacity Sabbath morning after Sabbath morning--New -England who stood for high thought, decent living and real progress in -Brooklyn. It was New England that made Brooklyn eat her pork and beans -religiously each Sabbath eve. - -The great churches and the fine houses still stand on Brooklyn Heights, -but alas, there are few struggles at the church-doors any more on -Sabbath morning. The old houses, the fine, gentle old houses--many of -them--have said good-by to their masters, their gayeties and their -glories. Some of them have been pulled down to make room for gingerbread -apartment structures and some of those that have remained have suffered -degradation as lodging- and as boarding-houses. It has been hard to hold -the younger generation of fashionable Brooklyn in Brooklyn. Manhattan is -too near, too alluring with all of its cosmopolitan airs, and these days -there is another steady hegira across the East river--the first -families of Brooklyn seeking residence among the smart streets of upper -Manhattan. - -There is another reason for this. We have told how Brooklyn sold her -birthright when she threw off her political individuality and made -herself a borough of an enlarged New York. Perhaps it would be more true -to say that she mortgaged that birthright the very hour when the -Brooklyn bridge, then new, took up the fullness of its mighty work. In -the weaving of that bridge is wrapped one of the little-known tragedies -of Brooklyn--the immensely human story of Roebling, its designer and its -builder, who suffered fatal injuries upon it and who died a lingering -death before it was completed. Roebling's apartments were upon a high -crest of Brooklyn Heights and the windows of his sick-room looked down -upon the workmen who were weaving the steel web of the bridge. In the -last hours of his life he could see the creation of his mind, the -structure that was about to be known as one of the eight modern wonders -of the world, being made ready for its task of the long years. - -The coming of that first bridge began the transformation of Brooklyn; -although for a long time Brooklyn did not realize it. The New England -element within her population did not even realize it when she gave up -her political identity as a city. Then something else happened. Two -miles to the north of the first bridge another was built--this with its -one arm touching the East Side of Manhattan--the most crowded residence -district in the new world--while its other hand reached that portion of -Brooklyn, formerly known as Williamsburgh. We have already spoken of -Williamsburgh--in its day a city of some promise but for sixty years now -part of Brooklyn. In the greater part of these sixty years it hung -tenaciously to its personality. Back of it was a great area of regular -streets and small houses known as the Eastern District. The folk who -lived there called themselves Brooklyn folk. Williamsburgh was -different. Its folk were glad to give themselves the name of the old -town, although the pattern of its streets ran closely into the pattern -of the streets of the community which had engulfed it. They held -themselves a bit by themselves. They had their own shops, their own -theater, their own clubs, their own churches, their own schools. They -also had the opportunity of seeing the social and the business changes -that the development of the first bridge had wrought in old Brooklyn; -how Fulton street from the old City Hall down to the ferry-house had -lost its gayety and was entering upon decadence. - -The Williamsburgh bridge repeated the story of the Brooklyn bridge--only -in sharper measure. It was like a tube lancing the overcrowded mass of -the East Side of Manhattan. It had hardly been completed before it had -its own hegira. The Jews of the crowded tenements of Rivington and Allen -and Essex and all the other congested narrow streets east of the Bowery -began moving over the new bridge and out to a distant section of -Brooklyn, known as Brownsville. They had preempted Brownsville for their -own. For a time that was all right. Then the wiser men of that wise old -race began asking themselves "why go to Brownsville, eight or nine miles -distant, when at the other end of the bridge is a fair land for -settlement?" - -So began changed conditions for Williamsburgh. For a little while it -sought to oppose the change, but an ox might as well pull against the -mighty power of a locomotive, as a community try to defy the working of -economic law. For a decade now Williamsburgh has been "moving out," her -houses, her churches, many of her pet institutions--going the most part -farther out upon Long island and there rebuilding under many protective -restrictions. The old Williamsburgh is nearly gone. Strange tongues and -strange creeds are heard within her churches. And some of them have been -pulled down, along with whole blocks of the gentle red-brick houses, to -give way to cheap apartments, wrought wondrously and fearfully and -echoing with the babbling of unfamiliar words. Nor has the -transformation stopped at Williamsburgh. The invasion has crept, is -still creeping into the Eastern District just beyond, transforming quiet -house-lined streets into noisy ways lined with crowded apartments. - -It is only within a comparatively little time that the older Brooklyn -has realized the change that is coming upon her. She has known for years -of the presence of many thousands of Irish and German within her -boundaries. They have been useful citizens in her development and have -done much for her in both a generous and an intelligent fashion. She -holds today great colonies of Norse and of the Swedish--down close to -the waterfront in the neighborhood of the Narrows, and her Italian -citizens, taken by themselves, would make the greatest Italian city in -the world. She has the largest single colony of Syrians in the New World -and more than half a million Jews. According to reliable estimates, -three-quarters of her adult population today are foreign-born. - -Thus can we record the transformation of a community. It is a -transformation which has created many problems, far too many to be -recounted here. We have only room to show the nature of the change to a -town where grandfathers used to be all in all and which has sleepily -awakened to find itself cosmopolitan, its institutions changing, its -future uncertain. There have not been a dozen important Protestant -churches builded in Brooklyn within the past twelve years--and some of -these merely new edifices for old congregations which have been forced -to pick up and move. And there have been old churches of old faiths that -finally have had to give up and close their doors for the final time. -Even the old custom of singing Christmas songs in the public schools has -been forbidden. The New England strain of Americanism in Brooklyn is -dying. - - * * * * * - -Brooklyn today has no theater of wide reputation, although in Greenwood -she has what is deservedly the most famous cemetery in America. Hold on, -Brooklyn may have no theater, but she has a town-hall and a town-hall -that is worthy of mention here. They do not call it the town-hall or the -opera-house, but it is known as the Academy of Music and it is an -institution well worth the while of any town. And the Brooklyn Academy -of Music is the rallying or focal point for so much that stands for good -within the community that we must see how it has come into being. - -It seems that when Brooklyn men and women of today were Brooklyn boys -and girls there stood down on Montague street in the oldest part of the -town an elder Academy of Music and to it they were taken on certain -great occasions to hear a splendid lecture with magic-lantern pictures, -the Swiss Bell Ringers, or perhaps even real drama or real opera, -although play-acting was frowned upon in the early days of that -barn-like structure. Eventually, its directors capitulated entirely. -Times were changing. So it was that Brooklyn saw the great actors and -the great singers of yesterday upon the stage of its old Academy; from -that stage it heard its own preachers, heard such orators as Edward -Everett and John B. Gough; crowded into the spacious auditorium at the -Commencement exercises and the amateur dramatics of its boys and girls. -The old Academy was a part of the social fabric of old Brooklyn. - -There comes an end to all temporal things and a winter's morning a full -decade ago saw the historic opera house go up in a truly theatrical puff -of smoke and flame. And it was said that day that Brooklyn had lost an -institution by which it was as well known as the Navy Yard or Plymouth -church--where Beecher had once thundered. Before the ruins in Montague -street were cool there were demands that the Academy be rebuilt. -Brooklynites even then were beginning to feel that the old Brooklyn was -beginning to pass. Beecher was dead; the last of Talmage's Tabernacles -was burned and was not to be rebuilt. The idea of becoming a second -Harlem was appalling. The rebuilding of the Academy was a popular -measure, a test as to Brooklyn's ability to preserve at least a vestige -of civic unity unto herself. - -It was a hard test and it almost failed. There was a time when it seemed -as if Brooklyn must give up and become the Cinderella of all the -boroughs of the new New York. But it seems that there were other -institutions in Brooklyn and not the least of these was, and still is, -the Institute of Arts and Sciences. This is a sort of civic Chautauqua. -Toward it several thousand men and women each pay five dollars a year -for the opportunity to gain culture and entertainment at the same time. -They have lectures, museums, picture-shows, recitals and the like and -this institute has so fat a purse that the impresario or prima donna is -yet to be found who is strong enough to withstand its pleadings. - -This institute came valiantly to the aid of the Academy project and -saved the day. While it has no proprietary interest in the new -structure, it is its chief tenant, and the new Academy was planned in -detail to meet the needs of this popular educational institution. So, -while the old Academy had a single auditorium, the new has a half-dozen -big and comfortable meeting-places. On a single night Brooklyn can snap -its fingers at the Metropolitan Opera House, over across the East -river, and can gather within its own Temple of Song--a spacious and -elegant theater which receives the Metropolitan company once a week -during the season--can place another great audience in the adjoining -Music Hall, with its well-renowned pipe-organ; in still another hall -hear some traveler show his pretty pictures and tell of distant climes -and strange peoples; in a lofty ballroom, hold formal reception and -dance; and gather in a still smaller hall to hear Professor -Something-or-other discuss the geological strata of Iceland or the like. -In this way, several audiences, all bent on divers purposes, can be -assembled in this big and passing handsome structure and yet be -completely independent of each other. The new Brooklyn Academy, wrought -after a hard fight, is no tiny toy. - -The building was largely a labor of love to those who succeeded in -getting the subscriptions for it. Its maintenance is today almost a -labor of love for its stockholders are not alone the wealthy bankers and -the merchants of the town. Its stock-list is as catholic as its -endeavors--and they are legion. It is designed to be eventually a -gathering-place for the butcher, the baker, the candle-stick maker; all -the sturdy folk who have their homes from Greenpoint to Coney island. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: An early Brooklyn Citizen] - -"One thing more," you demand. "How about Coney island?" - -Coney island is a part of Brooklyn. It is also the most advertised and -the most over-rated show place in the whole land. While the older -Brooklyn used to drive down to that sand-spit facing the sea for clams -and for fish-dinner in the summer days, it is only within the past few -years that it has been commercialized and an attempt made to place it -upon a business basis. We are inclined to think that the attempt, -measured in the long run, has been a failure. It began about ten -years ago, when the standard of entertainment at the famous beach had -fallen low. A young man, with a gift for the show business, created a -great amusement park there by the side of the sea. - -"People do not come to Coney island to see the ocean," he said. "They -come down here for a good time." - -It looked as if he was right. His amusement park was a great novelty and -for a time a tremendous success. It had splendid imitators almost within -a stone-throw--its name and its purpose were being copied all the way -across the land. Perhaps people did not go to Coney island, after all, -to see the cool and lovely ocean. - -But after a time the fickle taste of metropolitan New York seemed to -change. New Yorkers did not seem to care quite as much for the gay -creations of paint and tinsel, the eerie cities that were born anew each -night in the glories of electric lighting. Fire came to Coney -island--again and again. It scoured the paint and tinsel cities, thrust -the highest of their towers, a blackened ruin, to the ground. Pious folk -said that God was scourging Coney island for its contempt for His laws. -And the fact remains that it has not regained the preeminence of its -position ten years ago. - -We think that a man who had been out of Brooklyn for twenty years and -whose recollections of the wonderful beach that forms her southern -outpost were recollections of great gardens; of Patrick Gilmore playing -inimitable marches in front of one giant hotel and of the incomparable -Siedl leading his orchestra beside another, would do better than to -return to Coney island. Siedl is dead; so is Gilmore and even the huge -wooden hotel that looked down upon him was pulled apart last year to -make room for the encroaching streets and houses of a growing Brooklyn. -The paint and the tinsel of Coney island grows tarnished--and that -twenty-year exile could find little else than the sea to hold his -interest. And the folk who go to Coney island today seem to care very -little for the sea--save perhaps as a giant bath-tub. - -We think that the absentee of twenty years' standing would do far better -to go to Prospect Park. That really superb pleasure-ground, planned -through the foresight of a Brooklyn man of half a century ago, remains -practically unchanged through the years. It remains one of the great -parks, not only of America, but of the entire world. It is the real lion -of Brooklyn. It is incomparably finer than its rival, the somewhat -neglected Central Park of Manhattan. And alas, Manhattan seems to think -so, too, for to Prospect Park it sends each bright summer Sunday not the -best but the roughest of its hordes. And Brooklyn sighs when it sees its -lovely playground stolen from it. - -It is more than playground--Prospect Park. It is history. There are no -historic buildings in Brooklyn--unless we except the Dutch Reformed -church out in Flatbush--but all of Prospect Park was once a -battlefield--the theater of that bitter and bloody conflict of July, -1776, when Washington was routed by British strategy and forced to -retire from the city that he needed most of all to hold. Through its -great meadows Continental and Briton and Hessian once marched with -murder in their hearts. In those great meadows today the boys and girls -of the Brooklyn of today play tennis; the older men, after the fashion -of the Brooklyn of other days, their croquet. And annually down the -greensward the little children of Brooklyn march in brilliant June-time -pageant. - -The Sunday-school parade of Brooklyn is one of the older institutions of -the town that still survives. Annually and upon the first Thursday -afternoon of June the children of all the Sabbath-schools of the borough -march out upon its streets. There is not room even in Prospect Park for -all of these--for sometimes there are 150,000 of them marching of an -afternoon; and the great distances within Brooklyn must also be brought -into consideration. But the largest of the individual parades always -marches in the park--marches like trained troopers up past the -dignitaries in the reviewing stand, and the mayor, and the other city -officers, the Governor of the State, not infrequently the President of -the United States. There is much music, great excitement--and ice-cream -afterwards. Sharp denominational bars are let down and the ice-cream -goes to all. And the boys and girls who are to be the men and women of -the Brooklyn of tomorrow and who are to face its great problems march -proudly by, knowing that the loving eye of father or of mother must be -upon them. - -The problems of the Brooklyn of tomorrow are not to be carelessly -dismissed. Nor is the problem of Brooklyn's future in any way hopeless. -The changing of conditions, the changing of habits, the changing of -institutions does not of necessity spell utter ruin. Cosmopolitanism -does not mean the end of all things. We have called her dull and -emotionless and provincial, and yet many of her residents are quick and -appreciative--well-traveled and well-read--anxious to meet the new -conditions, to solve the problems that have been entailed. And we have -not the slightest doubt that in the long run they will be solved, that -Brooklyn will be ready and willing to undertake the great problem that -has been thrust upon her--the fusing of her hundreds of thousands of -foreign-born into first-rate Americans. - - - - -4 - -WILLIAM PENN'S TOWN - - -To approach Philadelphia in a humble spirit of absolute appreciation, -you must come to her by one of the historic pikes that spread from her -like cart-wheel spokes from their hub. You will find one of those old -roads easily enough, for they radiate from her in every direction. And -when you have found your pike you will discover that it is a fine road, -even in these days when there is a "good-roads movement" abroad in the -land. You can traverse it into town as best suits your fancy--and your -purse. If you are fortunate enough to own an automobile you will find -motoring one of the greatest of many joys in the southeastern corner of -Pennsylvania. If your purse is thin you can have joyous health out of -walking the long miles such as is denied to your proud motorist. And if -you have neither money nor robust health for hard walking, you will find -a trolley line along each of the important pikes. Philadelphia does not -close her most gracious avenues of approach to you--no matter who you -are or what you are. - - * * * * * - -Here we are at the William Penn Inn at dawn of a September morning -waiting to tramp our way, at least to the outskirts of the closely built -part of the city. And before we are away from the tavern which has kept -us through the lonely chill of the night, give it a single parting -glance. It has been standing there at the cross-roads of two of the busy -pikes of Montgomery county for a full century and a half. In all those -years it has not closed its door against man or beast, seeking shelter -or refreshment. There is a record of one hundred and fifty years of -hospitality for which it does not have to make apologies. - -Sometimes you will discover small inns of this sort along the roadsides -of New England, but we do not know where else you will find them without -crossing the Atlantic and seeking them out in the Surrey and the Sussex -of the older England. Yet around Philadelphia they are plentiful--with -their yellow plastered walls, tight green shutters hung against them, -their low-ceilinged rooms, their broad fire-places, their stout stone -out-buildings, and their shady piazzas, giving to the highway. Some of -them have quite wonderful signs and all of them have a wonderful -hospitality--heritage from the Quaker manner of living. - -So from the William Penn Inn one may start after breakfast as one might -have started a century ago--to walk his way into the busy town. The four -corners where the pikes cross stand upon a high ridge--a smooth white -house of stone, a meeting-house of the Friends, and the tavern occupying -three of them. The fourth gives to a view of distant fields--and such a -view! Montgomery is a county of fat farms. You can see the rich lands -down in the valleys, the shrewder genius required to make the more -sterile ridge acres yield. And, as you trudge down the pike, the view -stays with you for a long while. - -At the bottom of the hill a little stream and the inevitable toll-gate -that seem to hedge in Philadelphia from every side. But your payment to -the toll-keeper upon the Bethlehem pike this morning is voluntary. His -smile is genial, his gate open. A cigar is to his liking and if you -would tarry for a little time within the living-room of the toll-house -he would tell you stories of the pike--stories that would make it worth -the waiting. But--Philadelphia is miles away, the road to it long and -dusty. You pick up your way and off you go. - -Little towns and big. Sleepy towns most of them; but occasionally one -into which the railroad has thrust itself and Industry flaunts a smoky -chimney up to the blue sky. Quaker meeting-houses a plenty, with the -tiny grave-stones hardly showing themselves through the long grass -roundabout them. But those same neat stones show that the Friends are a -long-lived folk, and if you lift yourself up to peer through the windows -of one of these meeting-houses you may see the exquisite simplicity of -its arrangement. The meeting-house is modern--it only dates back to -1823--and yet it is typical. Two masses of benches on a slightly -inclined floor, the one side for the men, the other for the women. -Facing them two rows of benches, for the elders. No altar, not even a -pulpit or reading-desk; there is an utter absence of decoration. You do -not wonder that the young folk in this mad, gay day fail to incline to -the old faith of "thee" and "thou," and that no more than forty or fifty -folk, almost all of them close to the evenings of their life gather here -on the morning of First Day. - -Between the villages and the meeting-houses the solid, substantial -farmhouses. And what farmhouses! Farmhouses, immaculate as to whitewash -and to lawn, with cool porches, shaded by brightly striped awnings and -holding windsor chairs and big swinging Gloucester hammocks. This is -farming. And the prosperous look of the staunch barns belies even -thought that this is _dilettante_ agriculture. It is merely evidence -that farmers along the great pikes of Montgomery and Bucks and Berks -have not lost their old-time cunning. And if the farmer no longer drives -his great Conestoga wagons into market at Philadelphia, it is because he -prefers to run in with his own motor car and let other and more modern -transportation methods bring his products to the consumer. - -Lunch at another roadside tavern. Bless your heart, this one, like the -meeting-house of the Friends back the pike a way, is cursed with -modernity. It can only claim sixty years of hospitable existence. Mine -host can tell no fascinating yarn of General Washington having slept -beneath his roof, even though his tavern is named after no less a -personage. Instead he relates mournfully how a tavern over on the -Bristol pike has a tablet in its tap-room telling of the memorable night -that the members of the Continental Congress moving from New York to -Philadelphia tarried under that roof. Two good anecdotes and a corking -name almost make a wayside inn. But the anecdotes are not always easy to -find. - -After lunch and a good rest the last stages of the journey. The little -towns grow more closely together; there are more houses, more -intersecting cross-roads. It will be worth your while not to miss the -signs upon these. The very names on the sign-posts--Plymouth Meeting, -Wheel Pump, Spring House, Bird-in-hand--seem to proclaim that this is a -venerable country indeed. More closely do the houses grow together, the -farms disappear, an ancient mile-post thrusts itself into your vision. -It is stone, but, after the fashion of these Pennsylvania Dutch, -white-washed and readable. It tells you: - - P - 10-1/2 - C.H. - 1 M. - -But Philadelphia in reality is no ten miles away. For here is Chestnut -Hill, the houses numbered, city-fashion and the yellow trolley cars -multiplied within the busy highway which has become a city street -without you having realized the transition. The smart looking policeman -at the corner will tell you that Chestnut Hill is today one of the wards -of Philadelphia. - -The city at last! You may turn at the top of a long hill and for a final -instant confront the country beyond, rolling, fertile, prosperous, the -gentle wooded hills giving soft undulation to the horizon. Then look -forward and face the busy town. For a long time yet your way shall be -down what seems to be the main street of a prosperous village, with its -great homes set away back in green lawns from the noisy pavement and the -public sidewalk. There are shops but they are distinctly local shops and -the churches bear the names of the brisk towns that were submerged in -the making of a larger Philadelphia--Chestnut Hill, Mount Airy, -Germantown. - -And down this same busy street history has marched before you. Some of -it has been recorded here and there in bronze tablets along the street. -In front of one old house, one learns that General Washington conferred -with his officers at the eve of the battle of Germantown and on the -door-steps of another--set even today in its own deep grounds--Redcoat -and Buff struggled in a memorable conflict. For this was the mansion of -Judge Chew, transformed in an instant of an autumn day from -country-house to fortress. It was from the windows of this old house -that six companies of Colonel Musgrave's Fortieth regiment poured down a -deadly fire upon Mad Anthony Wayne and his men even as they attempted to -set fire to it. The house stood and so stood the Fortieth regiment. -General Washington lost his chance to enter Philadelphia that autumn, -and Valley Forge was so writ into the pages of history. - -History! It is spread up and down this main street of Germantown, it -slips down the side-streets and up the alleys, into the hospitable -front-doors of stout stonehouses. Here it shows its teeth in the -bullet-holes of the aged wooden fence back of the Johnson house and -here is the Logan house, the Morris house, the Wend house, the Concord -school and the burying-ground. Any resident of Germantown will tell you -what these old houses mean to it, the part they have played in its -making. - -After Germantown--Philadelphia itself. The road dips down a sudden hill, -loses itself in a short tunnel under a black maze of railroad tracks. -Beyond the railroad track the city is solidly built, row upon row of -narrow streets lined with small flat-roofed brick houses, the monotony -only accentuated by an occasional church-spire or towering factory. In -the distance a group of higher buildings--downtown Philadelphia--rising -above the tallest of them Father Penn poised on the great tower of the -City Hall. No need now for more tramping. The fascination of the open -country is gone and a trolley car will take you through tedious city -blocks--in Philadelphia they call them squares--almost to the door of -that City Hall. They _are tedious_ blocks. Architecturally Philadelphia -is the most monotonous city in America with its little red-brick houses. -Dr. S. Weir Mitchell who has known it through all the years of his life -has called it the "Red City" and rightly, too. - -For mile after mile of the older Philadelphia is mile after mile of -those flat-roofed red-brick houses. They seemingly must have been made -at some mill, in great quantities and from a limited variety of -patterns. For they are almost all alike, with their two or three stories -of narrow windows and doors; steps and lintels and cornice of white -marble and invariably set close upon the sidewalk line. There is no more -generosity than individuality about the typical side streets of -Philadelphia. - -A single thing will catch your eye about these Philadelphia houses--a -small metal device which is usually placed upon the ledge of a -second-story window. The window must be my lady's sitting-room, for a -closer look shows the device to be a mirror, rather two or three -mirrors, so cunningly placed that they will show her folk passing up and -down or standing upon her doorstep without troubling her to leave her -comfortable rocking chair. There must be a hundred thousand of these -devices in Philadelphia. They call them "busy-bodies" quite -appropriately, and they are as typical of the town as its breakfast -scrapple and sausage. - - * * * * * - -Even a slow-moving Philadelphia trolley car eventually accomplishes its -purpose and you will find yourself slipping from the older town into the -oldest. The trolley car grinds around an open square--Franklin square, -the conductor informs you and then tells you that despite its name it is -not to be confounded with that aristocrat, Rittenhouse square, nor even -with the more democratic Logan square. You see that for yourself. There -are mean streets aroundabout this square. Oldest Philadelphia assuredly -is not putting her best foot forward. - -And yet these sordid streets are not without their fascination. The ugly -monotony of flat-roofs is gone. These roofs are high-pitched and bristle -with small-paned dormer windows and with chimneys, for the houses that -stand beneath them are very, very old indeed. And they are typical of -that Georgian architecture that we love to call Colonial. A brave show -these houses once must have made--even today a bit of battered rail, a -fragment of door or window-casing or fanlight proclaims that once they -were quality. Fallen to a low estate, to the housing of Italians or -Chinese instead of quiet Quakers, they seem almost to be content that -their streets have fallen with them; that few seem to seek them out in -this decidedly unfashionable corner of Philadelphia. - -"Arch street," calls the conductor and it is time to get out. It is time -to thread your way down one of the earliest streets of the old Red -City, time to pay your respects at the tomb of him who ranked with Penn, -the Proprietor, as the greatest citizen. You can find this tomb -easily--any newsboy on the street can point the way to it. He is buried -with others of his faith in the quiet yard of Christ church at Fifth and -Arch streets. And in order that the passing world may sometimes stop to -do him the homage of a passing thought, a single section of the old -brick wall has been cut away and replaced by an iron grating. Through -that grating you may see his tomb--a slab of stone sunk flat, for he was -an unpretentious man--and on its face read: - - "Benjamin and Deborah Franklin. 1790." - -Beyond that graveyard you will see a meeting-house of the Friends, one -of the best-known in all that grave city which their patron founded. It -is the meeting-house of the Free Quakers, and to its building both -Franklin and Washington, himself, lent a liberal aid. And you can still -see upon a tablet set in one of its faded brick walls these four lines: - - "By General Subscription, - For the Free Quakers. - Erected A. D. 1783, - Of the Empire 8." - -That "Empire 8" has puzzled a good many tourists. In a republic and -erected upon the gathering-place of as simple a sect as the Friends it -provokes many questions. - -"They must have thought it was goin' to be an empire like that French -Empire that was started by the war in '75," the aged caretaker patiently -will tell you with a shake of the head which shows that he has been -asked that very question many times before and never found a really good -answer for it. - -A few squares below its graveyard is Christ church itself--a splendid -example of the Georgian architecture as we find it in the older cities -close to the Atlantic seaboard. Designed by the architect of -Independence Hall it is second to that great building only in historic -interest. Its grave-yard is a roster of the Philadelphia aristocracy of -other days. In its exquisitely beautiful steeple there hangs a chime of -eight bells brought in the long ago from old England in Captain Budden's -clipper-ship _Matilda_ freight-free. And local tradition relates that -for many years thereafter the approach of Captain Budden's _Matilda_ up -the Delaware was invariably heralded by a merry peal of welcome from the -bells. - -[Illustration: Where William Penn looks down upon the town he loved so -well] - -Philadelphia is rich in such treasure-houses of history. To the -traveler, whose bent runs to such pursuits, she offers a rare field. In -the oldest part of the city there is hardly a square that will not offer -some landmark ripe with tradition and rich with interest. Time has laid -a gentle hand upon the City of Brotherly Love. And no American, who -considers himself worthy of the name, can afford not to visit at least -once in his lifetime the greatest of our shrines--Independence Hall. -Within recent years this fine old building has, like many of its -fellows, undergone reconstruction. But the workmen have labored -faithfully and truthfully and the old State House today, in all its -details, is undoubtedly very much as it stood at the time of the signing -of the Declaration. It still houses the Liberty Bell, that intrepid and -seemingly tireless tourist who visits all the world's fairs with a -resigned patience that might well commend itself to human travelers. - - * * * * * - -Around these landmarks of colonial Philadelphia there ebbs and flows the -human tides of the modern city. The windows of what is today the finest -as well as the largest printing-house in the land look down upon the -tree-filled square in which stands Independence Hall. A little while -ago this printing concern looked down upon the grave of that earlier -printer--Franklin. But growth made it necessary to move from Arch -street--the busiest and the noisiest if not the narrowest of all precise -pattern of parallel roads that William Penn--the Proprietor of other -days--laid back from the Delaware to the Schuylkill river. - -One square from Arch street is Market, designed years ago by the -far-sighted Quaker to be just what it is today--a great commercial -thoroughfare of one of the metropolitan cities of America. At its feet -the ferries cross the Delaware to the fair New Jersey land. Up its -course to the City Hall--or as the Philadelphian will always have it, -the Public Buildings--are department stores, one of them a commercial -monument to the man who made the modern department store possible and so -doing became the greatest merchant of his generation. Department stores, -big and little, two huge railroad terminals which seem always -thronged--beyond the second of them desolation for Market street--a -dreary course to the Schuylkill; beyond that stream it exists as a mere -utility street, a chief artery to the great residence region known as -West Philadelphia. - -Arch street, Market street, then the next--Chestnut street. Now the -heart of your real Philadelphian begins to beat staccato. Other lands -may have their Market streets--your San Francisco man may hardly admit -that his own Market street could ever be equaled--but there is only one -Chestnut street in all this land. - -The big department stores have given way to smaller shops--shops where -Philadelphia quality likes to browse and bargain. Small restaurants, -designed quite largely to meet the luncheon and afternoon tea tastes of -feminine shoppers show themselves. Upon a prominent corner there stands -a very unusual grocery shop. That is, it must be a grocery shop for -that is what it advertises itself, but in the window is a _papier-mache_ -reproduction of the _table-d'hote_ luncheon that it serves upon its -balcony, and within there are quotations from Shakespeare upon the wall -and "best-sellers" sold upon its counters. - -And after Chestnut street, which runs the gamut from banks to retail -shops and then to smart homes, Walnut street. We have been tempted to -call Walnut "the Street of the Little Tailors," for so many shops have -they from Seventh street to Broad that one comes quickly to know why -Philadelphia men are as immaculate to clothes as to good manners. -Between the little shops of the tailors there are other little -shops--places where one may find old prints, old books, old bits of -china or bronze. Walnut street runs its course and at the intersection -of Broad is a group of four great hotels, two of them properly -hyphenated, after modern fashion. Beyond Broad it changes. No shops may -now profane it, for it now penetrates the finest residential district of -Philadelphia. Here is the highway of aristocracy and in a little way -will be Rittenhouse square--the holy of holies. - -Just as Market street in San Francisco forms the sharp demarking line -between possible and impossible so does Market street, Philadelphia, -perform a similar service for William Penn's city. You must live "below" -Market street, which means somewhere south of that thoroughfare. "No -one" lives "above Market," which is, of course, untrue, for many -hundreds of thousands of very estimable folk live north of that street. -In fact, two-thirds of the entire population of Philadelphia live north -of Market, which runs in a straight line almost east and west. But -society--and society in Philadelphia rules with no unsteady -hand--decries that a few city squares south of Market and west of Broad -shall be its own _demesne_. You may have your country house out in the -lovely suburbs of the town, if you will, and there are no finer suburban -villages in all the world than Bryn Mawr or Ognotz or Jenkintown--but if -you live in town you must live in the correct part of the town or give -up social ambitions. And there is little use carrying social ambitions -to Philadelphia anyway. No city in the land, not even Boston or -Charleston, opens its doors more reluctantly to strange faces and -strange names, than open these doors of the old houses roundabout -Rittenhouse square. And for man or woman coming resident to the town to -hope to enter one of Philadelphia's great annual Assemblies within a -generation is quite out of the possibilities. - -Rittenhouse square may seem warm and friendly and democratic with its -neat pattern of paths and grass-plots, its rather genteel loungers upon -its shadiest benches, the children of the nurse-maids playing beneath -the trees. But the great houses that look down into it are neither warm -nor friendly nor democratic. They are merely gazing at you--and -inquiring--inquiring if you please, if you have Pennsylvania blood and -breeding. If you have not, closed houses they are to remain to you. But -if you do possess these things they will open--with as warm and friendly -a hospitality as you may find in the land. There is the first trace of -the Southland in the hospitality of Philadelphia, just as her red brick -houses, her brick pavement and her old-fashioned use of the market, -smack of the cities that rest to the south rather than those to the -north. - - * * * * * - -To give more than a glimpse of the concrete Philadelphia within these -limits is quite out of the question. It would mean incidentally the -telling of her great charities, her wonderful museum of art whose winter -show is an annual pilgrimage for the painters from all the eastern -portion of the land, of her vast educational projects. Two of these -last deserve a passing mention, however. One might never write of -Philadelphia and forget her university--that great institution upon the -west bank of the Schuylkill which awoke almost overnight to find itself -man-size, a man-sized opportunity awaiting. And one should not speak of -the University of Pennsylvania and forget the college that Stephen -Girard founded. Of course Girard College is not a college at all but a -great charity school for boys, but it is none the less interesting -because of that. - -The story of Stephen Girard is the story of the man who was not alone -the richest man in Philadelphia but the richest man in America as well. -But among all his assets he did not have happiness. His beautiful young -wife was sent to a madhouse early in her life, and Girard shut himself -off from the companionship of men, save the necessity of business -dealings with them. He was known as a stern, irascible, hard screw of a -man--immensely just but seemingly hardly human. Only once did -Philadelphia ever see him as anything else--and that was in the yellow -fever panic at the end of the eighteenth century when Stephen Girard, -its great merchant and banker, went out and with his own purse and his -own hands took his part in alleviating the disaster. It was many years -afterward that Girard College came into being; its center structure a -Greek temple, probably the most beautiful of its sort in the land, and -its stern provision against the admission of clergymen even to the -grounds of the institution, a reflection of its founder's hard mind -coming down through the years. Today it is a great charity school, -taking boys at eight years of age and keeping them, if need be, until -they are eighteen, and in all those years not only schooling but housing -them and feeding them as well as the finest private-school in all this -land. - -And as Girard College and the University of Pennsylvania stand among the -colleges of America, so stands Fairmount Park among the public pleasure -grounds of the country. It was probably the first public park in the -whole land, and a lady who knows her Philadelphia thoroughly has found -many first things in Philadelphia--the first newspaper, the first -magazine, the first circulating library, the first medical college, the -first corporate bank, the first American warship, the unfurling of the -first American flag, not least of these the first real world's fair ever -held upon this side of the Atlantic. For it was the Centennial which not -only made Fairmount Park a resort of nation-wide reputation, not only -opened new possibilities of amusement to a land which had always taken -itself rather seriously, but marked the turning of an era in the -artistic and the social, as well as the political life of the United -States. The Centennial was, judged by the standard of the greatest -expositions that followed it, a rather crude affair. Its exhibits were -simple, the buildings that housed them fantastic and barnlike. And the -weather-man assisted in the general enjoyment by sending the mercury to -unprecedented heights that entire summer. Philadelphia is never very -chilly in the summer; the northern folk who went to it in that -not-to-be-forgotten summer of 1876 felt that they had penetrated the -tropics. And yet when it was all over America had the pleased feeling of -a boy who finds that he can do something new. And even sober folk felt -that a beginning had been made toward a wider view of life across the -United States. - -It is nearly forty years since the Centennial sent the tongues of a -whole land buzzing and the two huge structures that it left in Fairmount -Park have begun to grow old, but the park itself is as fresh and as new -as in the days of its beginning, and there are parts of it that were -half a century old before the Centennial opened its doors. There are -many provisions for recreation within its great boundaries, boating upon -the Schuylkill, the drives that border that river, the further drive -that leaves it and sweeps through the lovely glen of the Wissahickon. - -The Wissahickon Drive is a joy that does not come to every -Philadelphian. That winding road is barred to sight-seeing cars and -automobiles of indiscriminate sort because the quality of the town -prefers to keep it to itself. So runs Philadelphia; a town which is in -many ways sordid, which has probably the full share of suffering that -must come to every large city, but which bars its fine drive to the -proletariat while Rittenhouse square blandly wonders why Socialism makes -progress across the land. Philadelphia does not progress--in any broad -social sense. She plays cricket--splendidly--is one of the few American -towns in which that fine English game flourishes--and she dispenses her -splendid charity in the same senseless fashion as sixty years ago. But -she does not understand the trend of things today--and so she bars her -Wissahickon Drive except to those who drive in private carriages or -their own motor car, and delivers the finest of the old Colonial houses -within her Fairmount Park area to clubs--of quality. - -Personally we much prefer John Bartram's house to any of those splendid -old country-seats within Fairmount. To find Bartram's Gardens you need a -guide--or a really intelligent street-car conductor. For there is not -even a marking sign upon its entrance, although Philadelphia professes -to maintain it as a public park. Little has been done, however, to the -property, and for that he who comes to it almost as a shrine has reason -to be profoundly thankful. For the old house stands, with its barns, -almost exactly as it stood in the days of the great naturalist. One may -see where his hands placed the great stone inscribed "John-Ann Bartram -1731" within its gable; on the side wall another tablet chiseled there -forty years later, and reading: - - "Tis God alone, almighty Lord, - The holy one by me adored." - -Neglect may have come upon the gardens but even John Bartram could not -deny the wild beauty of these untrammeled things. The gentle river is -still at the foot of the garden, within it, most of the shrubs and trees -he planted are still growing into green old age. And next to his fine -old simple house one sees the tangled yew-tree and the Jerusalem -"Christ's-thorn" that his own hands placed within the ground. - - * * * * * - -Philadelphia prides herself upon her dominant Americanism--and with no -small reason. She insists that by keeping the doorways to her houses -sharply barred she maintains her native stock, her trained and -responsible stock, if you please, dominant. She avers that she protects -American institutions. New York may become truly cosmopolitan, may ape -foreign manners and foreign customs. Philadelphia in her quiet, gentle -way prefers to preserve those of her fathers. - -One instance will suffice. She has preserved the American -Sabbath--almost exactly as it existed half a century ago. As to the -merits and demerits of that very thing, they have no place here. But the -fact remains that Philadelphia has accomplished it. From Saturday night -to Monday morning a great desolation comes upon the town. There are no -theaters not even masquerading grotesquely as "sacred concerts," no open -saloons, no baseball games, no moving pictures--nothing exhibiting for -admission under a tight statute of Pennsylvania, in effect now for more -than a century. And it is only a few years ago that the churches were -permitted to stretch chains across the streets during the hours of -their services. A few bad fires, however, with the fire-engines -becoming entangled with the chains and this custom was abandoned. But -the churches are still open, and they are well attended. It is an -old-fashioned Sabbath and it seems very good indeed to old-fashioned -Americans. - -But upon the other six days of the week she offers a plenitude of -comfort and of amusement. She is accustomed to good living--her oysters, -her red-snappers, and her scrapple are justly famous. She is accustomed -to good playing. In the summer she has far more than Fairmount Park. -Atlantic City--our American Brighton--is just fifty-six miles distant -both in crow-flight and in the even path of the railroads, and because -of their wonderful high-speed service many Philadelphians commute back -and forth there all summer long. - -For the old Red City is a paradise for commuters. Those few blocks -aroundabout Rittenhouse square that her social rulers have set aside as -being elect for city residence, long since have grown all too small for -a great city--the great monotonous home sections north of Market and -west of the Schuylkill are hot and dreary. So he who can, builds a stone -house out in the lovely vicinage of the great city, and when you are far -away from the high tower of the Public Buildings and find two -Philadelphians having joyous argument you will probably find that they -are discussing the relative merits of the "Main Line," the "Central -Division" or the "Reading." - -And yet the best of Philadelphia good times come in winter. She is famed -for her dances and her dinners--large and small. She is inordinately -fond of recitals and of exhibitions. She is a great theater-goer. And -local tradition makes one strict demand. In New York if a young man of -good family takes a young girl of good family to the theater he is -expected to take her in a carriage. She may provide the carriage--for -these days have become shameful--but it must be a carriage none the -less. In Philadelphia if a young man of good family takes a young woman -of good family to the theater he must not take her in a carriage, not -even if he owns a whole fleet of limousines. Therein one can perhaps see -something of the dominating distinctions between the two great -communities. - -But what Philadelphia loves most of all is a public festival. It does -not matter so very much just what is to be celebrated as long as there -can be a fine parade up Broad street--which just seems to have been -really designed for fine parades. On New Year's Eve while New York is -drinking itself into a drunken stupor, Philadelphia masks and -disguises--and parades. On every possible anniversary, on each public -birthday of every sort she parades--with the gay discordancies of many -bands, with long files of stolid and perspiring policemen or firemen or -civic societies, with rumbling top-heavy floats that mean whatever you -choose to have them mean. Rittenhouse square does not hold aloof from -these festivals. Oh, no, indeed! Rittenhouse square disguises itself as -grandfather or grandmother or as any of the many local heroes and rides -within the parade--more likely upon the floats. The parades are -invariably well done. And the proletariat of Philadelphia comes out from -the side streets and makes a double black wall of humanity for the long -miles of Broad street. - -There is something reminiscent of Bourbon France in the way that Bourbon -Rittenhouse square dispenses these festivals unto the rest of the town. -It is all very diaphanous and very artificial but it is very sensuous -and beautiful withal, and perhaps the rest of the town for a night -forgets some of its sordidness and misery. And the picture that one of -these celebrations makes upon the mind of a stranger is indelible. - -Like all of such _fetes_ it gains its greatest glory at dusk. As -twilight comes the strident colors of the city fade; it becomes a thing -of shapes and shadows--even the restless crowd is tired and softened. -Then the genius of electricity comes to transform workaday land into -fairyland and all these shapes and shadows sharpen--this time in living -glowing lines of fire. It is time for men to exult, to forget that they -have ever been tired. Such is the setting that modern America can give a -parade. Father Penn stands on his tall tower above it all, the most -commanding figure of his town. Below him the searchlights play and a -million incandescents glow; the shuffling of the crowds, the faint -cadences of the band, the echoes of the cheering crowd come up to him. -But he does not move. His hands, his great bronze hands, are spread in -benediction over the great gay sturdy city which he brought into -existence these long years ago. - - - - -5 - -THE MONUMENTAL CITY - - -If you approach Philadelphia by dusty highway, it is quite as -appropriate that you come to Baltimore by water highway. A multitude of -them run out from her brisk and busy harbor and not all of them find -their way to the sea. In fact one of the most fascinating of all of them -leads to Philadelphia--an ancient canal dug when the railroad was being -born and in all these years a busy and a useful water-carrier. If you -are a tourist and time is not a spurring object, take the little steamer -which runs through the old canal from the city of William Penn to the -city of Lord Baltimore. It is one of the nicest one-day trips that we -know in all the east--and apparently the one that is the least known. -Few gazetteers or tourist-guides recommend or even notice it. And yet it -remains one of the most attractive single-day journeys by water that we -have ever taken. - -If you will only scan your atlas you will find that nature has offered -slight aid to such a single-day voyage. She builded no direct way -herself but long ago man made up the omission. He dug the Chesapeake and -Delaware canal in the very year that railroading was born within the -United States. For remember that in 1829 the dreamers, who many times -build the future, saw the entire nation a great network of -waterways--natural and artificial. They builded the Chesapeake and -Delaware canal bigger than any that had gone before. No mere mule-drawn -barges were to monopolize it. It was designed for river and bay -craft--a highway for vessels of considerable tonnage. - - * * * * * - -You arrive at this canal after sailing three hours down the Delaware -river from Philadelphia--past the Navy Yard at League island, the piers -and jetties at Marcus Hook that help to keep navigation open throughout -the winter and many and many a town whose age does not detract from all -its charm. The river widens into a great estuary of the sea. The narrow -procession of inbound and outbound craft files through a thin channel -that finally widens in a really magnificent fairway. - -Suddenly your steamer turns sharply toward the starboard, toward another -of the sleepy little towns that you have been watching all the way down -from Philadelphia--the man who knows and who stands beside you on the -deck will tell you that it is Delaware City--and right there under a -little clump of trees is the beginning of the canal. You can see it -plainly, with its entrance lock and guarding light, and if the day be -Sunday or some holiday the townfolk will be down under the trees -watching the steamer enter the lock. It is not much of a lock--scarcely -eleven inches of raise at the flow of the tide--but it serves to protect -the languid stretch of canal that reaches a long way inland. This -gateway is a busy one at all times, for the Chesapeake and Delaware is -one of the few old-time canals that has retained its prestige and its -traffic. An immense freight tonnage passes through it in addition to the -day-boats and the night-boats between Philadelphia and Baltimore. -Moreover, the motor boats are already finding it of great service as an -important link in the inside water-route that stretches north and south -for a considerable distance along the Atlantic coast. - -[Illustration: In Baltimore Harbor] - -Engines go at quarter-speed through the thirteen miles of the canal and -the man who prefers to take his travel fast has no place upon the -boat. Four miles an hour is its official speed limit and even then the -"wash" of larger craft is frequently destructive to the banks. But what -of that speed limit with a good magazine in your hands and a slowly -changing vista of open country ever spread before your hungry eyes? You -approach swing-bridges with distinction, they slowly unfold at the sharp -order of the boat's whistle, holding back ancient nags of little -Delaware, drawing mud-covered buggies; heavy Conestoga wagons filled -with farm produce for the towns and cities to the north; sometimes a big -automobile snorting and puffing as if in rage at a few minutes of -enforced delay. - -On the long stretches between the bridges the canal twists and turns as -if finding its way, railroad fashion, between increasing slight -elevations. Sometimes it is very wide and the tow-path side--for -sailing-craft are often drawn by mules through it--is a slender -embankment reaching across a broad expanse of water. You meet whole -flotillas of freighters all the way and when edging your way past them -you throw your Philadelphia morning paper into their wheel-houses you -win real thanks. All the way the country changes its variety--and does -not lose its fascination. - -So sail to Baltimore. At Chesapeake City you are done with the canal, -just when it may have begun to tire you ever and ever so slightly. Your -vessel drops through a deep lock into the Back creek, an estuary of the -Elk river. The Elk river in turn is an estuary of Chesapeake bay and you -are upon one of the remote tendons of that really marvelous system of -waterways that has its focal point in Hampton Roads and reaches for -thousands of miles into Maryland, Pennsylvania, Virginia and North -Carolina. - -You sweep through the Elk river and then through the upper waters of the -Chesapeake bay, just born from the yellow flood of the Susquehanna, as -the day dies. As the sun is nearly down, your ship turns sharply, leaves -the Bay and begins the ascent of the Patapsco river. Signs of a nearby -city, a great city if you please, multiply. There are shipbuilding -plants upon distant shores, the glares of foundry cupolas, multiplying -commerce--Baltimore is close at hand. - -And so you sail into Baltimore--into that lagoon-like harbor at the very -heart of the town. The steamboats that go sailing further down the -Chesapeake that poke their inquisitive noses into the reaches of the -Pocomoke, the Pianatank, the Nanticoke, the Rappahannock, the -Cocohannock, the Big Wicomico and the Little Wicomico--all of these -water highways of a land of milk and honey and only rivaling one another -in their quiet lordly beauty--sail in and out of Baltimore. There are -many of these steamers as you come into the inner harbor of the city, -tightly tethered together with noses against the pier just as we used to -see horses tied closely to one another at the hitching-rails, at -fair-time in the home town years ago. And they speak the strength of the -manorial city of Lord Baltimore. For the city that sits upon the hills -above her landlocked little harbor draws her strength from a rich -country for many miles roundabout. For many years she has set there, -confident in her strength, leading in progress, firm in resource. - -For well you may call Baltimore--quite as much as Philadelphia--a city -of first things. There are almost too many of these to be recounted -here. It is worthy of note, however, that in Baltimore came the first -use in America of illuminating gas, which drove out the candle and the -oil lamp as relics of a past age. Baltimore's historic playhouse, -Peale's Museum, was the first in all the land to be set aglow by the new -illuminant. And one may well imagine the glow of pride also that dwelt -that memorable evening upon the faces of all the folk who were gathered -in that ancient temple of the drama. - -And yet there was an earlier "first thing" of even greater -importance--the hour of inspiration a century ago when an enemy's guns -were trained on that stout old guardian of the town's harbor, Fort -McHenry--an engagement to be remembered almost solely by the fact that -the "Star Spangled Banner" first lodged itself in the mind of man. But -to our minds the greatest of the many, many "first things" of Baltimore -was the coming of the railroad. For the first real railroad system in -America--the Baltimore & Ohio--was planned by the citizens of the old -town--ambitious dreamers each of them--as an offset to those rival -cities to the north, Philadelphia and New York, who were creating canals -to develop their commerce--at the expense of the commerce of Baltimore. -So it was that a little group of merchants gathered in the house of -George Brown, on the evening of the 12th of February, 1827, a date not -to be regarded lightly in the annals of the land. For out of that -meeting was to come a new America--a growing land that refused to be -bound by high mountains or wide rivers. Not that the little gathering of -Baltimore merchants pointed an instant or an easy path to quick -prosperity. The path of the Baltimore & Ohio was hedged about for many -years with trials and disappointments. It was more than a quarter of a -century before it was a railroad worthy of the name, meeting even in -part the ideals and dreams of the men who had planned it to bring their -city in touch with the Ohio and the other navigable rivers of the -unknown West. And at the beginning it was a fog-blinded path that -confronted them. Over in England an unknown youth was experimenting with -that uncertain toy, the steam locomotive, while a Russian gentleman of -known intelligence gravely predicted that a car set with sails to go -before the wind upon its rails was the most practical form of -transportation. And it is worthy of mention that the earliest of the -Baltimore and Ohio steam locomotives was beaten in a neck-and-neck race -toward the West by a stout gray horse. The name of the old locomotive is -still recorded in the annals of the railroad but that of the gray horse -is lost forever. - - * * * * * - -To know and to love the Baltimore of today, one must know and love the -Baltimore of yesterday. He must know her lore, her traditions, her first -families--the things that have gone to make the modern city. He must -see, as through magic glasses, the Baltimore of other days, the city -that came into her own within a very few years after the close of the -American Revolution. His imagination must depict that stout old merchant -and banker, Alexander Brown; Evan Thomas, the first president of -Baltimore's own railroad; B. H. Latrobe, the first great architect and -engineer that a young nation should come to know and whose real memorial -is in certain portions of the great Federal Capitol at Washington. He -must see Winans, the car-builder, and Peter Cooper, tinkering with the -locomotive. He may turn toward less commercial things and find Rembrandt -Peale; and if his glasses be softened by the amber tints of charity he -may see a drunkard staggering through the streets of old Baltimore to -die finally in a gutter, while some men put their fingers to their lips -and whisper that "Mr. Poe's _Raven_ may be literature after all." - -It is indeed the old Baltimore that you must first come to know and to -love, if you are ever to understand the personality of the Baltimore of -today. The new Baltimore is a splendid city. Its fine new homes, its -many, many schools and colleges proclaim that here is a center of real -culture; its great churches, its theaters, its modern hotels, its broad -avenues are worthy of a city of six hundred thousand humans. Druid Hill -Park at the back of the new Baltimore is worthy of a city of a million -souls. From it you can ride or stroll downtown through Eutaw place, that -broad parked avenue which is the full pride of the new Baltimore. -Suddenly you turn to the left, pass through a few mean streets, the gray -pile of the Fifth Regiment armory, known nationally because of the great -conventions that have been held beneath its spreading walls, see the -nearby tower of Mount Royal station--after that you are in the region of -the uptown hotels and theaters--thrusting themselves into the long lines -of tight, red-brick houses. These are builded after the fashion of the -Philadelphia houses, even as to their white marble door-steps, and yet -possess a charm and distinction of their own. - -There are many of these old houses upon this really fine street, and you -crane your neck at the first intersection to catch its name upon the -sign-post. "Charles Street" it reads and with a little gladsome memory -you recall a bit of verse that you saw a long time ago in the _Baltimore -Sun_. It reads somewhat after this fashion: - - Its heart is in Mount Vernon square, - Its head is in the green wood: - Its feet are stretched along the ways - Where swarms the foreign brood; - A modicum of Bon Marche, - That sublimated store-- - And Oh, the treasure that we have - In Charles street, Baltimore! - - I love to watch the moving throng, - The afternoon parade; - The coaches rolling home to tea, - The young man and the maid; - The gentlemen who dwell in clubs, - The magnates of the town-- - Oh, Charles street has a smile for them, - And never wears a frown! - - The little shops, so cool and sweet; - The finesse and the grace - Which mark the mercantility - Of such a market-place; - And then beyond the tempting stores - The quietness that runs - Into the calm and stately square - With marble denizens. - - The little and the larger stores - Are tempting, to be sure; - But they are only half the charm - That Charles street holds to lure; - For here and there along the way, - How sweet the homes befall-- - The domicile that holds his Grace, - The gentle Cardinal. - - The mansions with pacific mien - Whose windows say "Come in!" - The touches of colonialness, - The farness of the din - That rolls a city league away - And leaves this dainty street - A cool and comfortable spot - Where past and present meet. - - A measure of la boulevard - Before whose windows pass - The madame and the damoisel, - The gallant and the lass; - The gravest and the most sedate, - The young and gay it calls; - And, oh, how proper over it-- - The shadows of St. Paul's! - - Dip down the hill and well away, - The southward track it takes, - O fickleness, how many quips, - How many turns it takes! - But ever in its greensward heart, - From head to foot we pour - The homage of our love of it-- - Dear Charles street, Baltimore! - -[Illustration: Charles Street--Baltimore] - -You are standing in Mount Vernon square, the very heart of Charles -street. It is a little open place, shaped like a Maltese cross rather -than a real square or oblong, with a modern apartment house looming up -upon it, whose facades of French Renaissance give a slightly Parisian -touch to that corner of the square. To the rest of it, bordered with -sober, old-time mansions there is nothing Parisian, unless you stand -apart and gaze at the Monument, which sends its great shaft some two -hundred feet up into the air. There are such columns in Paris. - -It is the Monument that dominates Mount Vernon square, that adds variety -to the vistas up and down through Charles street. For eighty years it -has stood there, straight and true; for eighty years General Washington -has looked down into the gardens of Charles street, upon the children -who are playing there, the folk coming home at night. It is the most -dominating thing in Baltimore, which has never acquired the sky-scraper -habit, and because of it we have always known Baltimore as the -Monumental City. - - * * * * * - -Now turn from the modern Baltimore--right down this street which runs -madly off the sharp hill of Mount Vernon square. Charles street, with -all of its shops and gentle gayety, is quickly left behind. At the foot -of the hill runs St. Paul street and it is a busy and a somewhat sordid -way. But at St. Paul street rises Calvert station and since you are to -see so many great railroad stations before you are done with the cities -of America, take a second look at this. Calvert station is not great. It -is not magnificent. It is not imposing. It is old, very, very old--as -far as we know the oldest of all the important stations that are still -in use today. From its smoky trainshed the trains have been going up the -Northern Central toward Harrisburg and the Susquehanna country--the -farther lands beyond--since 1848. And that trainshed, with its -stout-pegged wooden-trussed roof held aloft on two rows of solid stone -pillars, seems good for another sixty-five years. - -Old Baltimore holds tightly to its ideals of yesterday. Over in another -of the older parts of the town you can still find Camden station, which -in 1857 was not only proclaimed as the finest railroad terminal that was -ever built but that ever could be built, still in use and a busy place -indeed. The Eutaw House, spared by the great fire of a decade ago, but -finally forced to close its doors in the face of the competition of -better located and more elaborate hostelries, still stands. The ancient -cathedral remains a great lion, the old-time red shaft of the Merchants' -Tower still thrusts itself into the vista as you look east from the -Monument square there in front of the Post Office. Across the harbor you -can find Fort McHenry, as silent sentinel of that busy place. Baltimore -does not easily forget. - -And here, as you plunge down into the little congested district -roundabout Jones Falls you are at last in the really old Baltimore. The -streets are as rambling and as crooked as old Quebec. Some of their -gutters still run with sewage although it is to be fairly said to the -credit of the town that she is today fast doing away with these. And -once in a time you can stand at the open door of an oyster establishment -and watch the negroes shocking those bivalves--singing as they work. For -just below Baltimore is a great _habitat_ of the oyster as well as of -the crab, to say nothing of some more aristocratic denizens--the -diamond-back terrapin for instance. Boys with trays--many of them -negroes--walk the wharves and streets of old Baltimore selling cold -deviled crabs at five cents each. Those crabs are uniformly delicious, -and the boys sell them as freely on the streets as the boys down in -Staunton and some other Virginia towns sell cold chicken. - -Now we are across Jones Falls[B]--that unimpressive stream that gullies -through Baltimore--and plunging into Old Town. Other cities may boast -their _quartiers_, Baltimore has Old Town. And she clings to the name -and the traditions it signifies with real affection. Here is indeed the -oldest part of Old Town and if we search quietly through its narrow, -crowded streets we may still see some of the old inns, dating well back -into the eighteenth century, their cluttered court-yards still telling -in eloquent silence of the commotion that used to come when the coaches -started forth up the new National Pike to Cumberland or distant -Wheeling, north to York and Philadelphia. And everywhere are the little -old houses of that earlier day. Even in the more distinctively -residential sections of the town many of them still stand, and they are -so very much like toy houses enlarged under some powerful glass that we -think of Spotless Town and those wonderful rhymes that we used to see -above our heads in the street cars. But they represent Baltimore's -solution of her housing problem. - - [B] During the past year Baltimore has made a very - creditable progress toward building an important commercial - street over Jones Falls; thus transforming it into a hidden, - tunneled sewer. Residents of the city will not soon forget, - however, that it was at Jones Falls that the engines of the - New York Fire Department took their stand and halted the - great fire of 1904. E. H. - -For she has no tenements, even few high-grade apartments. She has, like -her Quaker neighbor to the north, mile upon mile of little red-brick -houses, all these also with white door-steps--marble many times, and in -other times wood, kept dazzling and immaculate with fresh paintings. In -these little houses Baltimore lives. You may find here and there some -one of them no more than ten or twelve feet in width and but two stories -high, but it is a house and while you occupy it, your own. And the rent -of it is ridiculously low--compared even with the lower-priced -apartments and the tenements of New York. That low rent, combined with -the profuse and inexpensive markets of the town, makes Baltimore a cheap -place in which to live. The proximity of her parks and the democracy of -her boulevards makes her a very comfortable place of residence--even for -a poor man. And you may live within your little house and of a summer -evening sit upon your "pleasure porch" as comfortably as any prince. - -In Baltimore it is always a "pleasure porch," thus proclaiming her as a -real gateway to the old South--the South of flavor and of romance. In -Baltimore, you always say "Baltimore City," probably in distinction to -Baltimore county, which surrounds it, and your real Baltimorean delights -to speak of his morning journal as "that _Sun_ paper." The town clings -conservatively to its old tricks of speech, and if you pick up that -newspaper you will perhaps find the advertisement of an auctioneer -preparing to sell the effects of some family "declining housekeeping." - -That same fine conservatism is reflected in her nomenclature--first as -you see it upon the shop signs and the door-plates. She has not felt the -flood of foreign invasion as some of our other cities have felt it. She -is not cosmopolitan--and she is proud of that. And the names that one -sees along her streets are for the most part the good names of English -lineage. Even the names of the streets themselves are proof of -that--Alpaca and April alleys, Apple, and Apricot courts, Crab -court, Cuba street, China street--which takes one back to the -days of the famous clipper ships which sailed from the wharves of -Baltimore--Featherbed lane, Johnny-cake road, Maidenchoice lane, Pen -Lucy avenue, Sarah Ann street--who shall say that conservatism does not -linger in these cognomens? And what shall one say of conservatism and -Baltimore's devotion to Charles street, sending that famous thoroughfare -up through the county to the north as Charles Street avenue and then as -Charles Street Avenue extension? - - * * * * * - -Do not mistake Baltimore conservatism for a lack of progress. You can -hardly make greater mistake. For Baltimore today is constantly planning -to better her harbor, to improve the beginning that she has already made -in the establishment of municipal docks--her jealousy of a certain -Virginia harbor far to the south is working much good to herself. She is -constantly bettering her markets--today they are not only among the most -wonderful but the most efficient in the whole land. And today she is -planning a great common terminal for freight right within her heart--a -sizable enterprise to be erected at a cost of some ten millions of -dollars. For she is determined that her reputation for giving good -living to her citizens and at a low cost shall be maintained. She -realizes that much of that cost is the cost of food distribution, and -while almost every other city in the land is floundering and -experimenting she is going straight ahead--with definite progress in -view. Such purpose and such plans make first-rate aids to conservatism. - - * * * * * - -"Baltimore can prove to any one who will give her half a chance, what a -good, a dignified, a charming thing it is to be an American town," -writes one man of her. He knows her well and he does not go by the mark. -Baltimore is good, is dignified, is altogether charming. And she is an -American town of the very first rank. - - - - -6 - -THE AMERICAN MECCA - - -Just as all the roads of old Italy led to Rome so do all the roads of -this broad republic lead to Washington--its seat of government. At every -season of the year travelers are bound to it. It is in the spring-time, -however, that this travel begins to assume the proportions of the -hegira. It is a patriotic trek--essentially. And the slogan "Every true -American should see Washington at least once" has been changed by shrewd -railroad agents and hotel-keepers to "Every true American should see -Washington once a year," although some of the true Americans after one -experience with Washington hotel-keepers are apt to say that once in a -life-time is quite enough. But the national capital is worth all the -hardships, all the extortions large and small. It is a patriotic shrine -and, quite incidentally, the most beautiful city in America, if not the -world, and so it is that there is not a month in the year that Americans -are not pouring through its gateway--the wonderful new Union station. - -That terminal still opens the eyes of those folk who come trooping down -toward the Potomac--old fellows who still remember the last time they -went to Washington and the entire country was a-bristle with military -camps and bristling guns, little shavers entering for the first time the -City of Perpetual Delights, lovelorn bridal couples, excursions from -Ohio, round-trips from off back in the Blue Ridge mountains, parties -from up in Pennsylvania--the broad concourse of the railroad station at -Washington is a veritable parade-ground of latent and varied -Americanism. - -The members of a self-appointed Reception Committee are waiting for the -tourists--just outside the marble portals of the station. Some of them -are hotel-runners, others are cab-drivers, but they are all there and -their eyes are seemingly unerring. How quickly they detect the stranger -who has heard the "true American" slogan for the first time, and who has -the return part of his ten-day limit ticket tucked safely away in his -shabby old wallet. - -"Seein' Washington! A brilliant trip of two hours through the homes of -wealth an' fashion, with a lecture explainin' every point of interest -an' fame." - -Here is the first welcoming cry of the Reception Committee--and seasoned -tourist that you are, you do not yield to it. You shake your head in a -determined "no" to the barker at the station but a little while later -over in Pennsylvania avenue you succumb. Two dashing young black-haired -ladies--slender symphonies in white--are sitting high upon one of the -large travel-stained peripatetic grandstands. On another sight-seeing -automobile over across the street are two very blondes--in black. You -cast your fate upon the ladies with the black hair and the white dresses -and climb upon the wagon with them. At intervals you look enviously upon -mere passers-by. Then the intervals cease. Two young men climb upon the -wagon and boldly engage themselves in conversation with the young -ladies. At the very moment when you are about to interfere in the name -of propriety, you discover that the young ladies seem to like it. At any -rate you decide it will be interesting to listen to their conversation -and the important young man who is in charge of the grandstand has taken -your non-refundable dollar for the trip. Otherwise you might still -change in favor of the blondes who are sitting huddled under a single -green sunshade and who look bored with themselves. - -You sit ... and sit ... and sit. An old lady finds her cumbersome way up -on the front seat and fumbles for her dollar. A deaf gentleman perches -himself upon the rear bench. After which you sit some more. Three or -four more true Americans find their way upon the wagon. You still sit. -An elderly couple crowds in upon your bench. The man has whiskers like -Uncle Joe Cannon or a cartoon, but his wife seems to have subdued him, -after all these years. The sitting continues. Finally, when patience is -all but exhausted, the personal conductor of the car shouts "All aboard" -and the two young ladies in white duck drop off nimbly. For a moment -their acquaintances seem non-plussed. Then they understand, for they, -too, jump off and follow after. - -The chauffeur fumbles with the crank of the top-heavy car. It does not -respond readily. The chauffeur perspires and the personal conductor--who -will shortly emerge in the role of lecturer--offers advice. The -chauffeur softly profanes. Interested spectators gather about and begin -to make comments of a personal nature. Finally, when the chauffeur is -about to give it all up and you and yours are to be plunged into -mortification--you can safely suspect those young blondes on the rival -enterprise across the way of laughing in their tight little sleeves at -you--the engine begins to snort violently and throb industriously. The -chauffeur wipes the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand -and smiles triumphantly at the scoffers across the street. - -He jumps into his seat briskly, as if afraid that the car might change -its mind, and you are off. The ship's company settles into various -stages of contentment. Seein' Washington at last.... The lecturer -reaches for his megaphone. - -But not so fast--this is Washington. - -The real start has not yet begun. All these are but preliminaries to the -start of the real start. You are not going to bump into the world of -wealth and fashion as quickly as all this. You go along Pennsylvania -avenue for another two squares and for twenty minutes more traffic is -solicited. The novelty wears off and contentment ceases. - -"I don't purpose to pay a dollar for a ride and spend the hull time -settin' 'round like a public hack in front of th' hotels," says a -bald-headed man and he voices a rising sentiment. He is from Baltimore -and he is frankly skeptical of all things in Washington. The lecturer -and the chauffeur confer. The performance with the engine crank is given -once again and you finally make a real start. - -Entertainment begins from that start. But you get history as a -preliminary to wealth and fashion, for it so happens that wealth and -fashion do not dwell in that part of Pennsylvania avenue. - -"Site of first p'lice station in Washington," the young man rattles out -through his megaphone. "Oldest hotel in Washington. Washington's -Chinatown. Peace Monument. Monument to Albert Pike, Gran' Master of the -Southern Masons; only Confederate monument in the city. Home o' Fightin' -Bob Evans, there with the tree against the window. His house was--" - -"What was that about the Confederates?" the deaf man interrupts from the -back seat. The lecturer, with an expression of utter boredom, repeats. -At this moment the chauffeur comes into the limelight. He recognizes a -girl friend on the sidewalk and in the enthusiasm of that recognition -nearly bumps the grandstand into a load of brick. When order is restored -and you go forward in a straight course once again, the lecturer -resumes-- - -"On our right the United States Pension Office, the largest brick -buildin' in the world and famed for the inaugural balls it has every -four years--only it didn't have one las' time. But when Mr. Taft was -inaugurated nine thousand couples were a-waltzin' an--" - -Some of the folk upon the car look shocked. They come from communities -where dancing is taboo, and the lecturer seems to hint at an orgy there -in one of the taxpayer's buildings. - -"There is also the largest frieze in the world 'round that building," he -continues, "an' it ain't the North Pole, either. Eighteen hundred -soldiers and sailors--count 'em some day--marchin' there, the sick an' -the wounded laggin' behind, the trail of martyr's blood markin' their -path, comrade helpin' comrade--all a-bringin' honor an' glory to the -flag." - -He drops the megaphone to catch his breath and whispers into your ear. -He realizes that you have understood him--and half apologizes for -himself: - -"They like that," he explains, in an undertone. "A little oratory now -an' then tickles 'em. An' then they like this:" - -The megaphone goes into action. - -"We are travelin' west in F street, the Wall street of Washington, the -place of the banker an' broker." - -"Ain't we goin' to see the houses of the fashionable people?" demands -the wife of the bald-headed Baltimorean. "Now over in our city Eutaw -place is--" - -"We are comin' there, madam," says the lecturer, courteously. - -And in a little while you do come there. You sit back complacently in -your seat and smack your mental lips at the sight of the mansion of the -man who owns three banks; of that of him who, the lecturer solemnly -affirms, is the president of the Whiskey Trust; at a third where dwells -"the richest minister of the United States." A little school-teacher, -who has come down from Hartford, Conn., makes profuse notes in a neat -leather-covered book. It is plain to see that she takes the duty of the -true Americans as a serious enterprise, indeed. - -You all start and look when ex-Speaker Cannon's house is passed, and you -catch a glimpse of the old man coming down the door-steps. The public -interest in him has not seemed to cease with his retirement from the -center of the national arena. But it has lessened. You realize that a -moment later when your peregrinating grandstand rolls by a solemn-faced -man walking down the street--a big man in a black suit, his face hidden -by a black slouch hat. - -"Mr. Bryan," whispers the lecturer, this time without the megaphone. - -It is quite unnecessary. For a brief instant Washington is forgotten. In -that instant the crowd regards the second or third best-known man in -America--silently and curiously. The lecturer brings them back to their -dollar's worth. He boldly points out the Larz Anderson house as the home -of "the richest real estate man in the country," the new home of Perry -Belmont as having "three stories above ground and three below"--an -excursionist from Reading, Pa., interrupts to ask how much coal they -will need to fill such a cellar--you see the home of the late Mr. Walsh -with "a forty-five hundred dollar marble bench in the yard, all cut out -of a single piece," the sedate and stately house of Gifford Pinchot. - -It is pleasant, driving through these smooth Washington streets, even if -the low-hanging tree branches do make you jump and start at times. You -go up this street, down that, past long rows of neat Colonial houses -that some day are going to look neat and old--turn by one of the lovely -open squares of the city. They have just erected a statue -there--grandstands are already going up around about it and there will -be speeches and oratory before long. - -Washington is constantly in the throes of an epidemic of dedications. -There are now more statues in the city than Mr. Baedeker ever can tally -and each of them has undergone dedication--at least once. The President -has been corralled, if possible, although Mr. Wilson has already shown a -reticence for this sort of thing. If the President simply will not come, -a Governor or a rather famous Senator will do as well. And in the far -pinch there are many Representatives in Washington who are mighty good -orators. You can almost get a Representative at the crook of your -finger, and you cannot have a real dedication without a splurry of -oratory. It is almost as necessary as music--or the refreshments. - -As you slip by one of those statues--"the equestrian figure of General -Andrew Jackson on horseback"--the gentleman from Reading demands that -the car stop. He wants to ask a question and apparently he cannot ask a -question and be in motion at the same time. So he demands that the car -be stopped. It is one of the privileges of a man who has paid a -perfectly good dollar for the trip. The car stops--abruptly. - -You will probably recall that Jackson statue, standing in the center of -Lafayette square and directly in front of the White House. Perhaps -General Jackson rode a horse that way and perhaps he did not, but there -the doughty old warrior sits, his bronze mount plunging high upon hind -legs. - -"What is ever going to keep that statue from falling over some day?" -demands the man from Reading. He has a keen professional interest in the -matter, for he has been a blacksmith up in that brisk Pennsylvania town -for many a year. - -[Illustration: Through the portals of this Union Station come all the -visitors to Washington] - -The lecturer explains that the tail of the bronze horse is heavily -weighted and that the whole figure is held in balance that way. But the -blacksmith is Pennsylvania Dutch--of the sort not to be convinced in an -instant--and he sets forth his opinion of the danger at length, to -the bald-headed man from Baltimore, who sits just behind him. - -The lecturer goes forward once again. You look at the proud old mansion -that faces Lafayette square, and gasp when the intelligent young man -with the megaphone tells you that it was given to Daniel Webster by the -American people and that he gambled it away. You notice the house that -Admiral Dewey got from the same source, and wonder if he could not have -contrived possibly to gamble it away. You note St. John's church--"the -Church of State," the young man calls it--and turn into Sixteenth -street. But alas, it is Sixteenth street no longer. Through a bit of the -official snobbery that frequently comes to the surface in the governing -of the national capital that fine highway has been named "the Avenue of -the Presidents," a name that is so out of harmony of our fine American -town that it will probably be changed in the not distant future. - -The lecturer points your attention to another house. - -"The Dolly Madison Hotel, for women only," he announces. "No men or dogs -allowed above the first floor. The only male thing around the premises -is the mail-box and it is--" - -He has gone too far. You fix your steely glance of disapproval upon him -and he withers. He drops his megaphone and whispers into your ear once -again: - -"I hate to do it," he apologizes, "but I have to. The boss says:--'Give -'em wit an' humor, Harry, or back you goes to your old job on a -Fourteenth street car.' Think of givin' that bunch wit an' humor! Look -at that old sobersides next to you, still a-worryin' about that statue!" - -Wit and humor it is then. Wit and humor and wealth and fashion. It -almost seems too little to offer a mere dollar for such joys. You make -the turn around the drive in back of the White House and you miss the -Taft cow--which in other days was wont to feast upon the greensward. You -ask the lecturer what became of Mr. Taft's cow. - -"She was deceased," he solemnly explained, "a year before his term was -up--of the colic." - -And of that somewhat ambiguous statement you can make your own -translation. - - * * * * * - -The sight-seeing car stops at the little group of hotels in Pennsylvania -avenue, near the site of the old Baltimore & Potomac railroad station. -The lecturer begins to use his megaphone to expatiate upon the -advantages of a trip to Arlington which is about to begin, but Arlington -is too sweetly serious a memorial to be explored by a humorous -motor-car. And--in the offing--you are seeing something else. Another -car of the line upon which you have been voyaging is moored at the very -point from which you started, not quite two hours ago. Upon that car sit -the same two young black-haired ladies. Two young men are climbing up to -sit beside them. Your gaze wanders. On the rival car across the way the -two very blondes in black are still holding giggling conversation. Your -suspicions are roused. - -Do they ever ride? - -Apparently not. Tomorrow they will be upon the cars again, the blondes -upon the right, the brunettes upon the left. And the day after tomorrow -they will sit and wait and appear interested and in joyous anticipation. -And if it rains upon the following day they will don their little -mackintoshes and talk pleasantly about its being nearly time to clear -up. - -Now you know. Seein' Washington employs cappers. Those young ladies sit -there to induce dollars--faith, 'tis seduction, pure and simple--from -narrow masculine pockets. You do know, now. - - * * * * * - -If we are giving much space to the tourist view of Washington it is -because the tourist plays so important a part in the life of the town. -He is one of its chief assets and, seriously speaking, there is -something rather pathetic in the joy that comes to the faces of those -who step out from the great portals of the new station for the very -first time. There is something in their very expressions that seems to -express long seasons of saving and of scrimping, perhaps of downright -deprivation in order that our great American mecca may finally be -reached. You will see the same expressions upon the faces of the humbler -folk who go to visit any of the great expositions that periodically are -held across the land. - -That expression of eminent satisfaction--for who could fail to see -Washington for the first time and not be eminently satisfied--reaches -its climax each week-day afternoon in the East Room of the White House. -If President Wilson has reached a finer determination than his -determination to let the folk of his nation-wide family come and see -him, we have yet to hear of it. And there is not a man or woman in the -land who should be above attending the simple official reception that -the President gives each afternoon at his house to all who may care to -come. - -There is little red-tape about the arrangements in advance. The tendency -to hedge the President around with restrictions has been completely -offset in the present administration. A note or a hurried call upon the -President's secretary in advance--a card of invitation is quickly -forthcoming. And at half-past two o'clock of any ordinary afternoon you -present yourself at the east wing of the White House. Your card is -quickly scrutinized and you may be sure of it that the sharp-eyed -Irishman who is more than policeman but rather a mentor at the gate, has -scrutinized you, too. His judgment is quick, rarely erring. And unless -you meet his entire approval, you are not going to enter the President's -house. But he has approved and before you know it you--there are several -hundred of you--are slipping forward in a march into the basement of the -Executive Mansion and up one of its broad stairs. There are numerous -attendants along the path. - -"Single file!" shouts one of them and single file you all go--just as -you used to play Indian or follow-your-leader in long-ago days. And you -all step from the stair-head into the East Room, while the women-folk -among you conjure imagination to their aid and endeavor to see that -lovely apartment dressed for a great reception or, best of all, one of -the infrequent White House weddings. - -Other attendants quickly and easily form you into a great crescent, two -or three human files in width and extending in a great sweep from a vast -pair of closed doors which give to the living portion of the house. No -one speaks, but every one takes stock of his neighbors. If it is in -vacation season there are many boys and girls--for whole schools make -the Washington expedition in these days--there may be several Indians in -war-paint and feather making ceremonious visit to the Great White -Brother. If you are traveled you will probably see New England or -Carolina or Kansas or California in these folk, whose hearts are -quickened in anticipation. - -Suddenly--the great door opens, just a little. A thin, wiry man in gray -steps into the room and takes his position near the head of the -crescent. An aide in undress military uniform stands close to him, two -sharp-faced young men stand a little to the left of them and act as a -human Scylla and Charybdis through which all must pass. There are no -preliminaries--no hint of ceremony. Within five seconds of the time when -the President has taken his place, the line begins to move forward. In -twenty minutes he has shaken hands with three or four hundred people and -the reception is over. But in the brief fraction of a single minute when -your hand has grasped that of the President you feel that he knows no -one else on earth. He concentrates upon you and that, in itself, is a -gift of which any statesman may well be proud. And while you are -thinking of the pleasure that his word or two of greeting has given you, -you awake to find yourself out of the room and hunting for your umbrella -at the check-stand in the lower hall. The pleasant personal feeling is -with you even after you have left the shelter of the White House roof. -It is showering gently and a man under a tree is murmuring something -about Secretary Bryan seeing visitors at a quarter to five but neither -makes impress upon you. You are merely thinking how much easier it is to -come to see the President of the greatest republic in the world than -many a lesser man within it--railroad heads, bankers, even petty -politicians. - -In other days it was not as easy to gain admittance to the President, -but the tourist who was not above guile could be photographed shaking -hands with the great person. A place on that always alluring -Pennsylvania avenue did the trick. You stepped in a canvas screen into -the place of the enlarged image of a sailor who was once snapped shaking -hands with President Taft. When the picture was finished you were where -the sailor had been, and you had a post-card that would make the folks -back home take notice. True you were a little more prominent in it than -the President, but then Mr. Taft was not paying for the picture. In fact -Mr. Taft, when he heard of the practice, grew extremely annoyed and had -it stopped, so ending abruptly one of the tourist joys of Washington. - -After the White House, the Capitol is an endless source of delight to -those who have come to Washington from afar. A little squad of aged men, -who have a wolfish scent for tourists, act as its own particular -Reception Committee. These old men, between their cards and the sporting -extras of the evening papers, condescend to act as guides to the huge -building. We shall spare you the details of a trip through it with them. -It is enough to say that they are, in the spirit at least, sight-seeing -car lecturers grown into another generation. Their quarrels with the -Capitol police are endless. On one memorable occasion, a captain of that -really efficient police-force had decided to mark the famous whispering -stone in the old Hall of Representatives with a bit of paint. You can -read about that whispering stone in any of the tourist-guides which the -train-boy sells you on your way to Washington. Suffice it now to say -that when you have found this phonetic marvel and have stood upon it -your whisper will be heard distinctly in a certain far corner of the -gallery of the room. It is an acoustic freak of which the schoolboys out -in Racine can tell you better than I. And it is one of the prized assets -of the Capitol guides. The police captain forgot that when he set out to -mark it. - -It came back to him the evening of that day, however, when the building -had been cleared. He chanced to cross the old hall and, looking for his -marker, found three of the guides upon their knees carefully restoring -it to absolute uniformity with its neighbors. And the captain nearly -lost his job. He had sought to interfere with prerogative, and -prerogative is a particularly sacred thing at the Federal capital--as we -shall see in a little while. - - * * * * * - -Late in a pleasant afternoon all Washington seems to walk in F street. -The little girls come out of the matinees, the bigger girls drift out -from the tea-rooms, there is a swirl of motor vehicles--gasoline and -electric--but the tourist knows not of all this. The gay flammeries of -Pennsylvania avenue hold him fascinated. Souvenir shops rivet him to -their counters. Post-cards--grave, humorous, abominable--urge themselves -upon him. But if all these fail--they have post-cards nowadays of the -high schools in each of the little Arizona towns--here upon a counter -are the little statuettes of pre-digested currency. - -Mr. Lincoln in $10,000 of greenbacks. And yet that money today could not -buy one drop of gasoline, let alone an imported touring automobile, for -once it has passed through the government's macerating machine it is -only fit for the sculptor. Three thousand dollars go into a Benjamin -Harrison hat, fifteen thousand into a model of the Washington Monument -that looks as if it were about to melt beneath a summer sun. Twenty -thousand doll--stay, there is a limit to credulity. And you refuse to -buy without a signed certificate from the Treasury Department as to -these valuations. - -Most of the tourists do buy, however. They seem to be blindly -credulous--these folk who feel their way to Washington. It was not so -very many spring-times ago that a rumor worked afloat of a dull Sabbath -to the effect that the Washington Monument was about to fall. That rumor -slipped around the town with amazing rapidity--Washington is hardly more -than a gossipy, rumor-filled village after all. Two or three thousand -folk went down to the Mall to be present at the fall. No two of them -could agree as to the direction in which the shaft would tumble and they -all made a long and cautious line that completely encircled it--at a -safe distance. After long hours of waiting they all went home. Yet no -one was angry. They all seemed to think it part of the day's program. - - * * * * * - -There is another side of Washington not so funny and tourists, even of -the most sedate sort, who stop at the large hotels and who ride about in -dignified motor-cars, do not see it. It is the side of heart-burnings. -For in no other city of the land is the social code more sharply -defined--and regulated. There are many cities in the country and we are -telling of them in this book, who draw deep breaths upon exclusiveness. -But in none of these save Washington do the folk who do obtain flaunt -themselves in the faces of those who do not. The fine old houses of -Beacon street, in Boston, and of the Battery down at Charleston may draw -themselves apart, but they do it silently and unostentatiously. In the -very nature of things in Washington much modesty is quite out of the -question. - -[Illustration: The stately dome of our lovely Capitol] - -For here at our Federal capital we have a strange mixture of real -democracy and false aristocracy as well as real--if there be any such -thing as real aristocracy. The fact that almost every person in the town -works, more or less directly, for Uncle Sam makes for the democracy. And -that self-same fact seems to fairly establish the aristocracy--you can -frankly call much of it snobbishness--of the place. To understand the -whys and wherefores of this paradox one would need, himself, to be an -employe of the government, of large or small degree. They are many and -they are complicated. But an illustration or two will suffice to show -what we mean: - -A rule, which no one nowadays seems very desirous of fathering, but -nevertheless a rule of long standing, states that when a department -chief enters an elevator in any of the department buildings it must -carry him without other stops to his floor. The other passengers in the -car must wait the time and the will of the chief, no matter how -urgent may be their errands or how short the time at their command. A -gradual increase of this silly rule has made it include many assistants, -sub-chiefs and assistants to sub-chiefs. Only the elevator man knows the -rank at which a government employe becomes entitled to this peculiar -privilege. But he does know, and woe be to that little stenographer who -enters the Department of X---- at just three minutes of nine in the -morning, with the expectation of being at her desk with that promptness -which the Federal government demands of the folk in its service. The -second assistant to a second assistant of a sub-chief of a sub-division -may have entered. The little stenographer's desk is upon the third -floor; the gentleman whose official title spelled out reaches almost -across a sheet of note paper is upon the seventh. There are folk within -the crowded elevator-car for the fourth and fifth and sixth floors as -well. But they have neither title nor rank and the car shoots to the -seventh floor for the benefit of the Mr. Assistant Somebody. If there is -another Assistant Somebody there to ride down to the ground floor--and -there frequently is--you can imagine the consternation of the clerks. -And yet it is part of the system under which they have to work when they -work for that most democratic of employers--Uncle Samuel. - -The secretary of an important department who entered the cabinet with -the present administration stayed very late at his office one evening, -but found the elevator man awaiting him when he stepped out into the -hallway of the deserted building. It was only a short flight of stairs -to the street, and the secretary--it was Mr. Bryan--asked the man why he -had not gone home. - -"My orders are to stay here, sir, until the secretary has gone home for -the night," was the reply. - -It is hardly necessary to say that right there was one order in the -State department that was immediately revoked, while some twenty -thousand clerks and stenographers who form the working staff of official -Washington sent up little prayers of thanksgiving. These clerks and -stenographers make up the every-day fiber of the town life. They go to -work in the morning at nine--for a half-hour before that time you can -see human streams of them pouring toward the larger departments--and -they quit at half past four. The closing hour used to be five, but the -clerks decided that they would have a shorter lunch-time and so they -moved their afternoon session thirty minutes ahead. Half an hour is a -short lunch-time and so official Washington carries its lunch to its -desk, more or less cleverly disguised. The owners of popular priced -downtown restaurants have long since given up in utter disgust. - -But official Washington does not care. Official Washington ends its day -at half-past four and official Washington is such a power that matinees, -afternoon lectures and concerts of any popular sort are rarely planned -to begin before that hour. And on the hot summer afternoons of the -Federal capital the wisdom of such early closing is hardly to be -doubted. On such afternoons, matinee or concert, a cup of tea or a walk -along the shop windows of F street are all forgotten. For beyond the -heat of the city, within easy reach by its really wonderful -transportation system, are playgrounds of infinite variety and joy. True -it is that the really fine parts of Rock Creek Park are rather rigidly -held for those folk who can afford to ride in motor cars, but there is -the river, innumerable picnic-grounds in every direction, fine bathing -at Chesapeake beach, not far distant--and the canal. - -Of all these the old Chesapeake and Ohio canal is by far the most -distinctive. And how the Washington folk do love that old waterway! What -fun they do have out of it with their motor boats and their canoes. If -that old water-highway, almost losing its path in the stretches of -thick wood and undergrowth, had been created as a plaything for the -capital city, it could hardly have been better devised. The motor boats -and the canoes set forth from Georgetown--on holidays and Sundays in -great droves. They go all the way up to Great Falls--and even -beyond--working their passage through the old locks, exchanging repartee -with the lock-tenders, loafing under the shadows of the trees, drinking -in the indolence of the summer days. - - * * * * * - -But Shafer's Lock or Cabin John's Bridge is not the Chevy Chase Club and -official Washington knows that. It reads in the daily papers of that -other life, of the folk who wear white flannels and dawdle around great -porches all day long; hears rumors brought, Lord knows how, from the -gossipy Metropolitan Club; almost touches shoulders with its smart -breakfasts and lunches and dinners when it comes in and out of the -confectioners' and the big hotels. But it is none the less apart, -hopelessly and irrevocably apart. Uncle Sam may take the office folk of -his capital and give them the assurance of a livelihood through long -years, but that is all. He gives them no chance to step out of the -comfortable rut into which they have been placed. The good positions, -the positions that mean rank and title and entrance to the hallowed -places, rarely come through promotions. They are the gifts of fortune, -gifts even to strange folk from Cleveland or Madison or Stockton. They -are not the reward of faithful service at an unknown desk. - -And so official Washington, as we have seen here, is quite helpless. The -other official Washington--the official Washington of the society -columns--little cares. It is not above noticing the twenty thousand, but -it is mere notice and nothing more. And as for interest or graciousness -or kind-heartedness--they are quite out of the question. Washington is -being rebuilt, in both its physical and its social structure. The -architects of its social structure are not less capable than those folk -who are working out marvels in steel and marble. These first see the -Washington of tomorrow, modeled closely after the structures of European -capitals. Already our newly created class of American idle rich is -establishing its _habitat_ along the lovely streets of our handsomest -town. That is a beginning. In some of the departments they have begun to -serve tea at four of an afternoon--just as they do on the terrace of the -House of Commons. That is another beginning. We are starting. - -The structure of European capitals is largely built upon class -distinctions. Washington is being builded close to its models. - -For ourselves, we prefer the touch of Europe as the architects work them -in steel and in marble. A man who has been to Washington and who has not -returned within the decade will be astonished to see the change already -worked in its appearance. From the moment he steps across the threshold -of the fine new station--itself a revelation after the old-time railroad -terminals of the town--he will see transformation. Washington is still -in growth. They are tearing down the ugly buildings and building upon -their sites the beautiful, weaving in the almost gentle creations of the -modern architects, a new city which after a little time will cease to be -modeled upon Europe but which will serve, in itself, as a model capital -for the entire world to follow. - - - - -7 - -THE CITY OF THE SEVEN HILLS - - -You can compare Richmond with Rome if you will, with an allusion upon -the side to her seven hills; but, if you have even a remote desire for -originality, you will not. Rather compare the old southern capital with -a bit of rare lace or a stout bit of mahogany. Of the two we would -prefer the mahogany, for Richmond is substantial, rather than -diaphanous. And like some of the fine old tables in the dining-rooms of -her great houses she has taken some hard knocks and in the long run come -out of them rather well. She is scarred, but still beautiful. And she -wears her scars, visible and invisible, both bravely and well. - -But if a man come down from the North with any idea of the histories of -that war, which is now fifty years old and almost ready to be forgotten, -too sharply in his memory, and so imagines that he is to see a Richmond -of 1865, with grass growing in the streets, ruins everywhere, mules and -negroes in the streets, he is doomed to an awakening. There are still -plenty of mules and negroes in the streets and probably will be until -the end of time, but the Richmond of today boasts miles and miles of as -fine modern smooth pavements as his motor car might ever wish to find. -And as for ruins, bless you, Richmond has begun to tear down some of the -buildings which she built after the war so as to get building-sites for -her newest skyscrapers. - -Do not forget that there is a new spirit abroad in the South--and -Virginia, in many ways the most poetic and dramatic of all our states, -has not lagged in it. There are Boards of Trade at Roanoke and Lynchburg -that are not averse to sounding the praises of those lively -manufacturing towns of the up-country, and as for Norfolk--let any -Norfolk man get hold of you and in two hours he will have almost -convinced you that his town is going to be the greatest seaport along -the North Atlantic--and that within two decades, sir. But this chapter -is not written of Roanoke or Lynchburg or Norfolk. This is Richmond's -chapter and in it to be writ the fact that the capital of Virginia has -not lagged in enterprise or progress behind any of the other cities of -the state. In the transformation she has sacrificed few of her -landmarks, none of that delightful personality that makes itself -apparent to those who tarry for a little time within her gates. That -makes it all the better. - -It is the spirit of the new South that is not only bringing such -wonderful towns as Birmingham, to make a single instance, to the front, -but is working the transformation of such staunch old settlements as -Memphis or Atlanta--or Richmond. Not that Richmond is willing to forget -the past. There is something about the Virginia spirit that seems -incapable of death. There is something about the Virginian's loyalty to -his native state, his blindness to her imperfections, almost every one -of them the result of decades of civic poverty, that cannot escape the -most calloused commercial soul that ever walked out of North or South. -And there is something about this bringing up of spirit and of loyalty -with the spirit of the new America that makes a combination well-nigh -irresistible. - -Here, then, is the new South. The generation that liked to discuss the -detail of Pickett's charge and the horrors of those days in the -Wilderness is gone. The new generations are rather bored with such -detail. The new generations are not less spirited, not less loyal than -the old. But they are new. That, of itself, almost explains the -difference. Now see it in a little closer light. - -Volumes have been written of the loyalty of the old South. Richmond -herself today presents more volumes, although unwritten, of that -loyalty. You can read it in her streets, in her fine old square houses, -in that stately building atop of Schokoe hill, which generations have -known as the Capitol and which was for a little time the seat of -government of a new nation. Within that Capitol stands a statue. It is -the marble effigy of a great Virginian, who was, himself, the first head -of a new government. The guide-books call it the Houdini statue of -Washington, and keen critics have long since asserted that it is not -only the finest statue in the United States but one of the most notable -art works of the world. It was known as such in France at the time of -the Civil War. And hardly had that very dark page in our history been -turned before the Louvre made overtures to Virginia for the purchase of -the Houdini statue. The matter of price was not definitely fixed. -France, in the spendthrift glories of the Second Empire, was willing to -pay high for a new toy for her great gallery. - -Poor Virginia! She was hard pressed those days for the necessities of -life, to say nothing of its ordinary comforts. Her pockets were empty. -She was bankrupt. Her mouth must have watered a bit at thought of those -hundreds of thousands of French francs. But she stood firm, and if you -know Virginia at all, you will say "of course she stood firm." A -Southern gentleman would almost repudiate his financial obligations -before he would sell one of the choice possessions of his families. -There are great plantation houses still standing in the Old Dominion, -which were spared the torch of war by the mercy of God, and whose walls -hold aloft the handiwork of the finest painters of England, in the -seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; rare portraits of the masters and -mistresses of those old houses. In them, too, are furniture and silver -whose real value is hardly to be computed, not even by the screw of a -dealer in antiques. The folk in these old houses may be poor--if they -come of the oldest Virginia stock they very likely are. They stand -bravely, though, to the traditions of their hospitality, even though -they wonder if the bacon is going to last and if it is safe for the -brood to kill another chicken. But they would close their kitchen and -live on berries and on herbs before they would part with even the -humblest piece of silver or of furniture; while if a dealer should come -down from Washington or New York and make an offer, no matter how -generous, for one of the paintings, he would probably be put off the -place. - -Family means much to these Virginians. If you do not believe this go to -Richmond, stop in one of its fine houses and make your host take you to -one of the dances for which the city is famed. Almost any dance will do -and from the beginning you will be charmed. The minor appointments will -approach perfection, and you will find the men and women of the city -worthy of its best traditions. Some places may disappoint in their -well-advertised charm but the girls of Richmond never disappoint. Here -is one of them. She gets you in a quiet corner of the place, meets a -friend over there, and a conversation somewhat after this fashion gets -under way: - -"Miss Rhett, allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Blinkins, of New -York." - -You bow low and ask Miss Rhett if by any chance she is related to the -Rhetts of Charleston. - -"Only distantly. My people are all Virginians. The Charleston Rhetts are -quite another branch. My grandfather's brother married a Miss Morris, -from Savannah and the Charleston Rhetts all come from them. If my papa -were only here he would explain." - -You say that you understand and murmur something about having met a -Richard Henry Rhett at the old Colonial town of Williamsburgh a few -years ago when you were down for the Jamestown exposition. - -"He was a Petersburgh Rhett," the young lady explains, "son of a cousin -of my father. He married Miss Virginia Tredegar last year." - -You remember hearing of a Miss Virginia Tredegar of Roanoke, and you -slip out that fact. But this is Miss Virginia Tredegar of Weldon and a -cousin of Miss Virginia Tredegar of Roanoke. Miss Virginia Tredegar of -Weldon--now Mrs. Richard Henry Rhett, of course, is a delightful girl. -The young lady who has you in the corner assures you that--and she, -herself, is not lacking in charms. Mrs. Rhett was a sponsor for the -state for several years, and you vaguely wonder just what that may mean -as you have visions of large floats lumbering along in street parades, -with really lovely girls in white standing upon them. And you also have -visions of the Miss Virginia Tredegar, of Weldon, sitting in the other -days upon the door-steps of an old red and white Colonial house, which -faces a hot little open square, visions of her accomplishments and her -beauty; of her ability to ride the roughest horse in the county, to -dance seven hours without seeming fatigue, of the jealous beaux who come -flocking to her feet. You find yourself idly speaking of these visions -to your companion. She laughs. - -"I've just the right girl for you," she says, "and she is here in this -ball-room. She is all these things--and some more; the rightest, -smartest girl in all our state--Miss Virginia Bauregard, daughter of Mr. -Calhoun Bauregard, of Belle Manor in King and Queen county." - -Apparently they are all named Virginia in Richmond, seemingly -three-quarters of these girls who live in the nicer parts of the town -are thus to bespeak through their lives the affectionate loyalty of -their parents to the Old Dominion. - -All these folk come quite easily to the transformation that has come -over the South within the decade, since she ceased to grieve over a past -that could never be brought back and overcome. The young boys and the -young girls turn readily from fine horses to fine motor cars, the coming -of imported customs causes few shocks, it is even rumored that the -newest of the new dances have invaded the sober drawing-rooms of the -place. But the New South is kind to Richmond. She does not seek to -eliminate the Old South. And so the old customs and the old traditions -run side by side with the new. And even the old families seem to soften -and many times to welcome the new. - - * * * * * - -If you wish to see the real Old South in Richmond go out to Hollywood -cemetery, which is perhaps the greatest of all its landmarks. It is easy -of access, very beautiful, although not in the elaborate and immaculate -fashion of Greenwood, at Brooklyn, or Mount Auburn, just outside of -Boston. But where man has fallen short at Hollywood, Nature has more -than done her part. She rounded the lovely hills upon which Richmond -might place the treasure-chest of her memories, and then she swept the -finest of all Virginia rivers--the James--by those hills. Man did the -rest. It was man who created the roadways and who placed the monuments. -And not the least interesting of these is the strange tomb of President -James Monroe, an imposing bronze structure, in these days reminding one -of an enlarged bird-cage. It is interesting perhaps because nearby there -is another grave--the grave of still another man who came to the highest -office of the American people. The second grave is marked by a small -headstone, scarcely large enough to accommodate its two words: "John -Tyler." - -But more interesting than these older monuments is the group that stands -alone, at the far corner of the cemetery and atop of one of those -little hillocks close beside the river. The head of that family is -buried beneath his effigy. It is the grave of Jefferson Davis, who -stands facing the city, as if he still dreamed of the days that might -have been but never were. And close beside is the grave of his little -girl, "The Daughter of Confederacy." When she died, only a few years -since, the South felt that the last of the living links that tied it -with the days when men fought and died for the Lost Cause had been -severed. It was then that it set to work to build the new out of the -old. - -Nowadays the Old South does not come publicly into the streets of -Richmond--save on that memorable occasion in the spring of 1907 when a -feeble trail of aging men--all that remained of a great gray -army--limped down a triumphant path through the heart of the town. The -Old South sits in her dead cities, and perhaps that is the reason why -the Southerner so quickly takes the stranger within his gates to the -cemetery. It is his apologies for thirty or forty years lost in the -march of progress. And it is an apology that no man of breadth or -generosity can refuse to accept. - - * * * * * - -Here, then, is the new Richmond, riding stoutly upon her great hills and -shooting the tendrils of her growth in every direction. For she is -growing, rapidly and handsomely. Her new buildings--her wonderful -cathedral, her superb modern hotels, the fine homes multiplying out by -the Lee statue--what self-respecting southern town does not have a Lee -statue--all bespeak the quality of her growth. But her new buildings -cannot easily surpass the old. It was rare good judgment in an American -town for her to refrain from tearing down or even "modernizing" that -Greek temple that stands atop of Schokoe hill and which generations have -known as the Capitol. The two flanking wings which were made absolutely -necessary by the awakening of the Old Dominion have not robbed the older -portion of the building of one whit of its charm. - -It typifies the Old South and the New South, come to stand beside one -another. In other days Virginia was proud of her capital, it was with no -small pride that she thrust it ahead when a seat of government was to be -chosen for the Confederacy, that for a little time she saw it take its -stormy place among the nations of the world. In these days Virginia may -still be proud of her capital town--it is still a seat of government -quite worthy of a state of pride and of traditions. - - - - -8 - -WHERE ROMANCE AND COURTESY DO NOT FORGET - - -"You are not going to write your book and leave out Charleston?" said -the Man who Makes Magazines. - -We hesitated at acknowledging the truth. In some way or other Charleston -had escaped us upon our travels. The Magazine Maker read our answer -before we could gain strength to make it. - -"Well, you can't afford to miss that town," he said conclusively. "It's -great stuff." - -"Great stuff?" we ventured. - -"If you are looking into the personality of American cities you must -include Charleston. She has more personality than any of the other old -Colonial towns--save Boston. She's personality personified, old age -glorified, charm and sweetness magnified--the flavor of the past hangs -in every one of her old houses and her narrow streets. You cannot pass -by Charleston." - -After that we went over to a railroad ticket office in Fifth avenue and -purchased a round-trip ticket to the metropolis of South Carolina. And a -week later we were on a southbound train, running like mad across the -Jersey meadows. Five days in Charleston! It seemed almost sacrilege. -Five miserable days in the town which the Maker of Magazines averred -fairly oozed personality. But five days were better than no days at -all--and Charleston must be included in this book. - -The greater part of one day--crossing New Jersey, Pennsylvania, the -up-stretched head of little Delaware, Maryland--finally the Old -Dominion and the real South. A day spent behind the glass of the car -window--the brisk and busy Jersey towns, the Delaware easily crossed; -Philadelphia, with her great outspreading of suburbs; Wilmington; a -short cut through the basements of Baltimore; the afternoon light dying -on the superb dome of the Washington Capitol--after that the Potomac. -Then a few evening hours through Virginia, the southern accent growing -more pronounced, the very air softer, the negroes more prevalent, the -porter of our car continually more deferential, more polite. After that -a few hours of oblivion, even in the clattering Pullman which, after the -fashion of all these tremendously safe new steel cars, was a bit chilly -and a bit noisy. - -In the morning a low and unkempt land, the railroad trestling its way -over morass and swamp and bayou on long timber structures and many times -threading sluggish yellow southern rivers by larger bridges. Between -these a sandy mainland--thick forests of pine with increasing numbers of -live-oaks holding soft moss aloft--at last the outskirts of a town. -Other folk might gather their luggage together, the vision of a distant -place with its white spires, the soft gray fog that tells of the -proximity of the open sea blowing in upon them, held us at the window -pane. A river showed itself in the distance to the one side of the -train, with mast-heads dominating its shores; another, lined with -factories stretched upon the other side. After these, the streets of the -town, a trolley car stalled impatient to let our train pass--low streets -and mean streets of an unmistakable negro quarter, the broad shed of a -sizable railroad station showing at the right. - -"Charleston, sah," said the porter. Remember now that he had been a -haughty creature in New York and Philadelphia, ebon dignity in Baltimore -and in Washington. Now he was docility itself, a courtesy hardly to be -measured by the mere expectation of gratuity. - -The first glimpse of Charleston a rough paved street--our hotel 'bus -finding itself with almost dangerous celerity in front of trolley cars. -That unimportant way led into another broad highway of the town and -seemingly entitled to distinction. - -"Meeting street," said our driver. "And I can tell you that Charleston -is right proud of it, sir," he added. - -Charleston has good cause to be proud of its main highway, with the -lovely old houses along it rising out of blooming gardens, like fine -ladies from their ball gowns; at its upper end the big open square and -the adjacent Citadel--pouring out its gray-uniformed boys to drill just -as their daddies and their grand-daddies drilled there before them--the -charms of St. Michael's, and the never-to-be-forgotten Battery at the -foot of the street. - -We sped down it and drew up at a snow-white hotel which in its -immaculate coat might have sprung up yesterday, were it not for the -stately row of great pillars, three stories in height, with which it -faced the street. They do not build hotels that way nowadays--more's the -pity. For when the Charleston Hotel was builded it entered a -distinguished brotherhood--the Tremont in Boston, the Astor and the St. -Nicholas in New York, Willard's in Washington, the Monongahela at -Pittsburgh, and the St. Charles in New Orleans were among its -contemporaries. It was worthy to be ranked with the best of these--a -hotel at which the great planters of the Carolinas and of Georgia could -feel that the best had been created for them within the very heart of -their favorite city. - -We pushed our way into the heart of the generous office of the hotel, -thronged with the folk who had crowded into Charleston--followers of -the races, just then holding sway upon the outskirts of the town, -tourists from the North, Carolinans who will never lose the habit of -going to Charleston as long as Charleston exists. In due time a brisk -and bustling hotel clerk--he was an importation, plainly, none of your -courteous, ease-taking Southerners--had placed us in a room big enough -for the holding of a reception. From the shutters of the room we could -look down into Meeting street--into the charred remnants of a store that -had been burned long before and the debris never removed. When we threw -up the window sash we could thrust our heads out and see, a little way -down the street, the most distinctive and the most revered of all -Charleston's landmarks--the belfried spire of St. Michael's. As we -leaned from that window the bells of St. Michael's spoke the -quarter-hour, just as they have been speaking quarter-hours close upon a -century and a half. - -We had been given the first taste of the potent charm of a most -distinctive southern town. - - * * * * * - -"... The most appealing, the most lovely, the most wistful town in -America; whose visible sadness and distinction seem almost to speak -audibly, speak in the sound of the quiet waves that ripple round her -southern front, speak in the church-bells on Sunday morning and breathe -not only in the soft salt air, but in the perfume of every gentle, -old-fashioned rose that blooms behind the high garden walls of falling -mellow-tinted plaster; King's Port the retrospective, King's Port the -belated, who from her pensive porticoes looks over her two rivers to the -marshes and the trees beyond, the live-oaks veiled in gray moss, -brooding with memories. Were she my city how I should love her...." - -So wrote Owen Wister of the city that he came to know so well. You can -read Charleston in _Lady Baltimore_ each time he speaks of "King's -Port" and read correctly. For it was in Charleston he spun his romance -of the last stronghold of old manners, old families, old traditions and -old affections. In no other city of the land might he have laid such a -story. For no other city of the land bears the memory of tragedy so -plaintively, so uncomplainingly as the old town that occupies the flat -peninsula between the Cooper and the Ashley rivers at the very gateway -of South Carolina. Like a scarred man, Charleston will bear the visible -traces of her great disaster until the end of her days. And each of -them, like the scars of Richmond, makes her but the more potent in her -charm. - -Up one street and down another--fascinating pathways, every blessed one -of them. Meeting and King and Queen and Legare and Calhoun and -Tradd--with their high, narrow-ended houses rising right from the -sidewalks and stretching, with their generous spirit of hospitality, -inward, beside gardens that blossom as only a southern garden can -bloom--with jessamine and narcissus and oleander and japonica. Galleries -give to these fragrant gardens. Only Charleston, unique among her -sisters of the Southland, does not call them galleries. She calls them -piazzas, with the accent strong upon the "pi." - -The gardens themselves are more than a little English, speaking clearly -something of the old-time English spirit of the town, which has its most -visible other expression in the stolid Georgian architecture of its -older public buildings and churches. And some of the older folk, defying -the Charleston convention of four o'clock dinner, will take tea in the -softness of the late afternoon. Local tradition still relates how, in -other days, a certain distinguished and elderly citizen, possessing -neither garden nor gallery with his house, was wont to have a table and -chair placed upon the sidewalk and there take his tea of a late -afternoon. And the Charleston of that other day walked upon the far side -of the street rather than disturb the gentleman! - -Nor is all that spirit quite gone in the Charleston of today. The older -negroes will touch their hats, if not remove them, when you glance at -them. They will step into the gutter when you pass them upon the narrow -sidewalks of the narrow streets. They came of a generation that made -more than the small distinction of separate schools and separate places -in the railroad cars between white and black. But they are rapidly -disappearing from the streets of the old city. Those younger negroes who -drive the clumsy two-wheeled carts in town and out over the rough-paved -streets have learned no good manners. And when the burly negresses who -amble up the sidewalks balancing huge trays of crabs or fresh fruits or -baked stuffs smile at you, theirs is the smile of insolence. Fifty years -of the Fifteenth Amendment have done their work--any older resident of -Charleston will tell you that, and thank God for the inborn courtesy -that keeps him from profanity with the telling. - -But if oncoming years have worked great changes in the manner of the -race which continues to be of numerical importance in the seaport city, -it will take more than one or two or three or even four generations to -work great changes in the manners of the well-born white-skinned folk -who have ruled Charleston through the years by wit, diplomacy, the keen -force of intellect more than even the force of arms. And, as the city -now runs its course, it will take far more years for her to change her -outward guise. - -For Charleston does not change easily. She continues to be a city of -yellow and of white. Other southern towns may claim distinction because -of their red-walled brick houses with their white porticos, but the reds -of Charleston long since softened, the green moss and the lichens have -grown up and over the old walls--exquisite bits of masonry, every one of -them and the products of an age when every artisan was an artist and -full master of his craft. The distinctive color of the town shades from -a creamy yellow to a grayish white. The houses, as we have already said, -stand with their ends to the streets, with flanking walls hiding the -rich gardens from the sidewalk, save for a few seductive glimpses -through the well-wrought grillings of an occasional gateway. Charleston -does not parade herself. The closed windows of her houses seem to close -jealously against the Present as if they sought to hold within their -great rooms the Past and all of the glories that were of it. - -Builded of brick in most instances, the larger houses and the two most -famous churches, as well, were long ago given plaster coatings that they -might conform to the yellow-white dominating color of the town. -Invariably very high and almost invariably very narrow and bald of -cornice, these old houses are roofed with heavy corrugated tiles, once -red but now softened by Time into a dozen different tints. If there is -another town in the land where roof-tile has been used to such -picturesque advantage we have failed to see it. It gives to Charleston -an incredibly foreign aspect. If it were not for the Georgian churches -and the older public buildings one might see in the plaster walls and -the red-tiled roofs a distinct trace of the French or the Italian. -Charleston herself is not unlike many towns that sleep in the south of -France or the north of Italy. It only takes the hordes of negroes upon -her streets to dispel the illusion that one is again treading some -corner of the Old World. - -Perhaps the best way that the casual visitor to Charleston can -appreciate these negroes is in their street calls--if he has not been up -too late upon the preceding night. For long before seven o'clock the -brigades of itinerant merchants are on their ways through the narrow -streets of the old town. From the soft, deep marshlands behind it and -the crevices and the turnings of the sea and all its inlets come the -finest and the rarest of delicacies, and these food-stuffs find their -way quite naturally to the street vendors. Porgies and garden truck, -lobsters and shrimp and crab, home-made candies--the list runs to great -length. - -You turn restlessly in your bed at dawn. Something has stolen that last -precious "forty winks" away from you. If you could find that -something.... Hark. There it is: Through the crispness of morning air it -comes musically to your ears: - -"Swimpy waw, waw.... Swimpy waw, waw." - -And from another direction comes a slowly modulated: - -"Waw cwab. WAW Cwab. Waw Cwa-a-a-b." - -A sharp staccato breaks in upon both of these. - -"She cwaib, she cwaib, she cwaib," it calls, and you know that there is -a preference in crabs. Up one street and down another, male vendors, -female vendors old and young, but generally old. If any one wishes to -sleep in Charleston--well, he simply cannot sleep late in Charleston. To -dream of rest while: "Sweet Pete ate her! Sweet Pete ate her!" comes -rolling up to your window in tones as dulcet as ever rang within an -opera house would be outrageous. It is a merry jangle to open the day, -quite as remote from euphony and as thoroughly delightful as the early -morning church-bells of Montreal or of Quebec. By breakfast time it is -quite gone--unless you wish to include the coal-black mammy who chants: -"Come chilluns, get yer monkey meat--monkey _meat_." And that old relic -of ante-bellum days who rides a two-wheel cart in all the narrow lanes -and permeates the very air with his melancholy: "Char--coal. -Char--coal." - -If you inquire as to "monkey meat," your Charlestonian will tell you of -the delectable mixture of cocoanut and molasses candy which is to the -younger generation of the town as the incomparable Lady Baltimore cake -is to the older. - - * * * * * - -The churches of Charleston are her greatest charm. And of these, boldly -asserting its prerogative by rising from the busiest corner of the town, -the most famed is St. Michael's. St. Michael's is the lion of -Charleston. Since 1764 she has stood there at Broad and Meeting streets -and demanded the obeisance of the port--gladly rendered her. She has -stood to her corner through sunshine and through storm--through the glad -busy years when Charleston dreamed of power and of surpassing those -upstart northern towns--New York and Boston--through the bitterness of -two great wars and the dangers of a third and lesser one, through four -cyclones and the most devastating earthquake that the Atlantic coast has -ever known--through all these perils this solidly wrought Temple of the -Lord has come safely. She is the real old lady of Charleston, and when -she speaks the folk within the town stand at attention. The soft, sweet -bells of St. Michael's are the tenderest memory that can come to a -resident of the city when he is gone a long way from her streets and her -lovely homes. And when the bells of St. Michael's have been stilled it -has been a stilled Charleston. - -For there have been times when the bells of St. Michael's have not -spoken down from their high white belfry. In fact, they have crossed the -Atlantic not less than five times. Cast in the middle of the eighteenth -century in an English bell-foundry, they had hardly been hung within -their belfry before the Revolution broke out--broke out at Charleston -just as did the Civil War. Before the British left the city for the last -time the commanding officer had claimed the eight bells as his -"perquisite" and had shipped them back to England. An indignant American -town demanded their return. Even the British commanding officer at New -York, Sir Guy Carleton, did not have it within his heart to countenance -such sacrilege. The bells had been already sold in England upon a -speculation, but the purchaser was compelled to return them. The people -of the Colonial town drew them from the wharf to St. Michael's in formal -procession--the swinging of them anew was hardly a less ceremonial. The -first notes they sang were like unto a religious rite. And for seventy -years the soft voice of the old lady of Charleston spoke down to her -children--at the quarters of the hours. - -After those seventy years more war--ugly guns that are remembered with a -shudder as "Swamp Angels," pouring shells into a proud, rebellious, -hungry, unrelenting city, the stout white tower of St. Michael's a fair -and shining mark for northern gunners. Charleston suddenly realized the -danger to the voice of her pet old lady. There were few able-bodied men -in the town--all of them were fighting within the Confederate lines--but -they unshipped those precious bells and sent them up-state--to Columbia, -the state capitol, far inland and safe from the possibility of sea -marauders. They were hidden there but not so well but that Sherman's men -in the march to the sea found them and by an act of vandalism which the -South today believes far greater than that of an angered British army, -completely destroyed them. - -When peace came again Charleston--bruised and battered and bleeding -Charleston, with the scars that time could never heal--gave first -thought to her bells--a mere mass of molten and broken metal. There was -a single chance and Charleston took it. That chance won. The English are -a conservative nation--to put it lightly. The old bell-foundry still -had the molds in which the chime was first cast--a hundred years before. -Once again those old casts were wheeled into the foundry and from them -came again the bells of St. Michael's, the sweetness of their tones -unchanged. The town had regained its voice. - -If we have dwelt at length upon the bells of St. Michael's it is because -they speak so truly the real personality of the town. The church itself -is not of less interest. And the churchyard that surrounds it upon two -sides is as filled with charm and rare flavor as any churchyard we have -ever seen. Under its old stones sleep forever the folk who lived in -Charleston in the days of her glories--Pringles and Pinckneys; -Moultries; those three famous "R's" of South Carolina--Rutledge and -Ravenel and Rhett--the names within that silent place read like the -roster of the colonial aristocracy. Above the silent markers, the -moldering and crumbling tombs, rises a riot of God's growing things; in -the soft southern air a perpetual tribute to the dead--narcissus, -oleander, jessamine, the stately Pride of India bush. And on the morning -that we first strolled into the shady, quiet place a red-bird--the -famous Cardinal Crossbeak of the south--sang to us from his perch in a -magnolia tree. Twenty-four hours before and we had crossed the Hudson -river at New York in a driving and a blizzard-threatening snowstorm. - -The greatest charm of St. Michael's does not rest alone within the -little paths of her high-walled churchyard. Within the sturdy church, in -the serenity of her sanctuary, in the great square box-pews where sat so -many years the elect of Charleston, of the very Southland you might say; -in the high-set pulpit and the unusual desk underneath where sat the old -time "clark" to read the responses and the notices; even the stately -pew, set aside from all the others, in which General Washington sat on -the occasion of a memorable visit to the South Carolina town, is the -fullness of her charm. If you are given imagination, you can see the -brown and white church filled as in the old days with the planters and -their families--generation after generation of them, coming first to the -church, being baptized in its dove-crowned font at the door and then, -years later, being carried out of that center aisle for the final time. -You can see the congregations of half a century ago, faces white and set -and determined. You can see one memorable congregation, as it hears the -crash of a Federal shell against the heavy tower, and then listen to the -gentle rector finishing the implication of the Litany before he -dismisses his little flock. - -Dear old St. Michael's! The years--the sunny years and the tragic -years--set lightly upon her. When war and storm have wrecked her, it has -been her children and her children's children who have arisen to help -wipe away the scars. In a memorable storm of August, 1885, the great -wooden ball at the top of her weather vane, one hundred and eighty-five -feet above the street was sent hurtling down to the ground. They will -show you the dent it made in the pavement flag. It was quickly replaced. -But within a year worse than cyclone was upon St. Michael's--the -memorable earthquake which sank the great tower eight inches deeper into -the earth. And only last year another of the fearful summer storms that -come now and then upon the place wreaked fearful damage upon the old -church. Yet St. Michael's has been patiently repaired each time; she -still towers above these disasters--as her quaint weather-vane towers -above the town, itself. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: St. Michael's churchyard, Charleston--a veritable roster -of the Colonial Elect] - -After St. Michael's, St. Philip's--although St. Philip's is the real -mother church of all Charleston. The old town does not pin her faith -upon a single lion. The first time we found our way down Meeting street, -we saw a delicate and belfried spire rising above the greenery of the -trees in a distant churchyard. The staunch church from which that spire -springs was well worth our attention. And so we found our way to St. -Philip's. We turned down Broad street from St. Michael's--to commercial -Charleston as its namesake street is to New York--then at the little -red-brick library, housed in the same place for nearly three-quarters of -a century, we turned again. The south portico of St. Philip's, -tall-columned, dignified almost beyond expression, confronted us. And a -moment later we found ourselves within a churchyard that ranked in -interest and importance with that of St. Michael's, itself. - -A shambling negro care-taker came toward us. He had been engaged in -helping some children get a kitten down from the upper branches of a -tree in the old churchyard. With the intuition of his kind, he saw in -us, strangers--manifest possibilities. He devoted himself to attention -upon us. And he sounded the praises of his own exhibit in no mild key. - -"Yessa--de fines' church in all de South," he said, as he swung the -great door of St. Philip's wide open. He seemed to feel, also -intuitively, that we had just come from the rival exhibit. And we felt -more than a slight suspicion of jealousy within the air. - -The negro was right. St. Philip's, Charleston, is more than the finest -church in all the South. Perhaps it is not too much to say that it is -the most beautiful church in all the land. Copied, rather broadly, from -St. Martins-in-the-Fields, London, it thrusts itself out into the -street, indeed, makes the highway take a broad double curve in order to -pass its front portico. But St. Philip's commits the fearful Charleston -sin of being new. The present structure has only been thrusting its -nose out into Church street for a mere eighty years. The old St. -Philip's was burned--one of the most fearful of all Charleston -tragedies--in 1834. - -"Yessa--a big fire dat," said the caretaker. "They gib two slaves dere -freedom for helpin' at dat fire." - -But history only records the fact that the efforts to put out the fire -in St. Philip's were both feeble and futile. It does tell, however, of a -negro sailor who, when the old church was threatened by fire on an -earlier occasion, climbed to the tower and tore the blazing shingles -from it and was afterward presented with his freedom and a fishing-boat -and outfit. Does that sound familiar? It was in our Third Reader--some -lurid verses but, alas for the accuracy that should be imparted to the -growing mind--it was St. Michael's to whom that widespread glory was -given. St. Michael's of the heart of the town once again. No wonder that -St. Philip's of the side-street grieves in silence. - -In silence, you say. How about the bells of St. Philip's? - -If you are from the North it were better that you did not ask that -question. The bells of St. Philip's, in their day hardly less famous -than those of the sister church, went into cannon for the defense of the -South. When the last of the copper gutters had been torn from the barren -houses, when the final iron kettle had gone to the gun-foundry, the -supreme sacrifice was made. The bells rang merrily on a Sabbath morn and -for a final time. The next day they were unshipping them and one of the -silvery voices of Charleston was forever hushed. - -But St. Philip's has her own distinctions. In the first place, her own -graveyard is a roll-call of the Colonial elect. Within it stands the -humble tomb of him who was the greatest of all the great men of South -Carolina--John C. Calhoun--while nightly from her high-lifted spire -there gleams the only light that ever a church-tower sent far out to sea -for the guidance of the mariner. The ship-pilots along the North -Atlantic very well know when they pass Charleston light-ship, the range -between Fort Sumter and St. Philip's spire shows a clear fairway all the -distance up to the wharves of Charleston. - - * * * * * - -There are other great churches of Charleston--some of them very handsome -and with a deal of local history clustering about them, but perhaps none -of these can approach in interest the Huguenot edifice at the corner of -Queen and Church streets. It is a little church, modestly disdaining -such a worldly thing as a spire, in a crumbling churchyard whose -tombstones have their inscriptions written in French. A few folk find -their way to it on Sunday mornings and there they listen attentively to -its scholarly blind preacher, for sixty years the leader of his little -flock. But this little chapel is the sole flame of a famous old faith, -which still burns, albeit ever so faintly, in the blackness and the -shadow of the New World. - -That is the real Charleston--the unexpected confronting you at almost -every turn of its quiet streets: here across from the shrine of the -Huguenots a ruinous building through which white and negro children play -together democratically and at will, and which in its day was the -Planters' Hotel and a hostelry to be reckoned with; down another byway a -tiny remnant of the city's one-time wall in the form of a powder -magazine; over in Meeting street the attenuated market with a Greek -temple of a hall set upon one end and the place where they sold the -slaves still pointed out to folk from the North; farther down on Meeting -street the hall of the South Carolina Society, a really exquisite aged -building wherein that distinguished old-time organization together with -its still older brother, the St. Andrews, still dines on an appointed -day each month and whose polished ballroom floor has felt the light -dance-falls of the St. Cecilias. - -"The St. Cecilia Society?" you interrupt; "why, I've heard of that." - -Of course you have. For the St. Cecilia typifies Charleston--the social -life of the place, which is all there is left to it since her monumental -tragedy of half a century ago. In Charleston there is no middle ground. - -You are either recognized socially--or else you are not. And the St. -Cecilia Society is the sharply-drawn dividing point. Established -somewhere before the beginning of the Revolution it has dominated -Charleston society these many years. Invitations to its three balls each -year are eagerly sought by all the feminine folk within the town. And -the privilege of being invited to these formal affairs is never to be -scorned--more often it is the cause of many heart-burnings. - -No one thing shows Charleston the more clearly than the fact that on the -following morning you may search the columns of the venerable _News and -Courier_ almost in vain for a notice of the St. Cecilia ball. In any -other town an event of such importance would be a task indeed for the -society editor and all of her sub-editresses. If there was not a -flashlight photograph there would be the description of the frocks--a -list of the out-of-town guests at any rate. Charleston society does not -concede a single one of these things. And the most the _News and -Courier_ ever prints is "The ball of the St. Cecilia Society was held -last evening at Hibernian Hall," or a two-line notice of similar -purport. - -Charleston society concedes little or nothing--not even these -new-fashioned meal hours of the upstart Northern towns. In Charleston a -meal each four hours--breakfast at eight, a light lunch at sharp noon, -dinner at four, supper again at eight. These hours were good enough for -other days--ergo, they are good enough for these. And from eleven to -two and again from five to seven-thirty remain the smart calling hours -among the elect of the place. Those great houses do not yield readily to -the Present. - -Charleston society is never democratic--no matter how Charleston -politics may run. Its great houses, behind the exclusion of those high -and forbidding walls, are tightly closed to such strangers as come -without the right marks of identification. From without you may breathe -the hints of old mahogany, of fine silver and china, of impeccable -linen, of well-trained servants, but your imagination must meet the -every test as to the details. Gentility does not flaunt herself. And if -the younger girls of Charleston society do drive their motor cars -pleasant mornings through the crowded shopping district of King street, -that does not mean that Charleston--the Charleston of the barouche and -the closed coupe--will ever approve. - - * * * * * - -On the April day half a century ago that the first gun blazed defiantly -from Fort Sumter and opened a page of history that bade fair to alter -the very course of things, Prosperity slipped out of Charleston. -Gentility, Courage, Romance alone remained. Prosperity with her giant -steamships and her long railroad trains never returned. The great docks -along the front of the splendid harbor stand unused, the warehouses upon -them molder. A brisk Texas town upon a sand-spit--Galveston--boasts that -she is the second ocean-port of America, with the hundreds of thousands -of Texas acres turned from grazing ranges into cotton-field, just behind -her. New Orleans is the south gate of the Middle West that has come into -existence, since Charleston faced her greatest of tragedies. And the -docks along her waterfront grow rusty with disuse. - -She lives in her yesterdays of triumphs. Tell her that they have -builded a tower in New York that is fifty-five stories in height, and -she will reply that you can still see the house in Church street where -President Washington was entertained in royal fashion by her citizens; -hint to her of the great canal to the south, and she will ask you if you -remember how the blockade runners slipped night after night through the -tight chain that the Federal gunboats drew across the entrance of her -harbor for four long years; bespeak into her ears the social glories of -the great hotels and the opera of New York, and she will tell you of the -gentle French and English blood that went into the making of her first -families. Charleston has lost nothing. For what is Prosperity, she may -ask you, but a dollar-mark? Romance and Courtesy are without price. -Romance and Courtesy still walk in her streets, in the hot and lazy -summer days, in the brilliancy of the southern moon beating down upon -her graceful guarding spires, in the thunder of the storm and the soft -gray blankets of the ocean mantling her houses and her gardens. And -Romance and Courtesy do not forget. - - - - -9 - -ROCHESTER--AND HER NEIGHBORS - - -The three great cities of western New York--Syracuse, Rochester, -Buffalo--are like jewels to the famous railroad along which they are -strung, and effectively they serve to offset the great metropolitan -district at the east end of the state. They have many things in common -and yet they are not in the least alike. Their growth has been due to -virtually a common cause; the development of transportation facilities -across New York state; and yet their personality is as varied as that of -three sisters; lovely but different. - -Of the three, Rochester is the most distinctive; one of the most -distinctive of all our American towns and hence chosen as the chief -subject for this chapter. But Buffalo is the largest, and Syracuse the -most ingenious, so they are not to be ignored. Rochester is -conservative. Rochester proves her conservatism by her smart clubs, and -the general cultivation of her inhabitants. Certain excellent persons -there, like certain excellent persons in Charleston, frown upon -newspaper reports of their social activities. In Syracuse, on the -contrary, the Sunday newspapers have columns of "society notes" and the -reporters who go to dances and receptions prove their industry by -writing long lists of the "among those present." Buffalo leans more to -Syracuse custom in this regard. Rochester scans rather critically the -man who comes to dwell there--unless he comes labeled with letters of -introduction. In Syracuse and in Buffalo, too, there is more of a spirit -of _camaraderie_. A man is taken into good society there because of -what he is, rather than for that from which he may have sprung. So it -may be said that Syracuse and Buffalo breathe the spirit of the West in -their social life, while Rochester clings firmly to the conservatism of -the East. Indeed, her citizens rather like to call her "the Boston of -the West," just as the man from the Missouri Bottoms called the real -Boston "the Omaha of the East." - -Take these cities separately and their personality becomes the more -pertinent and compelling. Consider them one by one as a traveler sees -them on a westbound train of the New York Central railroad--Syracuse, -Rochester, Buffalo--and in the same grading they increase in population; -roughly speaking, in a geometrical ratio. Syracuse has a little more -than a hundred thousand inhabitants, Rochester is about twice her size -and Buffalo is about twice the size of Rochester. - -[Illustration: The Erie Canal still finds an amiable path through -Rochester] - -Each of them is the result of the Erie canal. There had been famous -post-roads across central and western New York before DeWitt Clinton dug -his great ditch, and the Mohawk valley together with the little known -"lake country" of New York formed one of the earliest passage-ways to -the West. But the Erie canal, providing a water level from the Great -Lakes to the Hudson river and so to the Atlantic, was a tremendous -impulse to the state of New York. Small towns grew apace and the three -big towns were out of their swaddling clothes and accounted as cities -almost before they realized it. The building of the railroads across the -state and their merging into great systems was a second step in their -transition, while the third can hardly be said to be completed--the -planning and construction of a network of inter-urban electric lines -that shall again unite the three and--what is far more important to -each--bring a great territory of small cities, villages and rich farms -into closer touch with them. - -In Rochester, a good many years ago, one Sam Patch jumped into the falls -of the Genesee. He first planned his spectacular jump for a Sunday, but -the citizens of Rochesterville, as the town by the great falls was first -known, objected strenuously to such profanation of the Sabbath. So Sam -Patch jumped not on a Sunday but on a Friday, which almost any -superstitious person might have recognized as an unfortunate change of -date; and jumping, he did not survive to jump again. But the point of -this incident hinges not on Fridays, but upon Sundays in Rochester. All -that was a long time ago, but she has not changed her ideas of Sabbath -observance very much since then--despite the vast change in Sunday -across the land. The citizens of Rochester still go to church on Sunday -and they "point with pride" to the big and progressive religious -institutions of their community. People in Syracuse, however, have -Sunday picnics and outings off into the country, while Buffalo has -always been known for its "liberal Sunday," whatever that may mean. -Rochester has always frowned upon that sort of thing. She has the same -point of view as her Canadian neighbor across Lake Ontario--Toronto--a -city which we shall see in a little time. Rochester rather cleaves to -the old-fashioned Sabbath; even her noisy beach down at Ontario's edge, -which has always served as a sort of Coney island to western New York, -has been a thorn in the side of her conservative population. If you want -to stop and consider how the old-fashioned Sabbath of your boyhood days -still reigns at the city at the falls of the Genesee, recall the fact -that in one street that is bordered by some of the town's largest -churches the trolley cars are not operated on Sundays.[C] In -Philadelphia you will remember they used years ago to stretch ropes -across the streets in front of the churches at service times. But -imagine the possibilities of that sort of thing in New York, or Chicago, -or San Francisco. - - [C] A recent rerouting of the trolley cars in Rochester has - left this particular street without regular service most of - the days of the week. The fact remains, however, that for - many years the Park avenue line had its terminal loop - through Church street. On the Sabbath that terminal was - moved bodily so that churchgoers would not be annoyed. E. H. - - * * * * * - -Syracuse is famed for the Onondaga Indians and for James Roscoe Day. The -Onondaga Indians are the oldest inhabitants, and a great help to the -ingenious local artists who design cigar-box labels. No apologies are -needed for Chancellor Day. He has never asked them. He has taken a -half-baked Methodist college that stood on a wind-swept and barren hill -and by his indomitable ability and Simon-pure genius has transformed it -into a real university. For Syracuse University is tremendously real to -the four thousand men and women who study within its halls. It is a poor -man's college and Chancellor Day is proud of that. They come, these four -thousand men and women, from the small cities and villages, from the -farms of that which the metropolitan is rather apt indifferently to term -"Up State." To these, four years in a university mean four years of -cultivation and opportunity, and so has come the growth, the vast hidden -power of the institution upon the hill at Syracuse. She makes no claim -to college spirit of surpassing dimensions. She does claim individual -spirit among her students, however, that is second to none. As a -university--as some know a university--the collection of ill-matched -architectural edifices that house her is typical; but as an opportunity -for popular education to the boys and girls of the rural districts of -the state of New York she is monumental, and they come swarming to her -in greater numbers each autumn. - -So much for the hill--they call it Mount Olympus--which holds the -university and those things that are the university's. Now for downtown -Syracuse; for while the city's newer districts are ranged upon a series -of impressive heights, her old houses, her stores and her factories are -squatted upon the flats at the head of Onondaga lake. - -We all remember the pictures of Syracuse that every self-respecting -geography used to print; salt-sheds running off over an indefinite -acreage. We were given to understand that Syracuse's chief excuse for -existence was as a sort of huge salt-cellar for the rest of the nation. -Nowadays nine-tenths of the Syracusans have forgotten that there is a -salt industry left, and will tell you glibly of the typewriters, -automobiles, steel-tubing and the like that are made in their town in -the course of a twelvemonth. - -They will not tell you of one thing, for of that thing you may judge -yourself. Life in Syracuse is punctuated by the railroad and the canal. -The canal is not so much of an obstruction unless one of the cumbersome -lift-bridges sticks and refuses to move up or down, but that railroad! -Every few minutes life in Syracuse comes to an actual standstill because -of it. Men whose time is worth ten or fifteen dollars an hour and who -grow puffy with over-exertion are violently halted by the passing of -switch-engines with trails of box-cars. Appointments are missed. Board -meetings at the banks halt for directors--directors who are halted in -their turn by the dignified and stately passage of the Canastota Local -through the heart of the city. - -But the old canal is going to go some day--when the State's new barge -canal well to the north of the town is completed--and perhaps in that -same day Syracuse will have a broad, central avenue replacing the -present dirty, foul-smelling ditch. Some day, some very big Syracusan -will miss an appointment while he stands in Salina street watching the -serene Canastota Local drag its way past him. That missed appointment -will cost the very big Syracusan a lot of money and there will be a -revolution in Syracuse--a railroad revolution. After that the -locomotives will no longer blow their smoky breaths against the fronts -of Syracuse's best buildings and grind their way slowly down Washington -street from the tunnel to the depot, for the railroad which operates -them stands in the forefront of the progressive transportation systems -of America, and it is only waiting for Syracuse to take the first -definite step of progress. Some day Syracuse--Syracuse delayed--is going -to take that step. Only a year or two ago the Chicago Limited held up -the carnival parade--and therein lies the final paragraph of this -telling of Syracuse. - -She is a festive lass. Each September she rolls up her sleeves, her -business men swell the subscription lists, her matrons and her pretty -girls bestir themselves, and there is a concert of action that gives -Syracuse a harvest week long to be remembered. By day folk go out to the -State Fair and see the best agricultural show that New York state has -ever known--a veritable agricultural show that endeavors not only to -furnish an ample measure of fun, but also endeavors to be a real help to -the progressive owners of those rich farms of central and western New -York. By night Syracuse is in festival. Do not let them tell you that an -American town cannot enter into the carnival spirit and still preserve -her graciousness and a certain underlying sense of decorum. Tell those -scoffers to go to Syracuse during the week of the State Fair. They will -see a demonstration of the contrary--Salina street ablaze with an -incandescent beauty, lined with row upon row of eager citizens. The -street is cleared to a broad strip of stone carpet down its center and -over this carpet rolls float after float. These in a single year will -symbolize a single thing. In one September we recall that they -represented the nations of the world and that the Queen of Ancient -Ireland wore eyeglasses; but that is as nothing, the policemen in Boston -are addicted to straighteners, and Mr. Syracuse and Mrs. Syracuse, Miss -Syracuse and Master Syracuse stand open-eyed in pleasure and go home -very late at night on trolley cars that are as crowded as the trolley -cars in very big cities, convinced that there possibly may be other -towns but there is only one Syracuse.[D] - - [D] Let it be recorded in the interest of accuracy that the - fall festival of 1913 was not given--much to the - disappointment of Mr. Syracuse, Mrs. Syracuse, Miss Syracuse - and Master Syracuse. It is hoped, however, that the festival - has not been permanently abandoned. The loss of its - influence would be felt far outside of Syracuse. E. H. - -All of which is exactly as it should be. Syracuse's great hope for her -future rests in just such optimism on the part of her people. And in -such optimism she has a strong foundation on which to build through -coming years. - - * * * * * - -Buffalo is not as frivolous as Syracuse. She cares but little for -festivals but speaks of herself in the cold commercial terms of success. -If you have ever met a man from Buffalo, when you were traveling, and he -began to tell you of his town, you will know exactly what we mean. He -undoubtedly began by quoting marvelous statistics, some of them -concerning the number of trains that arrived and departed from his -native heath in the course of twenty-four hours. When he was through, -you had a confused idea that Buffalo was some sort of an exaggerated -railroad yard, where you changed cars to go from any one corner of the -universe to any other corner. When your time came to see Buffalo for -yourself, that confused idea returned to you. Your train slipped for -miles through an apparently unending wilderness of branching tracks and -dusty freight cars, past grimy round-houses and steaming locomotives, -until you were ready to believe that any conceivable number of trains -arrived at and departed from that busy town within a single calendar -day. - -If you have approached her by water in the summertime you have seen her -as a mighty port, her congestion of water traffic suggesting salt water -rather than fresh. When we come to visit the neighboring port of -Cleveland we shall give heed to the wonderful traffic of the inland -seas, but for this moment consider Buffalo as something more than a -railroad yard, a busy harbor, or even a melting-pot for the fusing of as -large and as difficult a foreign element as is given to any American -town to fuse. Consider Buffalo dreaming metropolitan dreams. The dull -roar of Niagara, almost infinite in its possibilities of power, is -within hearing. That dull roar has been Buffalo's incentive, the lullaby -which induced her dreams of industrial as well as of commercial -strength. And much has been written of her growing strength in these -great lines. - -To our own minds the real Buffalo is to be found in her typical citizen. -If he is really typical of the city at the west gate of the Empire -state, you will find him optimistic and energetic to a singular degree, -and he needs all his optimism and his energy to combat the problems that -come to a town of exceeding growth, just crossing the threshold of -metropolitanism. Those problems demand cool heads and stout hearts. -Buffalo is just beginning to appreciate that. It is becoming less -difficult than of old for them to pull together, to dig deep into their -purses if need be, and to plan their city of tomorrow in a generous -spirit of cooeperation. - -[Illustration: Rochester is a city of charming homes] - -The Buffalonians have a full measure of enjoyment in their city. They -are intensely proud of it and rightfully--do not forget the man who once -told you of the number of railroad trains within twenty-four hours--and -they are thoroughly happy in and around it. Niagara Falls and a -half-dozen of lake beaches on Erie and Ontario are within easy reach, -while nearer still is the lovely park of the town--which a goodly corner -of America remembers as the site of the Pan-American Exposition, in -1901. The Buffalonians live much of the time outdoors, and that holds -true whether they are able to patronize their country clubs or the less -pretentious suburban resorts. They play at golf, at baseball, at -football, and in the long hard winter months at basketball and hockey -and bowling. They organize teams in all these sports--and some -others--and then go down to Rochester and enter into amiable contests -with the folks who live by the Genesee. Syracuse, too, comes into the -fray and these three cities of the western end of the state of New York -fight out their natural and healthy rivalry in series upon series of -sturdy athletic championships. The bond between them is really very -close indeed. - - * * * * * - -Rochester stands halfway between Syracuse and Buffalo and as we have -already said, is different from both of them. One difference is apparent -even to the man who does not alight from his through train. For no -railroad has dared to thrust itself down a main business street in -Rochester; in fact she was one of the very first cities in America to -remove the deadly grade crossings from her avenues, and incalculable -fatalities and near fatalities have been prevented by her wisdom. Many -years ago she placed the main line of the New York Central railroad, -which crosses close to her heart, upon a great viaduct. When that -viaduct was built, a great change came upon the town. The old depot, -with its vaulted wooden roof clearing both tracks and street and -anchored in the walls of the historic Brackett House; with its ancient -white horse switching the cars of earlier days (as it is years and years -and years since that white horse went to graze in heavenly meadows) -vanished from sight, and a great stone-lined embankment--high enough and -thick enough to be a city wall--appeared, as if by magic, while -Rochester reveled in a vast new station, big enough and fine enough for -all time. At least that was the way the station seemed when it was first -built in 1882. But alas, for restless America! They have begun to tear -the old station down as this is being written--a larger and still finer -structure replaces it. And the folk who pray for the conservatism of our -feverish American energy are praying that it will last more than -thirty-one years! - -But in just this way Rochester has grown apace and quite ahead of the -facilities which her earlier generations thought would be abundant for -all time. The high civic standard that forced the great railroad -improvement in the earlier days when most American towns, like Topsy, -were "jus' growin'" and giving little thought for the morrow, made -Rochester different. It made her seek to better her water supply and in -this she succeeded, tapping a spring pure lake forty miles back in the -high hills and bringing its contents to her by a far-reaching aqueduct. -It was a large undertaking for a small city of the earlier days, but the -small city was plucky and it today possesses a water supply that is -second to none. That same early placed high civic standard made -fireproof buildings an actuality in Rochester, years in advance of other -towns of the same size. - -That civic standard has worked wonders for the town by the falls of the -Genesee. For one thing it has made her prolific in propaganda of one -sort or another. Strange religious sects have come to light within her -boundaries. Spiritualism was one of these, for it was in Rochester that -the famed Fox sisters heard the mysterious rappings, and it was only a -little way outside the town where Joseph Smith asserted that he found -the Book of Mormon and so brought a new church into existence. And the -ladies who are conducting the "Votes for Women" campaign with such ardor -should not forget that it was in Rochester that Susan B. Anthony lived -for long years of her life, working not alone for the cause that was -close to her heart, but in every way for the good of the town that meant -so much to her. - -Perhaps the most interesting phases of the Rochester civic standard are -those that have worked inwardly. She has a new city plan--of course. -What modern city has not dreamed these glowing things, of transforming -ugly squares into plazas of European magnificence, of making dingy Main -and State streets into boulevards? And who shall say that such dreams -are idly dreamed? Rochester is not dreaming idly. She has already -conceived a wonderful new City Hall, to spring upwards from her Main -street, but what is perhaps more interesting to her casual visitors in -her new plan is the architectural recognition that it gives to the -Genesee. The Genesee is a splendid river--in many ways not unlike the -more famous Niagara. You have already known the part it has played in -the making of Rochester. Yet the city has seen fit, apparently, to all -but ignore it. Main street--for Rochester is a famous one-street -town--crosses it on a solid stone bridge but that bridge is lined with -buildings, like the prints you used to see of old London bridge. None of -the folk who walk that famous thoroughfare ever see the river. In the -new scheme the old rookeries that hang upon the edge of Main street -bridge are to be torn away and the river is to come into its own. And -Rochester folk feel that that day can come none too soon. - -But the Rochester civic standard has worked no better for her than in -social reforms. The phases of these are far too many to be enumerated -here, but one of them stands forth too sharply to be ignored. A few -years ago some Rochesterian conceived the idea of making the schools -work nights as well as day. He had studied the work of the settlement -houses in the larger cities, and while Rochester had no such slums as -called for settlement houses it did have a large population that -demanded some interest and attention. For instance, within the past few -years a large number of Italians have come there, and although they -present no such difficult fusing problem as the Jews of New York, the -Polocks of Buffalo or the Huns of Pittsburgh, it is not the Rochester -way to ignore in the larger social sense any of the folk who come to -her. - -"We will make the school-houses into clubs, we will make them open -forums where people can come evenings and get a little instruction, a -little more entertainment, but best of all can speak their minds -freely," said this enthusiast. "We will broaden out the idea of the ward -clubs." - -The ward clubs to which he referred were neat and attractive structures -situated in residential parts of the town, where folk who lived in their -own neat homes and who earned from three to eight thousand dollars a -year gather for their dances, their bridges, their small lectures and -the like. The enthusiast proposed to enlarge this idea, by the simple -process of opening the school-houses evenings. His idea was immensely -popular from the first. And within a very few weeks it was in process of -fruition. The school-houses--they called them "Social Centers"--were -opened and night after night they were filled. It looked as if Rochester -had launched another pretty big idea upon the world. - -That idea, however, has been radically changed, today. One of the -professors of the local university threw himself into it, possibly with -more enthusiasm than judgment, and was reported in the local prints as -having said that the red flag might be carried in street parades along -with the Stars and Stripes. That settled it. Rochester is a pretty -conservative town, and its folk who live quietly in its great houses sat -up and took notice of the professor's remarks. Those great houses had -smiled rather complacently at the pretty experiment in the schools. Of -a sudden they decided that they were being transformed into incubators -for the making of socialists or of anarchists--great houses do not make -very discerning discriminations. - -The professor had kicked over the boat. A powerful church which has -taken a very definite stand against Socialism joined with the great -houses. The question was brought into local politics. The professor lost -his job out at the university, and the school-houses ceased to be open -forums. Today they are called "Recreation Centers" and are content with -instruction and entertainment, but the full breadth of the idea they -started has swept across the country and many cities of the mid-West and -the West are adopting it. - -The Rochester way of doing things is a very good way, indeed. For -instance, the city decided a few years ago that it ought to have a fair. -It had been many years since it had had an annual fair, and it saw -Syracuse and Toronto each year becoming greater magnets because of their -exhibitions. Straightway Rochester decided that it would have some sort -of fall show, just what sort was a bit of a problem at first. It wanted -something far bigger than a county fair, and yet it could hardly ask the -state for aid when the state had spent so much on its own show in nearby -Syracuse. - -Then it was that Rochester decided to dig down into its own pockets. It -saw a fortunate opening just ahead. The state in abandoning a penal -institution had left fourteen or fifteen acres of land within a mile of -the center of the city--the famous Four Corners. The city took that -land, tore down the great stone wall that had encircled it, erected some -new buildings and transformed some of the older ones, created a park of -the entire property and announced that it was going in the show -business, itself. It has gone into the show business and succeeded. The -Rochester Exposition is as much a part of the city organization as its -park board or its health department. Throughout the greater part of the -year the show-grounds are a public park, holding a museum of local -history that is not to be despised. And for two weeks in each September -it comes into its own--a great, dignified show, builded not of wood and -staff so as to make a memorable season and then be forgotten, but -builded of steel and stone and concrete for both beauty and permanency. - - * * * * * - -"Now what are the things that have gone to make these things possible?" -you are beginning to say. "What is the nature of the typical -Rochesterian?" - -Putting the thing the wrong way about we should say that the typical -Rochesterian is pretty near the typical American. And still continuing -in the reversed order of things consider, for an instant, the beginnings -of Rochester. We have spoken of these three cities of the western end of -New York state as the first fruit of the wonderful Erie canal. That is -quite true and yet it is also true that before the canal came there was -quite a town at the falls of the Genesee, trying in crude fashion to -avail itself of the wonderful water-power. And while the canal was still -an unfinished ditch, three men rode up from the south--Rochester and -Fitzhugh and Carroll--and surveyed a city to replace the straggling -town. That little village had, during the ten brief years of its -existence, been known as Falls Town. Col. Rochester gave his own name to -the city that he foresaw and lived to see it make its definite -beginnings. All that was in the third decade of the last century, and -Rochester has yet to celebrate her first centenary under her present -name. - -Her career divides itself into three epochs. In the first of these--from -the days of her settlement up to the close of the Civil War--she was -famed for her flouring-mills. She was known the world over as the Flour -City, and she held that title until the great wheat farms of the land -were moved far to the west. But they still continued to call her by the -same name although they spelled it differently now--the Flower City. For -a new industry arose within her. America was awakening to a quickened -sense of beauty. Flowers and florists were becoming popular, and a group -of shrewd men in and around Rochester made the nursery business into a -very great industry. In more recent years the nature of her manufactures -has broadened--her camera factory is the most famous in all the world, -optical goods, boots and shoes, ready-made clothing, come pouring out of -her in a great tidal stream of enterprise. - -She is an industrial city, definitely and distinctly. Fortunately she is -an industrial city employing a high grade of labor almost exclusively, -and yet none the less a town devoted to manufacturing. Once again, do -not forget that she has not neglected her social life, and you may read -this as you please. You may look away from the broadening work of the -ward clubs and of the school-houses and demand if there is an -aristocracy in Rochester. The resident of the town will lead you over -into its Third ward--a compact community almost within stone-throw of -the Four Corners, and shut off from the rest of the vulgar world by a -river, a canal and a railroad yard. In that compact community, its -tree-lined streets suggesting the byways of some tranquil New England -community, is the seat of Rochester social government. The residents of -the Third ward are a neighborly folk, borrowing things of one another -and visiting about with delightful informality among themselves, and yet -their rule is undisputed. - -East avenue--the great show street of Rochester--feels that rule. East -avenue is lined with great houses, far greater houses than those of the -Third ward--many of them built with the profits of "Kodak" stock--yet -East avenue represents a younger generation, a generation which seems to -have made money rather easily. There has been some intermarriage and -some letting down of the bars between the ambitious East avenue and the -dominant Third ward--but not much of it. Rochester is far too -conservative to change easily or rapidly. - -[Illustration: The canal gives Syracuse a Venetian look] - -She is proud of herself as she is--and rightly so. Her people will sing -of her charms by the hours--and rightly so, again. They live their lives -and live them well. For when all is said and done, the glory of -Rochester is not in her public buildings, her water-power, her fair, her -movements toward social reform, not even in her parks--although -Rochester parks are superb, for Nature has been their chief architect -and she has executed her commission in splendid fashion--nor does it -reside in her imposing Main street, nor in her vast manufactories that -may be translated into stunning arrays of statistics--her glory is in -her homes. The tenement, as we know it in the big cities, and the city -house, with its dead cold walls, are practically unknown there. -Apartment houses are rarities--there are not more than twenty or thirty -in the town--and consequently oddities. Your Rochesterian, rich and -poor, dwells in a detached house on his own tract of land; the chances -are that he has market-truck growing in his backyard, a real -kitchen-garden. There are thousands of these little homes in the -outlying sections of the town, with more pretentious ones lining East -avenue and the other more elaborate streets. All of these taken together -are the real regulators of the town. For the citizens of Rochester are -less governed and themselves govern more than in most places of the -size. That is the value of the detached house to the city. Detached -houses in a city seem to mean good schools, good fire and police -service, clean streets, health protection, social progress--Rochester -has all of these in profusion. - -East avenue, in its rather luscious beauty, represents these ideals of -Rochester on dress parade. We rather think, however, that you can read -the character of the town better in the side streets. Now a long street, -filled with somewhat monotonous rows of simple frame houses does not -mean much at a glance--even when the street is parked and filled for a -mile with blossoming magnolias, as Oxford street in Rochester is filled. -But such a street, together with all the other streets of its sort, -means that much of the disappearing charm and loveliness of our American -village life is being absorbed right into the heart of a community of -goodly size. - -Sometimes citizens from other towns running hard amuck Rochester's -conservatism call her provincial. She has clung to some of her small -town customs longer than her neighbors, but of late she has attempted -metropolitanism--they have builded two big new hotels in the place, and -the radicals have dared to place a big building or two off Main -street--quite a step in a town which has become famous as a one-street -town. - -But Rochester, like most conservatives, is careless of outside -criticism. She points to the big things that she has accomplished. She -shows you her streets of the detached houses and her parks--perhaps -takes you down to Genesee Valley Park of a summer night when carnival is -in the air and the city's band, the city's _very own band_, if you -please, is playing from a great float in midstream, while voices from -two or three thousand gaily decorated canoes carry the melodies a long -way. She shows you her robust glories, the fair country in which she is -situate. For miles upon miles of splendid highways surround her, the -Genesee indolent for a time above the Valley Park appeals to the man -with a canoe, the great lake to the north gives favorable breezes to -the yachtsman. Do you wonder that the Rochesterians know that they dwell -in a garden land, and that they are in the open through the fullness of -a summer that stretches month after month, from early spring to late -autumn? Do you wonder that they really live their lives? - - - - -10 - -STEEL'S GREAT CAPITAL - - -A man, traveling across the land for the very first time, slips into a -strange town--after dark. It is his first time in the strange town, of -course. Otherwise it would not be strange. He finds his hotel with -little difficulty, for a taxicab takes him to it. He immediately -discovers that it is not more than two squares from the very station at -which he has arrived. Still a friendly taxicab in a strange town is not -an institution at which to scoff, and the man who is very tired is glad -to get into his hotel room and to bed without delay. - -He awakes the next morning very early--at least it must be very early -for it is still dark. It is dark indeed as he stumbles his way across -the room to the electric switch. In the sudden radiance that follows, he -sputters at himself for having arisen so early--for he is a man fond of -his lazy sleep in the morning. He fumbles in his pockets and finds his -watch. Ten minutes to nine, it says to him. - -"Stopped," says the man, half aloud. "That's another time I forgot to -wind it." - -But the watch has not stopped. Insecure in his own mind he lifts it to -his ear. It is ticking briskly. The man is perplexed. He goes to the -window and peeps out from it. A great office building across the way is -gaily alight--a strange performance for before dawn of a September -morning. He looks down into the street. Two long files of brightly -lighted cars are passing through the street, one up, the other down. The -glistening pavements are peopled, the stores are brightly lighted--the -man glances at his watch once again. Eight minutes of nine, it tells him -this time. - -He smiles as he gazes down into that busy street. - -"This is Pittsburgh," he says. - -Later that day that same man stands in another window--of a tall -skyscraper this time--and again gazes down. Suspended there below him is -a seeming chaos. There are smoke and fog and dirt there, through -these--showing ever and ever so faintly--tall, artificial cliffs, -punctured with row upon row of windows, brightly lighted at midday. From -the narrow gorges between these cliffs come the rustle and the rattle of -much traffic. It comes to the man in waves of indefinite sound. - -He lifts his gaze and sees beyond these artificial cliffs, -mountains--real mountains--towering, with houses upon their crests, and -steep, inclined railroads climbing their precipitous sides. In these -houses, also, there are lights burning at midday. Below them are great -stacks--row upon row upon row of them, like coarse-toothed combs turned -upside down--and the black smoke that pours up from them is pierced now -and then and again by bright tongues of flame--the radiance of furnaces -that glow throughout the night and day. - -"We're mud and dirt up to our knees--and money all the rest of the way," -says the owner of that office. He is a native of the city. He comes to -the window and points to one of the rivers--a yellow-brown mirrored -surface, scarcely glistening under leaden clouds but bearing long tows -by the dozen--coal barges, convoyed by dirty stern-wheeled steamboats. - -"There is one of the busiest harbors in the world," says the Pittsburgh -man. "A harbor which in tonnage is not so far back of your own blessed -New York." - -The New Yorker, for this man is a New Yorker, laughs at the very idea of -calling that sluggish narrow river a harbor. They have a real harbor in -his town and real rivers lead into it. This does not even seem a real -river. It reminds him quite definitely of Newtown creek--that slimy, -busy waterway along which trains used to pass in the days when the -Thirty-fourth street ferry was the gateway to Long Island. - -"We have tonnage in this town," says the proud resident of Pittsburgh, -"and if you won't believe what I tell you about the water traffic, how -about our neat little railroad business? If you won't listen to our -harbor-master here when I take you down to him, look at the lines of -freight cars for forty miles out every trunk-line railroad that gets in -here. This is the real gathering ground for all the freight -rolling-stock of this land." - -And then he falls to telling the native of Manhattan island how all that -traffic has come to pass--how a mere quarter of a century ago the -Pittsburgh & Lake Erie railroad had offered itself to the historic Erie -for a mere hundred thousand dollars--and had been refused as not worth -while. Today the Pittsburgh & Lake Erie is the pet child of the entire -Vanderbilt family of aristocratic railroads, earning more clear profit -to the mile than any other railroad in the world. The Pittsburgh man -makes this all clear to his caller. But the man from New York only looks -out again upon the city in semi-darkness at midday, and thinks of the -towers of his own Manhattan rising high into the clearest blue sky that -one might imagine, and whispers incoherently: - -"This Pittsburgh gets me." - -Pittsburgh gets some others, too. It gets them from the back country, -green country lads filled with ambition rather than anything else, and -if they have the sticking qualities it makes them millionaires, if that -so happens that such is the scheme of their ambitions. It has made some -other millionaires, almost overnight, as we shall see in a few minutes. -The picking for dollars seems good in the neighborhood of the -confluence of the Monongahela and the Allegheny. - -Consider for a moment that confluence--the geography of Pittsburgh, if -you please. In a general way the older part of the town has a situation -not unlike that of the great metropolis of the continent. For New York's -East river, substitute the Monongahela; for the Hudson, the Allegheny; -and let the Ohio, beginning its long course at the Point--Pittsburgh's -Battery--represent the two harbors of New York. Then you will begin to -get the rough resemblance. To the south of the Monongahela, Pittsburgh's -Brooklyn is Birmingham, set under the half-day shadows of the towering -cliffs of Mount Washington. Allegheny--now a part of the city of -Pittsburgh and beginning to be known semi-officially as the North -Side--corresponds in location with Jersey City. - -And the problems that have beset Pittsburgh in her growth have been -almost the very problems that from the first have hampered the growth of -metropolitan New York. If her rivers have been no such stupendous -affairs as the Hudson or the East rivers, the overpowering hills and -mountains that close in upon her on every side have presented barriers -of equal magnitude. To conquer them has been the labor of many tunnels -and of steep inclined railroads, the like of which are not to be seen in -any great city in America. It has been no easy conquest. - -As a result of all these things the growth of the city has been uneven -and erratic. Down on the narrow spit of flat-land at the junction of the -two rivers that go to make the Ohio--a location exactly corresponding -with Manhattan island below the City Hall and of even less area--is the -business center of metropolitan Pittsburgh--wholesale and retail stores, -banks, office buildings, railroad passenger terminals, hotels, theaters -and the like. The same causes that made the skyscraper a necessity in -New York have worked a like necessity in the city at the head of the -Ohio. - -So it has come to pass that no one lives in Pittsburgh itself, unless -under absolute compulsion. The suburbs present housing facilities for -the better part of its folk--Sewickley and East Liberty vie for greatest -favor with them and there are dozens of smaller communities that crowd -close upon these two social successes. "We can never get a decent census -figure," growls the Pittsburgh man, as he contemplates the size of these -outlying boroughs that go to make the city strong in everything, save in -that popular competitive feature of population. And that very reason -made the merging of the old city of Allegheny a popular issue, indeed. - -The fact that Pittsburgh men live outside of Pittsburgh goes to give her -the fourth largest suburban train service in the country. Only New York, -Boston and Philadelphia surpass her in this wise. Even San Francisco has -less. One hundred and fifty miles to the northwest is Cleveland, the -sixth city in the country and outranking Pittsburgh in population. There -is not a single distinctive suburban train run in or out of Cleveland. -From one single terminal in Pittsburgh four hundred passenger trains -arrive and depart in the course of a single business day and ninety-five -percent of these are for the sole benefit of the commuter. - -So congested have even these railroad facilities become that the city -cries bitterly all the while for a transit relief and experts have been -at work months and years planning a subway to aid both the steam roads -and the overworked trolley lines. At best it is no sinecure to operate -the trolley cars of Pittsburgh. Combined with narrow streets, uptown and -downtown, are the fearful slopes of the great hills. It takes big cars -to climb those hills, let alone haul the trailers that are a feature of -the Pittsburgh rush-hour traffic. When the New Yorker sees those cars -for the first time he looks again. They are chariots of steel, hardly -smaller than those that thread the subway in his daily trip to and from -Harlem, and when they come toward him they make him think of -locomotives. The heavy car gives a sense of strength and of hill -capability. But the company staggers twice each day under a traffic that -is far beyond its facilities--and it staggers under its political -burdens. - -For it is almost as much as your very life is worth to "talk back" to a -street car conductor in Pittsburgh. The conductor is probably an arm of -the big political machine that holds that western Pennsylvania town as -in the hollow of its hand. The conductors get their jobs through their -alderman, and they hold them through their alderman. So if a New York -man forgets that he is four hundred and forty miles from Broadway, and -gets to asserting his mind to the man who is in charge of the car let -him look out for trouble. Chances are nine to one that he will be hauled -up before a magistrate for breaking the peace, and that another arm of -the political machine will come hard upon him. - -A man, who was a life-long resident of Pittsburgh, once made a protest -to the conductor of a car coming across from Allegheny. The passenger -was in the right and the conductor knew it. But he answered that protest -with a volley of profanity. If that thing had happened in a seaboard -town, the conductor's job would not have been worth the formality of a -resignation. In Pittsburgh a bystander warned--the passenger--and he -saved himself arrest by keeping his mouth shut and getting off the car. - -But the Pittsburgh man had not quite lost his sense of justice, and so -he hurried to a certain high officer of the street railroad company. -When he came to the company's offices he was ushered in in high state, -for it so happened that the born Pittsburgh man was a director of that -very corporation. It so happens that street railroad directors do not -ride--like their steam railroad brethren--on passes, and the conductor -did not know that he was playing flip-flap with his job. - -"You'll have to fire that man," said the director, in ending his -complaint. "If that had happened at the club I would have punched him in -the head." - -The big man who operated the street railroad looked at the director, and -smiled what the lady novelists call a sweet, sad smile. - -"Sorry, Ben," said he, "but I know that man. He's one of Alderman -X----'s men, and if we fired him X---- would hang us up on half a dozen -things." - -Do you wonder that in the face of such a state of things transit relief -comes rather slowly to Pittsburgh? - -Pittsburgh men have been trying to worm their way out of their -difficulties for about a century and a half now, for it was 1758 that -saw a permanent settlement started there at the junction of the three -great rivers. Before that had been the memorable fight and defeat of -Braddock--not far from where more recently Mr. Frick and Mr. Carnegie -have been engaged in a rivalry as to which could erect the higher -skyscraper and most effectually block out the _facade_ of the very -beautiful Court House that the genius of H. H. Richardson designed--more -than a score of years ago. At Braddock's defeat George Washington fought -and it was no less a prophetic mind than that of the Father of His -Country which foresaw and prophesied that Pittsburgh, with proper -transportation facilities, would become one of the master cities of the -country. - -Today, when Pittsburgh men grow nervous in one of their chronic fits of -agitation--generally started by some talkative city, such as Chicago and -Duluth, proclaiming herself as the future center of the steel -industry--she gains comfort from the sayings of two Presidents--General -Washington, as just quoted, and the gentleman who sits at the head of -the board of the United States Steel Corporation, who goes out there -from time to time and tells them to be of good cheer, that the center of -the steel business is irrevocably fixed within their town. Pittsburgh -worries much more about the steel business than about the Richardson -Court House, which has just been left high and dry upon a local -Gibraltar because of the desire of the local aldermen to lower Fifth -avenue some eight or ten feet. But who shall say that she should not be -restive about a business that reaches an output in a single twelvemonth -of something over 150,000,000 tons? That is a jewel that is well worth -the keeping. - - * * * * * - -Philadelphia stands at the east end of Pennsylvania; Pittsburgh is the -west gate of that Keystone commonwealth. Yet two peas in a pod were -never half so different. Philadelphia stands for conservatism, -Pittsburgh for progress. While Philadelphia was climbing to the zenith -of her power and influence through the first three-quarters of the last -century and reaching her apotheosis in her great Centennial, Pittsburgh -was quiet beneath her smoke umbrellas experimenting with that strange -new metal, which man called steel. In the day dreams that Philadelphia -enjoyed in 1876 Pittsburgh was forgotten. - -"I suppose the Pennsylvania railroad must have some place to end at," -said a lady from Rittenhouse square, when her attention was called to -the city at the junction of the three rivers. And in the next year that -lady and many other ladies of the staunch old Quaker town were holding -up their hands in holy horror at the news from Pittsburgh. Great riots, -the bloodiest that had ever been known, were marking the railroad strike -there--why, in a single day the rioters had burned the great Union -station, every other railroad structure, and every car in the place. -That was bad advertising for a town that had none too many friends. - -But Pittsburgh was finding herself--she is still in that fascinating -process of development. For word was eking out from the rough mountains -of western Pennsylvania that a little group of Scotchmen--led by a -shrewd ironmaster whom politic folk were already calling "Mr. -Carnegie"--had made steel an economic structural possibility. In this -day when wood has become a luxury, steel is coming into its own and -Pittsburgh is today the most metropolitan city between New York and -Chicago. But she is still finding herself. The Survey, financed by Mrs. -Russell Sage, and equipped with some of the ablest and fairest minded -social workers in America, has called sharp attention to her -shortcomings. The Survey did its work thoroughly and it was not the work -of a minute or a day or a week or a month. When its report was ready, -Pittsburgh smarted. It was the sort of smarting that goes before a cure. - -Much has been done already. The man who went to Pittsburgh as recently -as ten years ago carried away some pretty definite memories of neglected -railroad stations and inferior hotel facilities. He remembered that in -Liberty and Penn avenues--two of the chief shopping streets in the -city--long trails of freight cars were constantly being shifted by dirty -switch engines in among the trolley cars, while farther up these same -avenues the Fort Wayne railroad tracks formed two of the nastiest grade -crossings in America. When a fine new hotel was finally built away out -Fifth avenue, he could sit on its porch and face Pittsburgh's famous -farm. The Schenley farm stretched over the hill and far away. Its barns -were sharply silhouetted upon the horizon, rail zigzag fences ran up and -down the slopes and sometimes one could see cattle outlined against the -sky edge. - -The farm was a sore spot in Pittsburgh development. It occupied a tract -somewhat similar in location to that of Central Park in Manhattan, and -the struggling, growing town crawled its way around the obstacle -slowly--then grew many miles east once again. Resentment gathered -against the farm, and finally a bill was slipped through at Harrisburg -imposing double taxes on property held by persons residing out of the -United States--a distinct slap at the Schenley estate. When the estate -protested, word was carried oversea to it that if a good part of the -farm were dedicated to the city as a park that bill would be withdrawn. - -So Pittsburgh gained its splendid new park, and a site for one of the -finest civic centers in America. The farm has begun to disappear--the -University of Pittsburgh is absorbing its last undeveloped slope for an -American Acropolis that shall put Athens in the pale. The new Athletic -Club, the development of the Hotel Schenley, the great Soldiers' -Memorial Hall which Allegheny county has just finished, the even greater -Carnegie Institute, the graceful twin-spired cathedral, all are going -toward the making of this fine, new civic center, and Pittsburgh being -Pittsburgh, and the Pirates social heroes, Forbes Field the finest -baseball park in all this land--a wizardry of glass and steel and -concrete--is a distinctive feature of this improvement. - -[Illustration: The old and the new at Pittsburgh] - -The freight trains are gone from the downtown shopping streets and the -two wicked grade crossings disappeared when the Pennsylvania built its -splendid new Union Station. Other fine railroad terminals and new hotels -have added to the comfort of the stranger. They are beginning in a faint -way to give transfers on the trolley cars, and there is more than a -promise that some day wayfarers will not be taxed a penny every time -they walk across the bridges that bind the heart of the city. The bridge -companies are private affairs, paying from fifteen to twenty percent -in annual dividends, and they hang pretty tightly on to their bonanzas. -But the Pittsburgh Chamber of Commerce is after them, and that Chamber -is a fairly energetic body. It has already sought the devil in his lair -and tried to abolish the smoke nuisance, with some definite results. - -A New York girl who has been living in Pittsburgh for the last four -years complained that she had never seen but two sunsets there. There is -hope for that girl. If the Chamber of Commerce keeps hard at its -anti-smoke campaign, she may yet stand on the Point and down the muddy -Ohio see something that dimly resembles the glorious dying of the day, -as one sees it from the heights of New York city's Riverside Drive. - -A keen-eyed man sat in an easy chair in the luxury of the Duquesne Club, -and faced the New York man. - -"Are we so bad?" he demanded. "You New York men like to paint us that -way. You judge us falsely. You think that when you come out here you are -going to see a sort of modern Sodom, bowing to all the gods of money and -the gods of the high tariff. You think you are going to fairly revel in -a wide open town, in the full significance of that phrase, and what do -you see? - -"You see a pretty solid sort of a Scotch Presbyterian town, where you -cannot even get shaved in your hotel on Sunday, to say nothing of buying -a drink. And as for shows, you can't buy your way into a concert here on -Sunday. Why, some of the elders of my kirk have even looked askance at -Mr. Carnegie for the free recitals that he gives Sabbath afternoons in -that splendid hall of the Institute. - -"There's your real Pittsburgher, and if some of the boys have chafed a -bit under all the restraint that they have had here and gone to the -wicked city after a little fling and a little advertising, is that any -just reason why it all should be charged against Pittsburgh? Pittsburgh -has enough troubles of her own without borrowing any additional ones. - -"The trouble is we've been making too much money to notice much about -the boys, or give proper attention to some pretty vital civic -problems--that's why the rottenness cropped out in the City Councils. -It's the taint of the almighty dollar, Mr. New Yorker! Why, Mr. Carnegie -made a couple of hundred of us millionaires within a single twenty-four -hours. Can you think of any worse blow for an average town? - -"He took some of us, who had been working for him a long time, and got -us into the business--some for an eighth interest, others for a -sixteenth or even a thirty-second. That was great, and we appreciated -it, but it kept us fairly tight on ready money for a while, even though -Frick and Mellen were standing pat with an offer of a hundred million -dollars for the bonds of the steel company. I tell you I was short on -ready money myself, and wondering if I could not cut down on my house -rent $2,000 a year and get my wife to keep two hired girls instead of -three. Then you know what happened. Carnegie himself took over the bonds -at a cold two hundred million dollars. Within a week or so I was in New -York talking with an architect about building a new house for the -missus, and getting passage tickets through to Europe." - -The ironmaster called his automobile and bundled the New York man within -it. - -"We are going down into the slums," he said. "I can show you a single -block where thirteen different languages are spoken. That is the new -Pittsburgh--taking up one another's burdens, or something of that sort, -as they call it. It is queer until you get used to it, and when you get -used to it, it makes you feel like going up on the roof and yelling that -Pittsburgh is going to be the greatest city on earth, not just the -greatest in tonnage or in dollars. - -"That is why we are cottoning to that idea of a civic center out by -Schenley Park; that's why we pat Andrew Carnegie on the back when we -know that he is giving us the best in pictures and in music in America; -that's why Frick is holding back with his horse pasture there in front -of Carnegie Institute to build something bigger and better. Don't you -get the idea now of the bigger and better Pittsburgh?" - -The limousine stopped and the ironmaster beckoned a large, whiskered -Russian to it. "Here's a real anarchist," he said, "but he is one of my -proteges. He speaks down in a dirty hall in Liberty avenue, near the -Wabash terminal, but he's for the new Pittsburgh, and he's for it -strong--so we come together after a fashion." - -The Russian, who was a teacher, came close to the big automobile and -pointed to a woman of his own people--a woman wretchedly poor, who dwelt -in one of the hovels which are today Pittsburgh's greatest shame. - -"She's reading Byron," he said quietly, "and she has been in America -less than six months. She says there is a magnificent comparison between -Byron and Tolstoy." - -That reminded the ironmaster of an incident. - -"After that bad time in 1907," he said, "I chanced into one of Mr. -Carnegie's libraries, and the librarian complained to me of the way the -books were being ruined. Their backs were being scratched and filled -with rust and even shavings. I had an idea on that myself. I went back -to our own mill--it was pretty dull there and I was dodging the forlorn -place as much as I could. But we were sifting out a gang from the men -who were beating at our doors every morning for work, and even then we -were carrying twice as many men as we really needed. I went around back -of the furnaces and there were the library books--the men were reading -them in the long shifts." - -"They weren't reading fiction?" asked the New Yorker. - -"Not a bit of it," said the ironmaster. Then he added: - -"One of them spoke to me. He was only getting three days a week. 'Mr. -Carnegie can give the books,' was his quiet observation, 'and the money -to buy them. But we need more than money. Can't he ever give us the -leisure to read them without its costing us the money for our food?' - -"That, New Yorker, from the mouth of one of those of the new Pittsburgh -is the real answer to your question." - - - - -11 - -THE SIXTH CITY - - -They call her the Sixth City, but that is only in a comparative sense, -and exclusively in regard to her statistical position in the population -ranks of the large cities of our land. For no real citizen of Cleveland -will ever admit that his community is less than first, in all of the -things that make for the advance of a strong and healthy American town. -His might better be called "the City of Boundless Enthusiasm." Your -Cleveland man, however, is content to know it as the Sixth City. - -"Not that it really matters whether we are the fifth or the seventh--or -the sixth," he tells you. "Only it all goes to show how we've bobbed up -in the last twenty years. You know what we used to be--an inconsiderable -lake port up on the north brink of Ohio with Cincinnati down there in -the south pruning herself as a real metropolis and calling herself the -Queen City. We might call ourselves the Queen City today and stretch no -points, but that's a sort of fancy title that's gone out of fashion now. -The Sixth City sounds more like the Twentieth Century." - -And Cleveland having thus baptized herself, as it were, proceeded to -spread her new name to the world. "Cleveland--Sixth City" appeared on -the stationery of her business houses; her tailors stitched it in upon -the labels of the ready-made suits they sent to all corners of the land; -her bakers stamped it on the products of their ovens; big shippers -stenciled it over packing-cases; manufacturers even placed it upon the -brass-plates of the lathes and other complicated machines they sent -forth from their shops. Today when you say "Sixth City" to an American -he replies "Cleveland," which is precisely what Cleveland intended he -should reply. - -Now why has Cleveland taken her new position of sixth among the cities -of the land? Ask your Cleveland man that, and he will take you by the -elbow and march you straight toward the docks, that not only line her -lake front but extend for miles up within the curious twistings of the -Cuyahoga river. - -"Lake traffic," he will tell you, and begin to quote statistics. - -We will spare you most of the statistics. It is meet that you should -know, however, that upon the five Great Lakes there throbs a commerce -that might well be the envy of any far-reaching, salty sea. To put the -thing concretely, the freight portion of this traffic alone reached -tremendous totals in 1912. In the navigation months of that year, -exactly 47,435,477 tons of iron ore and an even greater tonnage of coal -moved upon the Lakes, while the enormous total of 158,000,000 bushels of -grain were received at the port of Buffalo. And although there are tens -of thousands of sailormen upon the salt seas who have never heard of -Cleveland, the business of the port of Cleveland is comparable with that -of the port of Liverpool, one of the very greatest and the very busiest -harbors in all the world. For four out of every five of the great steel -steamships carrying the iron ore and coal cargoes of the lakes are -operated from Cleveland. Until the formation of the United States Steel -corporation a few years ago she could also say that she owned four out -of five of these vessels. And today her indirect interest in them, -through the steel corporation, is not small. - -As the Cleveland man continues to din these statistics into your ear, -you let your gaze wander. Over across a narrow slip a gaunt steel -framework rises. It holds a cradle, large enough and strong enough to -accommodate a single steel railroad "gondola," which in turn carries -fifty tons of bituminous coal. The sides of the table are clamped over -the sides of one of these "gondola" cars, which a seemingly tireless -switch-engine has just shunted into it. Slowly the cradle is raised to -the top of the framework. A bell strikes and it raises itself upon edge, -three-quarters of the way over. The coal rushes out of the car in an -uprising cloud of black dust and drops through a funnel into the -expansive hold of the vessel that is moored at the dock. The car is -righted; some remaining coal rattles to its bottom. Once again it is -overturned and the remaining coal goes through the funnel. When it is -righted the second time it is entirely empty. The cradle returns to its -low level, the car is unfastened and given a push. It makes a gravity -movement and returns to a string of its fellows that have been through a -similar process. - -You take out your watch. The process consumes just two minutes for each -car. That means thirty cars an hour. In an hour fifteen hundred tons of -coal, the capacity of a long and heavily laden train, have been placed -in the hold of the waiting vessel. You are familiar, perhaps, with the -craft that tie up at the wharves of seaboard towns, and you roughly -estimate the capacity of this coal-carrier at some forty-five hundred -tons. It is going to take but three hours to fill her great hold, and -you find yourself astonished at the result of such computations. You -confide that astonishment to your Cleveland man. He smiles at you, -benignly. - -"That is really not very rapid work," he says, "they put eleven thousand -tons of ore into the _Corey_ in thirty-nine minutes up at Superior last -year." - -And that is the record loading of a vessel for all the world. When the -British ship-owners heard of that feat at a port two thousand miles -inland, they ceased to deride American docking facilities. - -The Cleveland man begins telling you something of this lake traffic in -iron ore and soft coal--almost three-quarters of the total tonnage of -the lakes. The workable iron deposits of America are today in greatest -profusion within a comparatively few miles of the head of Lake -Superior--nothing has yet robbed western Pennsylvania and West Virginia -of their supremacy as producers of bituminous coal. There is an ideal -traffic condition, the condition that lines the railroad cars for forty -miles roundabout Pittsburgh. The great cost in handling freight upon the -average railroad comes from the fact that it is generally what is known -as "one-way" business--that is, the volume of traffic moves in a single -direction, necessitating an expensive and wasteful return haul of empty -cars. There is no such traffic waste upon the Great Lakes. The ships -that go up and down the long water lanes of Erie and Huron and Superior -do not worry about ballast for the return. They carry coal from Buffalo, -Erie, Ashtabula, Conneaut and Cleveland to Duluth and Superior and they -come back with their capacious holds filled with red iron ore. There is -your true economy in transportation, and the reflection of it comes in -the fact that these ships haul cargo at the rate of .78 of a mill for a -ton-mile, which is the lowest freight-rate in the world. - -Cleveland built these ships, in fact she still is building the greater -part of them. And she thinks nothing of building the largest of these -steel vessels in ninety days. Take a second look at that vessel--the -coal cars are still pouring their grimy treasure into her hold. She is -builded, like all of these new freighters, with a severity that shows -the bluff utilitarianism of the shipbuilders of the Great Lakes. None of -the finicky traditions of the Clyde rule the minds of the men who today -are building the merchant marine of the Lakes. One deckhouse, with the -navigating headquarters, is forward; the other, with funnel and the -other externals of the ship's propelling mechanism, is at the extreme -stern. Amidships your Great Lakes carrier is cargo--and nothing else. No -tangle of line or burden of trivials; just a red-walled hull of thick -steel plates and a steel-plate deck--broken into thirty-six hatches and -of precisely the same shade of red--for these ships are quickly painted -by hose-spray. Remember that it is ninety days--from keel-plates to -launching. In another thirty days the ship's simple fittings are -finished and her engines in her heart are ready to pound from down-Lakes -to up-Lakes and back innumerable times. - - * * * * * - -If we have given some attention in this Cleveland chapter to the traffic -of the Great Lakes, it is, as we have already intimated, because the -traffic of the Great Lakes has made her the Sixth City. It has also made -the most important of her industries, the very greatest of her fortunes. -Your Cleveland man will tell you of one of these--before you leave the -pier-edge. It was the fortune that an old Lake captain left at his death -a little time ago--the fortune a mere matter of some twenty-eight -millions of dollars. The old captain knew the Lakes and he had studied -their traffic--all his life. But his will directed that his money should -not be expended in the building of ships. It provided that at least a -quarter of a million of the income should annually go to the purchase of -Cleveland real estate. And Cleveland was quick to explain that it was -not that the old man loved shipping less, but that he loved Cleveland -real estate more. He had the gift of foresight. - -If you would see that foresight in his own eyes drive out Euclid -avenue--that broad thoroughfare that leads from the old-fashioned Public -Square in the heart of the city straight toward the southeast. Euclid -avenue gained its fame in other days. Travelers used to come back from -Cleveland and tell of the glories of that highway. Alas, today those -glories are largely those of memory. The old houses still sit in their -great lawns, but the grime of the city's industry has made them seem -doubly old and decadent, while Commerce has pushed her smart new shops -out among them to the very sidewalk line. Many of these shops are given -over to the automobile business--a business which does not hesitate in -any of our towns to transform resident streets into commercial. But in -Cleveland one may partly forgive the audacity of this particular trade -in recognition of its perspicacity. For Euclid avenue, rapidly growing -now from an entirely residential street into an entirely business -highway, is the great automobile thoroughfare of the East Side of the -city. And when you consider that one out of every ten Cleveland families -has a motor car, you can begin to estimate the traffic through Euclid -avenue. - -There is a West Side of Cleveland--you might almost say, of course--but -one does not come to know it until he comes to know Cleveland well. The -city is builded upon a high plateau that rises in a steep bluff from the -very edge of the lake. Through this plateau, at the very bottom of a -ravine, wide and deep, the navigable Cuyahoga twists its tortuous way -into Lake Erie. It seems as if that ravine must almost have been cut to -test the resources of the bridge-builders of America. For it has been -their problem to keep the Sixth City from becoming entirely severed by -her great water artery. They have solved it by the construction of one -huge steel viaduct after another but the West Side remains the West -Side--and always somewhat jealous of the East. She knows that the great -public buildings of Cleveland--that comprehensive civic center plan to -which we shall come in a moment--are fixed for all time upon the East. -And so when Cleveland decides to build a great new city hall, the West -Side demands and receives the finest market house in all the land. - -So it is that it is the East Side that your Cleveland man shows you -alone when your time is limited, and so it is that Euclid avenue is the -one great thoroughfare of the whole East Side. - -"If you want to know how we've bobbed up, look at here," the Cleveland -man tells you. - -You look. A contractor is busy changing a railroad crossing from level -to overhead; a much-needed improvement--despite the fact that it should -have been under-surface rather than overhead--when you come to consider -the traffic that moves through Euclid avenue in all the daylight hours -and far into the night. - -"When the old Cleveland and Pittsburgh--it's part of the Pennsylvania, -now--was built, thirty-five or forty years ago, they thought they would -put the line around the town. But the town was up to their line before -they knew it--and they decided ten or a dozen years ago that they would -put a suburban station here." He points to a handsome red brick -structure of modern architecture. "The Pennsylvania folks are -long-headed--almost always. But if they had known that Cleveland was to -become the Sixth City within ten years they never would have put two -hundred thousand dollars in a grade crossing station at Euclid avenue. -The way we've grown has sort of startled all of us." - -Today Euclid avenue is a compactly built thoroughfare for miles east of -that Pennsylvania railroad crossing. It is at least two miles and a half -from that crossing to Cleveland's two great educational lions--the Case -School of Applied Science and the Western Reserve University--and they -in turn only mark the beginning of the city's newest and most -fashionable residence district. - -Indeed Cleveland has "bobbed up." And her growth within the last quarter -of a century has been more than physical, more than that recorded by -emotionless census-takers. For beneath those grimy old houses on Euclid -avenue and the down town residence streets, beneath the roofs of those -gray and grimy story-and-a-half wooden houses which line far less -pretentious streets for long miles, lies as restless and as hopeful a -civic spirit as any town in America can boast. It makes itself manifest -in many ways--as we shall see. The man who first brought it into a -working force was a resourceful little man who died a little while ago. -But before Tom L. Johnson died he was Mayor of the city; something more; -he was the best liked and the best hated man that Cleveland had ever -known; and he was better liked than he was hated. - -In person a plump little man with a ceaseless smile that might have been -stolen from a Raphael cherub, a democratic little man, who knew his -fellows and who could read them, almost unfailingly. And the smile could -change from softness into severity--when Tom L. Johnson wanted a thing -he wanted it mighty hard. And he generally succeeded in getting it. He -could not only read men; he could read affairs. He saw Cleveland coming -to be the Sixth City. And he determined that she should realize the -dignity of metropolitanism in other fashion than in merely census totals -or bank clearances. - -[Illustration: Cleveland is proud of her great, broad streets] - -Johnson began by going after the street railroad system of the town. He -had had some experience in building and operating street railroads in -other parts of the country, and he set out along paths that were not -entirely unfamiliar to him. It so happened that at the time he began his -crusade Cleveland was quite satisfied with her street railroad service. -Her residents went out to other cities of the land and bragged about how -their big yellow cars ran out to all the far corners of their rapidly -growing city. But Johnson was not criticising the service. He was merely -saying in his gentle insistent way that five cents was too much for a -man to pay to ride upon a street car. He thought three cents was quite -enough. The street railroad company quite naturally thought differently. -In every other town in the land five cents was the standard fare, and -any Cleveland man could tell you how much better the car-service was at -home. That company produced vast tables of statistics to prove its -contentions. Tom L. Johnson merely laughed at the statistics and -reiterated that three cents was a sufficient street-car fare for -Cleveland. - -The details of that _cause celebre_ are not to be recited here. It is -enough here to say that Tom L. Johnson lived long enough to see -three-cent fares upon the Cleveland cars, and that the conclusion was -not reached until a long and bitter battle had been fought. The -conclusion itself as it stands today is interesting. The owners of the -street railroad stock, the successors of the men who invested their -money on a courageous gamble that Cleveland was to grow into a real city -are assured of a legitimate six percent upon their stock. They cannot -expect more. If the railroad earns more than that fixed six percent its -fares must be reduced. If, on the other hand, it fails to earn six -percent the fares must be raised sufficiently to permit that return. The -fare-steps are simple, a cent at a time, with a cent being charged for a -transfer, or a transfer being furnished free as best may meet the income -need of the railroad. - -At present the fare is three cents, transfers being furnished free. A -little while ago the fare was three cents, a cent being charged for the -transfer. That brought an unnecessarily high revenue to the railroad, -and so today while the conductor who issues you a transfer gravely -charges you a cent for it, the conductor who accepts it, with equal -gravity, presents you a cent in return for it. This prevents the -transfers being used as stationery or otherwise frivoled away. For, -while the street car system of Cleveland is among the best operated in -America, it is also one of the most whimsical. Its cars are proof of -that. Some of them are operated on the so-called "pay-as-you-enter" -principle, although Cleveland, which has almost a passion for -abbreviation, calls them the "paye" cars. These cars are still a -distinct novelty in most of our cities. In Cleveland they are almost as -old as Noah's Ark compared with a car in which you pay as you leave--a -most sensible fashion--or a still newer car in which you can pay as you -enter or pay as you leave--a choice which you elect by going to one end -or the other of the vehicle. - -But the fact remains that Cleveland has three-cent fares upon her -excellent street railroad system, to say nothing of having control over -her most important utility, the street railroad, which pays six percent -dividends to its owners. The three-cent fare seems standard in -Cleveland. In fact, she is becoming a three-cent city. Small shops make -attractive offers at that low figure, and "three-cent movies" are -springing up along her streets. She has already gone down to Washington -and demanded that the Federal government issue a three-cent piece--to -meet her peculiar needs. So does the spirit of Tom L. Johnson still go -marching on. - -It must have been the spirit of Tom L. Johnson that gave Cleveland a -brand-new charter in this year of Grace, 1913. Into this new charter -have been written many things that would have been deemed impossible in -the charter of a large American city even a decade ago. Initiative and -referendum, of course--Johnson and his little band of faithful followers -were not satisfied until they had gone to Columbus a few winters ago -and written that into the new constitution of the state of Ohio--a -department of public welfare to regulate everything from the safety and -morals of "three-cent movies" to the larger questions of public health -and even of public employment, the very sensible short ballot, and even -the newest comer in our family of civic reforms--the preferential -ballot, although at the time that this is being written it is being -sharply contested in the high courts at Columbus. Cleveland rejected the -commission form of government. The fact that a good many other -progressive American towns have accepted it, did not, in her mind, -weigh for or against it. She has never been a city of strong -conventions--witness her refusal to regard the five-cent fare as -standard, simply because other towns had it. Neither has tradition been -permitted to warp her course. A few years ago her citizens decided that -her system of street names was not good enough or expansive enough for a -town that was entering the metropolitan class. So she changed most of -her street names--almost in the passing of a night. In most American -towns that would have been out of the question. Folk cling to street -names almost as they cling to family traditions. But Cleveland folk -seemed to realize instantly that the new system of numbered -cross-streets--with the broad diagonal highways named "roads"--after the -fashion of some English cities--was so far the best that she immediately -gave herself to the new scheme with heart and soul, as seems to be her -way. - -To tell of a splendid new charter adopted, of the control gained over -her chief utility and necessity, of the progressive social reforms that -she houses, is not alone to tell of the splendid heart and soul that -beats within the walls and roofs of her houses. It is, quite as much, to -tell of a remarkable cooeperation, remarkable when you consider that -Cleveland has become a city of more than six hundred thousand humans. -That cooeperation may best be illustrated by a single incident: - -A retail dealer in hardware recently opened a fine new store out in -Euclid avenue. He opened it as some small cities might open their new -library or their new city hall--with music and a reception. His friends -sent great bouquets of flowers, the concerns from which he bought his -supplies sent more flowers; but the biggest bunch of flowers came from -the men who were his competitors in the same line of business. That was -Cleveland--Cleveland spirit, Cleveland generosity. Perhaps that is the -secret of Cleveland success. - - * * * * * - -One thing more--the plan for the Cleveland civic center. For the Sixth -City having set her mental house in order is to build for it a physical -house of great utility and of compelling beauty. You may have heard of -the Cleveland civic plan. It is in the possibility that you have not, -that we bring it in for a final word. When Cleveland set out to obtain a -new Federal Post Office and Court House for herself, a few years ago, it -came to her of a sudden that she was singularly lacking in fine public -buildings. It was suggested that she should seek for herself not only a -Federal building but a new Court House and City Hall as well. In the -same breath it was proposed that these be brought into a beautiful and a -practical group. It was an attractive suggestion. In the fertile soil of -Cleveland attractive suggestions take quick root. And so in Cleveland -was born the civic center idea that has spread almost like the -proverbial wildfire all the way across the land. - -To create her civic group she moved in a broad and decisive fashion. She -engaged three of the greatest of American architects--A. W. Brunner, -John M. Carrere, D. H. Burnham--two of them poets and idealists, the -third almost the creator of America's most utilitarian type of -building, the modern skyscraper. To these men she gave a broad and -unlocked path. And they created for her, along a broad Mall stretching -from Superior street to the very edge of that mighty cliff that -overlooks the lake, a plan for the housing of her greatest functions. - -It is not too much that Cleveland should dream of this Mall as an -American Place de la Concorde. It was not too much when the architects -breathed twenty millions of dollars as the possible cost of this civic -dream. Cleveland merely breathed "Go ahead," and the architects have -gone ahead. The Post Office and the new County Building are already -completed and in use, the City Hall should be completed before 1915 -comes to take his place in the history of the world. Other buildings are -to follow, not the least of them a new Union station--although there -will be travelers who will sincerely regret the passing of Cleveland's -stout old stone station, whose high-vaulted train-shed seemed to them in -boyhood days to be the most lofty and wonderful of apartments. The bulk -of this new open square is yet to be cleared of the many buildings that -today occupy it. But that is merely a detail in the development of -Cleveland's greatest architectural ambition. - -The civic group can never be more than the outward expression of the -ambitious spirit of a new giant among the metropolitan cities of -America. As such it can be eminently successful. It can speak for the -city whose civic heart it becomes, proclaiming her not merely great in -dollars or in the swarming throngs of her population, but rather great -in strength of character, in charity, in generosity--in all those -admirable things that go to make a town preeminently good and great. And -in these things your Cleveland man will not proclaim his as the Sixth -City, but rather as in the front rank of all the larger communities of -the United States. - - - - -12 - -CHICAGO--AND THE CHICAGOANS - - -Early in the morning the city by the lake is astir. Before the first -long scouting rays of earliest sunlight are thrusting themselves over -the barren reaches of Michigan--state and lake--Chicago is in action. -The nervous little suburban trains are reaching into her heart from -South, from North and from West. The long trains of elevated cars are -slipping along their alley-routes, skirting behind long rows of the -dirty colorless houses of the most monotonous city on earth, threading -themselves around the loop--receiving passengers, discharging passengers -before dawn has fully come upon the town. The windows of the tedious, -almost endless rows of houses flash into light and life, the trolley -cars in the broad streets come at shorter intervals, in whole companies, -brigades, regiments--a mighty army of trucks and wagons begin to send up -a great wave of noise and of clatter from the shrieking highways and -byways of the city. - - * * * * * - -The traveler coming to the city from the east and by night finds it -indeed a mighty affair. For an hour and a half before his train arrives -at the terminal station, he is making his way through Chicago -environs--coming from dull flat monotonies of sand and brush and pine -into Gary--with its newness and its bigness proclaimed upon its very -face so that even he who flits through at fifty miles an hour may read -both--jolting over main line railroads that cross and recross at every -conceivable angle, snapping up through Hammond and Kensington and Grand -Crossing--to the right and to the left long vistas with the ungainly, -picturesque outlines of steel mills with upturned rows of smoking -stacks, of gas-holders and of packing-houses, the vistas suddenly closed -off by long trails of travel-worn freight-cars, through which the -traveler's train finds its way with a mighty clattering and -reverberating of noisy echoes. This is Chicago--Chicago spreading itself -over miles of absolutely flat shore-land at almost the extreme southern -tip of Lake Michigan--Chicago proudly proclaiming herself as the -business and the transportation metropolis of the land, disdaining such -mere seaport places as New York or Boston or Baltimore or San -Francisco--Chicago with the most wretched approaches on her main lines -of travel of any great city of the world. - -If you come to her on at least one of the great railroads that link her -with the Atlantic seaboard, you will get a glimpse of her one redeeming -natural feature, for five or six miles before your train comes to a -final grinding stop at the main terminal--the blue waters of the lake. -This railroad spun its way many years ago on the very edge of the -lake--much to the present-day grief of the town. It gives no grief to -the incoming traveler--to turn from the sordid streets, the quick -glimpses of rows of pretentious but fearfully dirty and uninteresting -houses--to the great open space to the east of Chicago--nature's -assurance of fresh air and light and health to one of the really vast -cluster-holds of mankind. To him the lake is in relief--even in splendid -contrast to the noise, the dirt, the streets darkened and narrowed by -the over-shouldering constructions of man. From the intricate and the -confusing, to the simplicity of open water--no wonder then that Chicago -has finally come to appreciate her lake, that she seizes upon her -remaining free waterfront like a hungry and ill-fed child, that she -builds great hotels and office-buildings where their windows may -look--not upon the town, stretching itself to the horizon on the -prairie, but upon the lake, with its tranquillity and its beauty, the -infinite majesty of a great, silent open place. - - * * * * * - -In the terminal stations of the city you first begin to divine the real -character of the city. You see it, a great crucible into which the -people of all nations and all the corners of one of the greatest of the -nations are being poured. Pressing her nose against the glass of a -window that looks down into surpassingly busy streets, overshadowed by -the ungainly bulk of an elevated railroad, is the bent figure of a -hatless peasant woman from the south of Europe--seeing her America for -the first time and almost shrinking from the glass in a mixture of fear -and of amazement. Next to her is a sleek, well-groomed man who may be -from the East--from an Atlantic seaport city, but do not be too sure of -that, for he may have his home over on Michigan avenue and think that -"New York is a pretty town but not in it with Chicago." You never can -tell in the most American and most cosmopolitan of American cities. At a -third window is a man who has come from South Dakota. He has a big ranch -up in that wonderful state. You know that because last night he sat -beside you on a bench in the dingy, busy office of the old Palmer House -and told you of Chicago as he saw it. - -"I've a farm up in the South Dakota," he told you, in brief. "This is my -first time East." You started in a bit of surprise at that, for it had -always occurred to you that Chicago was West, that you, born New Yorker, -were reaching into the real West whenever you crossed to the far side of -Main street, in Buffalo. You looked at the ranchman, feeling that he was -joking, and then you took a second look into his tired eyes and knew -that you were talking to no humorist. - -"The first real big town that I ever ran into," he said, in his simple -way, "was Sioux City, and I set up and took a little notice on it. It -seemed mighty big, but that was five years ago, and four years ago I -took my stock down to Cudahy in Omaha--and there _was_ a town. You could -walk half a day in Omaha and never come to cattle country. Just houses -and houses and houses--an' you begin to wonder where they find the folks -to fill them. This year I come here with the beef for the first -time--an' you could put Omaha in this town and never know the -difference." - -After that you confessed, with much pride, that you lived in New York -city, and you began. You knew the number of miles of subway from the -Bronx over to Brooklyn, and the number of stories in the Woolworth -building, all those things, and when you caught your breath, the -stockman asked you if Tom Sharkey really had a saloon in your town, and -was Steve Brodie still alive, and did New York folks like to go down to -the Statue of Liberty on pleasant Sunday afternoons. You answered those -questions, and then you told the stockman more--of London, made of -dozens of Omahas, where the United States was but a pleasant and withal -a somewhat uncertain dream, of Paris the beautiful, and of Berlin the -awfully clean. When you were done, you went with the stockman to eat in -a basement--that is the Chicago idea of distinction in restaurants--and -he took you to a lively show afterwards. - -Now you never would have wandered into a Broadway hotel lobby and made -the acquaintance of a perfect stranger, dined with him and spent the -evening with him--no, not even if you were a Chicagoan and fearfully -lonely in New York. It is the Chicago that gets into a New Yorker's -veins when he comes within her expanded limits, it is the unseen aura -of the West that creeps as far east as the south tip of Lake Michigan. -It made you acknowledge with hearty appreciation the "good mornings" of -each man as he filed into the wash-room of the sleeping car in the early -morning. You never say "good morning" to strangers in the sleeping cars -going from New York over to Boston. For that is the East and that is -different. - - * * * * * - -A Chicago man sits back in the regal comfort of a leather-padded office -chair and tells you between hurried bites of the lunch that has been -placed upon his desk, of the real town that is sprawled along the Lake -Michigan shore. - -"Don't know as you particularly care for horse-food," he apologizes, -between mouthfuls, "but that's the cult in this neck-o'-woods nowadays." - -"The cult?" you inquire, as he plunges more deeply in his bran-mash. - -"Precisely," he nods. "We're living in cults out here now. We've got -Boston beaten to culture." - -He shoves back the remnant of his "health food" luncheon with an -expression that surely says that he wishes it was steak, smothered with -onions and flanked by an ample-girthed staff of vegetables, and faces -you--you New Yorker--with determination to set your path straight. - -"Along in the prehistoric ages--which in Chicago means about the time of -the World's Fair--we were trying to live up to anything and everything, -but particularly the ambition to be the overwhelmingest biggest town in -creation, and to make your old New York look like an annexed seaport. We -had no cults, no woman's societies, nothing except a lot of men making -money hand over fist, killing hogs, and building cars and selling stuff -at retail by catalogues. We were not aesthetic and we didn't -particularly care. We liked plain shows as long as the girls in them -weren't plain, and we had a motto that a big lady carried around on a -shield. The motto was 'I will,' and translated it meant to the bottom of -the sea with New York or St. Louis or any other upstart town that tried -to live on the same side of the earth as Chicago. We were going to have -two million population inside of two years and--" - -He dives again into his cultish lunch and after a moment resumes: - -"The big lady has lost her job and we've thrown the shield--motto and -all--into the lake. We're trying to forget the motto and that's why -we've got the cult habit. We're class and we're close on the heels of -you New Yorkers--only last winter they began to pass the French pastry -around on a tray at my club. We learn quickly and then go you one -better. We've finally given Jane Addams the recognition and the support -that she should have had a dozen years ago. We're strong and we're -sincere for culture--the university to the south of us has had some -funny cracks but that is all history. Together with the one to the north -of us, they are finally institutions--and Chicago respects them as such. - -"Take opera. We used to think it was a fad to hear good music, and only -the society folks went to hear it--so that the opera fairly starved to -death when it came out here. Now they are falling over one another to -get into the Auditorium, and our opera company is not only an -institution but you New Yorkers would give your very hearts to have it -in your own big opera house." - -"You'll build an opera house out here then," you venture, "the -biggest--" - -He interrupts. - -"Not necessarily the biggest," he corrects, "but as fine as the very -best." - -The talk changes. You are frankly interested in the cults. You have -heard of how one is working in the public schools, how the school -children of Chicago work in classrooms with the windows wide open, and -you ask him about it. - -"It must be fine for the children?" you finally venture. - -"It is," he says. "My daughter teaches in a school down Englewood way, -and she says that it is fine for the children--but hell on the teachers. -They weren't trained to it in the beginning." - -You are beginning to understand Chicago. A half an hour ago you could -not have understood how a man like this--head of a giant corporation -employing half a hundred thousand workmen, a man with three or four big -houses, a stable full of automobiles, a man of vast resources and -influences--would have his daughter teaching in a public school. You are -beginning to understand the man--the man who is typical of Chicago. You -come to know him the more clearly as he tells you of the city that he -really loves. He tells you how Sorolla "caught on" over at the -Institute--although more recently the Cubists rather dimmed the -brilliance of the Spaniard's reception--and how the people who go to the -Chicago libraries are reading less fiction and more solid literature all -the while. Then--of a sudden, for he realizes that he must be back again -into the grind and the routine of his work--he turns to you and says: - -"And yesterday we had the big girl and the motto. It was hardly more -than yesterday that we thought that population counted, that acreage was -a factor in the consummation of a great city." - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Michigan Avenue and the wonderful lakefront--Chicago] - -So you see that Chicago is only America, not boastful, not arrogant, but -strong in her convictions, strong in her sincerity, strong in her poise -between right and power together, and not merely power without right. -A city set in the heart of America must certainly take strong American -tone, no matter how many foreigners New York's great gateway may pour -into her ample lap in the course of a single twelvemonth. Chicago has -taken that dominating tone upon herself. - -She is a great city. Her policemen wear star-shaped badges after the -fashion of country constables in rural drama, and her citizens call the -trolleys that run after midnight "owl cars," but she is a great city -none the less for these things. Her small shops along Michigan avenue -have the smartness of Paris or of Vienna, the greatest of her department -stores is one of the greatest department stores in all the land, which -means in the whole world. It is softly carpeted, floor upon floor, and -the best of Chicago delights to lunch upon one of its upper floors. -Chicago likes to go high for its meals or else, as we have already -intimated, down into basements. The reason for this last may be that one -of the world's greatest _restauranteurs_, who had his start in the city -by Lake Michigan, has always had his place below sidewalk level on a -busy corner of the city. - -The city is fearfully busy at all of its downtown corners. New Yorkers -shudder at Thirty-fourth street and Broadway. Inside the Chicago loop -are several dozen Thirty-fourth streets and Broadways. There you have -it--the Chicago loop, designed to afford magnificent relief to the town -and in effect having tightly drawn a belt about its waist. The loop is a -belt-line terminal, slightly less than a mile in diameter, designed to -serve the elevated railroads that stretch their caterpillar-like -structures over three directions of the widespread town. Within it are -the theaters, the hotels, the department stores, the retail district, -and the wholesale and the railroad terminals. Just without it is an arid -belt and then somewhere to the north, the west and the south, the great -residential districts. So it is a mistake. For, with the exception of a -little way along Michigan avenue to the south, the loop has acted -against the growth of the city, has kept it tightly girdled within -itself. - -"Within the loop," is a meaningful phrase in Chicago. It means -congestion in every form and the very worst forms to the fore. It means -that what was originally intended to be an adequate terminal to the -various elevated railroads has become a transportation abomination and a -matter of local contempt. For you cannot exaggerate the condition that -it has created. It is fearful on ordinary days, and when you come to -extraordinary days, like the memorable summer when the Knights Templar -held their triennial conclave there, the newspapers print "boxed" -summaries of the persons killed and injured by congestion conditions -"within the loop." That takes it out of being a mere laughing matter. - -It is no laughing matter to folks who have to thread it. Trolley cars, -automobiles, taxicabs, the long lumbering 'buses that remind one of the -photographs of Broadway, New York, a quarter of a century ago or more, -entangle themselves with one another and with unfortunate pedestrians -and still no one comes forward with practical relief. The 'buses are -peculiarly Chicago institutions. For long years they have been taking -passengers from one railroad station to another. A considerable part of -Western America has been ferried across the city by Lake Michigan, in -these institutions. For Chicago, with the wisdom of nearly seventy-five -years of growth, has steadily refused to accept the union station idea. -St. Louis has a union station--and bitterly regrets it. Modern big towns -are scorning the idea of a union station; in fact, Buffalo has just -rejected the scheme for herself. For a union station, no matter how big -or how pretentious it may be architecturally, will reduce a city to -way-station dimensions. St. Louis is a big town, a town with -personality, the great trunk lines of east and south and west have -terminals there; but the many thousands of travelers who pass through -there in the course of a twelvemonth, see nothing of her. They file from -one train into the waiting-room of her glorious station--one of the few -really great railroad stations of the world--and in a little while take -an outbound train--without ever having stepped out into the streets of -the town. - -In Chicago--as it is almost a form of _lese majeste_ to discuss St. -Louis in a chapter devoted to Chicago we herewith submit our full -apologies--four-fifths of the through passengers have to be carried in -the omnibuses from one of the big railroad stations to another. They -know that in advance, and they generally arrange to stop over there for -at least a night. This means business for the hotels, large and small. -It also means business for the retail stores and the theaters. And it is -one of the ways that Chicago preserves her metropolitanism. - -And yet with all of that metropolitanism--there is a spirit in Chicago -that distinctly breathes the smaller town, a spirit that might seem -foreign to the most important city that we have between the two oceans. -It is the spirit of Madison, or Ottumwa, or Jackson, perhaps a little -flavor still surviving of the not long-distant days when Chicago was -merely a town. You may or you may not know that in the days before her -terrific fire she was called "the Garden City." The catalpa trees that -shaded her chief business streets had a wide fame, and older prints show -the Cook County Court House standing in lawn-plats. In those days -Chicago folk knew one another and, to a decent extent, one another's -business. In these days, much of that town feeling remains. You sit in -the great tomb-like halls of the Union League, or in the more modern -University Club, perhaps up in that wonderful bungalow which the -Cliff-dwellers have erected upon the roof of Orchestra Hall, and you -hear all of the small talk of the town. Smith has finally got that -franchise, although he will pay mighty well for it; Jones is going to -put another fourteen-story addition on his store. Wilkins has bought a -yacht that is going to clean up everything on the lake, and then head -straight for laurels on the Atlantic seaboard. You would have the same -thing in a smaller western town, expressed in proportionate dimensions. -After all, the circle of men who accomplish the real things in the real -Chicago is wonderfully small. But the things that they accomplish are -very large, indeed. - -They will take you out to see some of these big things--that department -store, without an equal outside of New York or Philadelphia at least, -and where Chicago dearly loves to lunch; a mail-order house which -actually boasts that six acres of forest timber are cleared each day to -furnish the paper for its catalogue, of which a mere six million copies -are issued annually; they will point out in the distance the stacks and -smoke clouds of South Chicago and will tell you in tens of thousands of -dollars, the details of the steel industry; take you, of course, to the -stock-yards and there tell you of the horrible slaughter that goes -forward there at all hours of the day and far into the night. Perhaps -they will show you some of the Chicago things that are great in another -sense--Hull House and the McCormick Open Air School, for instance. And -they will be sure to show you the park system. - -A good many folk, Eastern and Western, do not give Chicago credit for -the remarkable park system that she has builded up within recent years. -These larger parks, with their connecting boulevards, make an entire -circuit around the back of the town, and the city is making a distinct -effort to wrest the control of the water-front from the railroad that -has skirted it for many years, so that she may make all this park land, -too--in connection with her ambitious city plan. She has accomplished a -distinct start already in the water-front plan along her retail shop and -hotel district--from Twelfth street north to the river. The railroad -tracks formerly ran along the edge of the lake all that distance. Now -they are almost a third of a mile inland; the city has reclaimed some -hundreds of acres from the more shallow part of Lake Michigan and has in -Grant Park a pleasure-ground quite as centrally located as Boston's -famous Common. It is still far from complete. While the broad strip -between Michigan avenue and the depressed railroad tracks is wonderfully -trim and green, and the Art Institute standing within it so grimy that -one might easily mistake it for old age, the "made ground" to the east -of the tracks is still barren. But Chicago is making good use of it. The -boys and young men come out of the office-buildings in the noon recess -to play baseball there, the police drill and parade upon it to their -heart's content, it is gaining fame as a site for military encampments -and aviation meets. - -Chicago makes good use of all her parks. You look a long way within them -before you find the "Keep off the Grass" signs. And on Saturday -afternoons in midsummer you will find the park lawns thronged with -picnic parties--hundreds and even thousands of them--bringing their -lunches out from the tighter sections of the town and eating them in -shade and comfort and the cooling breezes off Lake Michigan. For Chicago -regards the lake as hardly more than an annex to her park system, even -today when the question of lake-front rights is not entirely settled -with the railroad. On pleasant summer days, her residents go bathing in -the lake by the thousands, and if they live within half a dozen blocks -of the shore they will go and come in their bathing suits, with perhaps -a light coat or bath-robe thrown over them. A man from New York might be -shocked to see a Chicago man in a bathing suit riding a motorcycle down -an important residence street--without the semblance of coat or robe; -but that is Chicago, and Chicago seems to think nothing of it. She -wonders if a man from Boston might not be embarrassed to see a coatless, -vestless, collarless, suspendered man driving a four-thousand-dollar -electric car through Michigan avenue. - -Chicago is fast changing, however, in these respects. She is growing -more truly metropolitan each twelvemonth--less like an overgrown country -town. It was only a moment ago that we sat in the office of the -manufacturer, and he told us of the Chicago of yesterday, of the big -girl who had "I will" emblazoned upon her shield. There is a Chicago of -tomorrow, and a hint of its glory has been spread upon the walls of a -single great gallery of the Art Institute, in the concrete form of -splendid plans and perspectives. The Chicago of tomorrow is to be -different; it is to forget the disadvantages of a lack of contour and -reap those of a magnificent shore front. In the Chicago of tomorrow the -railroads will not hold mile after mile of lake-edge for themselves, the -elevated trains will cease to have a merry-go-round on the loop, the -arid belt between downtown and uptown will have disappeared, great -railroad terminal stations and public buildings built in architectural -plan and relation to one another are to arise, her splendid park and -boulevard system is to be vastly multiplied. - -Chicago looks hungrily forward to her tomorrow. She is never discouraged -with her today, but with true American spirit, she anticipates the -future. The present generation cares little for itself, it can tolerate -the loop and its abominations, the _hodge-podge_ of the queer and the -_nouveau_ that distinguishes the city by the lake in this present year -of grace. But the oncoming generations! There is the rub. The oncoming -generations are to have all that the wisdom and the wealth of today can -possibly dedicate to them. There, then, is your Chicago spirit, the -dominating inspiration that rises above the housetops of rows of -monotonous, dun-colored houses and surveys the sprawling, disorderly -town, and proclaims it triumphant over its outer self. - - - - -13 - -THE TWIN CITIES - - -A fine yellow train takes you from Chicago to St. Paul and Minneapolis, -in the passing of a single night. And if you ever meet in the course of -your travel the typical globe-trotter who is inclined to carp at -American railroads, refer him to these yellow trains that run from -Chicago up into the Northwest. There are no finer steam caravans in all -the entire world. And when the globe-trotter comes back at you with his -telling final shot about the abominable open sleepers of America--and -you in your heart of hearts must think them abominable--tell him in -detail of the yellow trains. For a price not greater than he would pay -for a room in a first-class hotel over-night, he can have a real room in -the yellow trains. Like the compartments in the night-trains of Europe? -No, not at all. These are real rooms--a whole car filled with them and -they are the final and unanswerable argument for the comfort and luxury -of the yellow trains. - -In such a stateroom and over smooth rails you sleep--sleep as a child -sleeps until Lemuel, the porter, comes and tears you forth by -entreaties, persuading you that you are almost upon the brink of--not -St. Peter but of St. Paul. Of course, Lemuel has let his enthusiasm -carry away his accuracy--even a porter upon a yellow train is apt to do -that--but you have full chance to arise and dress leisurely before your -train stops in the ancient ark of a Union station[E] upon the river -level at the capital of the state of Minnesota. For at St. Paul you -have come to the Mississippi--the Father of Waters of legendary lore. If -you have only seen the stream at St. Louis or at New Orleans, polluted -by the muddy waters of the Missouri or the Ohio or a dozen sluggish -southern streams, you will not recognize the clear northern river -flowing turbulently through a high-walled gorge, as the Mississippi. -There are a few of the flat-bottomed, gaily caparisoned steamboats at -the St. Paul to heighten the resemblance between the lower river and the -upper, but that is all. - - [E] Since the above was written word has come of the - destruction of the Union station by fire, an event which - will not be regretted by travelers or by residents of the - place. E. H. - -St. Paul owes her birth to the river-trade nevertheless. For she was, -and still is, at the real head of navigation on the Mississippi and in -other days that meant very much indeed. A few miles above her levee were -the falls of St. Anthony and a thriving little town called -Minneapolis--of which very much more in a moment. From that levee at St. -Paul began the first railroad building into the then unknown country of -the Northwest. The first locomotive--the _William Crooks_--which ran -into the virgin territory is still carefully preserved. And the man who -made railroading from St. Paul into a great trunk line system still -lives in the town. - -He began by being assistant wharfmaster--in the days when there was -something to do in such a job. Today they know him as the Empire -Builder. The Swedes, who form so important a factor in the population of -the Twin Cities, call him "Yem Hill" and he loves it. But he is entered -in all records as James J. Hill. - -To tell the story of the growth of Jim Hill from wharfmaster to master -of the railroads, would be to tell the story of one of the two or three -really great men who are living in America today. It is a story closely -interwoven with the story of St. Paul, the struggling town to which he -came while yet a mere boy. He has lived to see St. Paul become an -important city, the rival village at the falls of St. Anthony even -exceed her in size and in commercial importance, but his affection for -the old river town to which he has given so much of his life and -abundant personality has not dimmed. He has made it the gateway of his -Northwest and when one says "Hill's Northwest" he says it advisedly; for -while there might have been a Northwest without Jim Hill, there would -have been no Jim Hill without the Northwest. - -He found it a raw and little known land over which stretched a single -water-logged railroad fighting adversity, and in momentary danger of -extinction through receivership; a trunk-line railroad at that time -distinguished more for its arrogance than for any other one feature of -its being. Somewhere in the late eighties J. J. Hill took a trip over -that railroad. He saw Seattle for the first time and found it a mere -lumber-shipping town of but a few thousand population and with but -little apparent future. He saw great stretches of open country--whole -counties the size of the majestic states of New York and of Pennsylvania -and still all but unknown. He also saw unbridled streams, high-seated -mountain ranges and because J. J. Hill was a dreamer he saw promise in -these things. - -From that trip he returned to the budding city of St. Paul, enthused -beyond ordinary measure, and determined that in the coming development -of the half-dozen territories at the northwestern corner of the country -he would share no ordinary part. He turned his back on the navigation of -the Mississippi--already beginning to wane--and gave his attention to -railroading. Purchasing an inconsequential lumber railroad in Minnesota, -he laid the foundations for his Great Northern system. There was a -something about Jim Hill in those earlier days by which he could give -his enthusiasm and his lofty inspiration to those with whom he came in -contact. That rare faculty was his salvation. Men listened to the -confident talker from St. Paul and then placed their modest savings at -his disposal. They have not regretted their steps. The Great Northern, -through Hill's careful leadership has, despite much of the sparse -territory through which it passes, become one of the great conservative -railroad properties of the United States. - -But Hill did more. He took that earlier system--the Northern Pacific, so -closely allied to his territory--and made it hardly second in efficiency -to the Great Northern itself. Both of these great railroads of the -Northwest have never reached farther east than St. Paul, which Hill, -with that fine sentiment which is so important a part of his nature, has -been pleased to maintain as the gateway city of his own part of the -land. But, while he has been a most helpful citizen of St. Paul, he has -not hesitated to dominate her. A few years ago when the Metropolitan -company presenting grand opera came to St. Paul, it was Hill who headed -the subscription list for a guarantee--headed it with a good round -figure. Three days before the opening night of the opera he walked into -the passenger office of the linking railroad that he owned between the -Twin Cities and Chicago. The singers were scheduled to come from -Chicago. - -"Are you going to bring the troupe up in extra cars or in a special -train?" he demanded, in his peremptory fashion. - -There was confusion in that office, and finally it was explained to him -that a rival line, the M----, had been given the haul of the special -train, as a return courtesy for having placed its advertisement on the -rear cover of the opera programmes. Hill's muscles tightened. - -"If the troupe doesn't come up over our road," he said, "I will withdraw -the opera subscription." - -The M---- road lost the movement of that opera company. - - * * * * * - -Hill is an advertiser, a patient, persistent and entirely consistent -user of public print in every form. Of the really big men of the land he -is perhaps the most accessible. His door swings quickly open to any -resident of the Northwest. He is in demand at public dinners in the East -and at every conceivable function in his own territory. And yet those -folk of his own town who come to know Mr. Hill intimately know him -rather as a great publicist, no poor musician, a painter of real -ability, and a kind-hearted neighbor. His house in Summit avenue -contains one of the finest art galleries west of Chicago. In this rare -taste for good art he is not unlike the late Collis P. Huntington, or -Sir William C. Van Horne, the dominating force of the Canadian Pacific. - -Hill has a real faculty not only for judging, but for executing oil -paintings. It is related on good authority that, having been a member of -a committee to purchase a portrait of a distinguished western -railroader, he found the picture as it hung in the artist's studio in -Chicago far from his liking. - -"He's missed W----'s expression entirely," said the Empire Builder. And -so saying he grasped a palette that was resting on a table, dove his -brush into the soft paints, and before the astonished artist could -recover enough self-possession to protest, Hill was deftly at work upon -the canvas. In five minutes he had convinced the little committee of -which he was chairman, that the expression of the portrait had been -lacking, for it was Hill who made that portrait so speaking a likeness -that the artist received warm and undue praise for the fidelity of his -work. - - * * * * * - -There is in St. Paul--a city of wealthy men--a man who is even -wealthier than J. J. Hill. His name is Frederick Weyerheuser, and -newspapers have a habit of speaking of him as the Lumber King. Mr. -Weyerheuser does not court publicity, he shrinks from invitations to -speak at public dinners. He has a press agent whose chief work it was -for many years to keep his chief out of the columns of the newspapers. -It is only within a comparatively short time that Weyerheuser consented -to give his first interview to the press. - -He is quite typical of the conservatism of St. Paul. Minneapolis snaps -its fingers at conservatism, social and business, and signs of progress. -But Minneapolis mortgages her downtown business property. St. Paul does -not. The two towns are as different as if they were a thousand instead -of but ten miles apart. And St. Paul believes that Minneapolis may do as -she pleases. St. Paul has a reputation to preserve. She is the capital -of the state of Minnesota and as capital her pride and her dignity are -not slight. - -Perhaps it was that pride that made her set forth to build a capitol -that should stand through the long years as the Bulfinch State House in -Boston has stood through the long years--a monument to good taste, -restraint, real beauty in architecture. She summoned one of her native -sons to do the work. He was unhampered in its details. And when he was -done and had placed it upon a sightly knoll he must have been proud of -his handiwork. In years to come the Capitol of Minnesota may become -quite as famous as the capitols of older states, and the name of Cass -Gilbert, its architect, may be placed alongside of that of Bulfinch. - -St. Paul is hardly less proud of her Auditorium. It is really a -remarkable building and perhaps the first theater in the land to be -operated by a municipality, although we have a distinct feeling that the -small city of Northampton, Mass., has also accomplished something of -the sort. But the St. Paul Auditorium is hardly to be placed in the same -class as any mere theater. It is a huge building although so cunningly -constructed that within ten hours it can be changed from a compact -theater into a great hall with some 10,000 seats. And this change can be -effected, if necessary, without the slightest disturbance to the -audience. - -To this great hall come grand opera, well-famed orators, conventions of -state and national bodies, drama, concerts of every sort in great -frequency and variety. Perhaps no entertainment that it houses, however, -has keener interest for the entire city than the free concerts that are -given each winter. Last year there were five of these concerts, and it -was soon found that the small-sized auditorium with its three thousand -seats was too small. It became necessary to utilize the entire capacity -of the structure. The concerts were immensely popular from the -beginning. - -They were but typical of the high public spirit of the capital city of -Minnesota, a spirit which showed itself in the early adoption of the -commission form of city government, in the establishment of playgrounds -and modern markets, in the buildings of the great public baths on -Harriet island, in the development of a half hundred active and -progressive forms of modern civic endeavor. St. Paul, with all her rare -flavor of history and her great conservatism can well be reckoned in the -list of the modern cities that form the gateways of what was once called -the West and is today rapidly becoming an integral part of the nation. - - * * * * * - -The first time that we ever came into Minneapolis was at dusk of a July -night two years ago. That is, it might have been dusk in theory. For -while the clocks of the town spelled "eight," the northern day hung -wonderfully clear and wonderfully sharp--a twilight that was hardly -done until well towards ten of the evening. We came out of the somewhat -barn-like Union station, found an unpretentious cab and drove up -Nicollet avenue toward our hotel. - -The initial impression that a city makes upon one is not easily -forgotten. And the first impression that Nicollet avenue makes upon a -first-comer to Minneapolis cannot easily be erased. It is with pleasure -that a stranger notes that it has not been invaded by street railroad -tracks. The chief shopping and show-street of the largest city of -Minnesota thereby conveys a sense of breadth and roominess that the -chief streets of some other fairly important American towns lack -utterly. And we distinctly recall that upon that July night the cluster -lights up and down Nicollet avenue each bore a great flower-box, warm -and summerlike with the brightness of geraniums. In the windows of the -large stores that lined the avenue were more window-boxes, up to their -seventh and eighth floors. The entire effect was distinct and different -from that of any other town that we have ever seen. It seemed as if -Minneapolis at first sight typified the new America. - -Nor was that impression lessened when a little later we drove out in the -softness of the summer night to see the residence streets of the -city--quiet, shady streets that seem to have been stolen from older -eastern towns; drove into the parks, caught here and there the strains -of bands, saw the canoes darting here and there and everywhere upon the -surface of the park lakes. In other cities they have to build waterways -within their parks and boast to you of the way in which they have done -it. In Minneapolis they can have no such boast. For they have builded -their parks around their lakes, and a man can have a sheet of water -instead of greensward at the door of his home if he so choose. Where a -modern canoe shoots across the waters of Lakes Calhoun or Harriet, the -Indian once shot his birch-bark creation. There are some two hundred -lakes in Hennepin county. But the lake of all lakes--the joy of the -residents of the Twin Cities for a day's outing, Minnetonka--was the -favored gathering spot for the council fires of the Indian tribes for -many miles around. Do not forget that the Falls of St. Anthony were the -making of Minneapolis--and you can go by trolley within the half-hour -from the center of the city to the gentler Falls of Minnehaha and there -recount once again the immortal romance of Hiawatha. - -Minneapolis has all but forgotten the Falls of St. Anthony--despite the -fact that they were the very cause of her existence. They are hemmed in -by great flouring-mills, great dusty, unceasing engines of industry with -a capacity of some eighty thousand barrels a day, and even if you steal -your way to them across one of the roadway bridges over the turbulent -Mississippi you will find them lost beneath the artificial works that -turn their energy to the aid of man. The roar of the great Falls of St. -Anthony are the roar of the flouring-mills, their energy, the -bread-stuff of the nation. - -[Illustration: St. Paul is still a river town] - -Minneapolis does not affect to forget entirely her mother river. For a -long time it irritated her that St. Paul should be regarded as the head -of navigation upon the Mississippi, and within the past twenty years she -has put the Federal government to much trouble and incidentally the -expenditure of something over a million dollars, to make herself a -maritime city. A ship-channel has been dredged, locks put in, draws cut -in the railroad bridges but all apparently without a very definite -purpose in mind--save possible holding her own in the expenditure of the -annual rivers and harbors appropriation. For one can hardly imagine -water commerce coming in great volume to the docks of Minneapolis, the -one exclusive glory of St. Paul--passed long ago by her greatest -rival in the commercial race of the Northwest--stolen from the older -town. But one could hardly have driven out from the brisk little city of -St. Paul forty years ago to the straggling mill village at the Falls of -St. Anthony and imagined that in the second decade of the twentieth -century it would have become a city of more than three hundred thousand -souls. The men who are today active in the affairs of the city have seen -her grow from a straggling town into a city of almost first rank. - -Here was one of them who sat the other day in the well-ordered elegance -of the Minneapolis Club--a structure instantly comparable with the -finest club-houses of New York or Boston or Philadelphia--who admitted -that he had seen the town grow from eight thousand to over three hundred -thousand population, the receipts of his own fine business increase from -eighty-eight to twenty-two thousand dollars a day. But he was a modest -man, far more modest than many of these western captains of industry, -and he quickly turned the talk from himself and to the commercial -importance of the town with which he was pressing forward. Still he -delighted in statistics and the fact that Minneapolis "was doing a -wholesale business of $300,000,000 a year" seemed to give him an immense -and personal pride. - -But do not believe that Minneapolis is all commercial--and nothing else. -A quick ride through those shaded streets and lake-filled parks will -convince you that she is a home-city; a cursory glance of the University -of Minnesota, so cleverly located that she may share it with her rival -twin, together with an inspection of her schools, large and small, would -make you believe that she is a city that prides herself upon being well -educated. The dominant strain of Norse blood that the Swedish immigrants -have been bringing her for more than half a century is a strain that -calls for education--and makes the call in no uncertain fashion. And -when you come to delve into the details of her living you will make sure -that she is a well-governed city. She has not gone deeply into what she -calls "the fads of municipal government" but she is a town which offers -security and comfort, as well as pretty broad measure of opportunity, to -her residents. And in no better way can you gauge the sensible way in -which she takes care of her residents than in the one item of the street -railroad system. It has never been necessary for either St. Paul or -Minneapolis to assume control, actual or subtle, over the street -railroad property which they share. And yet each has a street railroad -service far superior to that of most American towns--with the possible -exception of Washington. The traction company seems to have assimilated -much of the breadth of spirit that dominates the Twin Cities of the -Northwest. - -Nor can you assume that Minneapolis is content to be merely commercially -alive, well educated or efficiently governed. Down on one of the quiet -business streets of the city is a printing-shop, so unique and so very -distinctive that it deserves a paragraph here and now. In that printing -shop is published a trade paper of the milling industry which has to -make no apologies for its existence, and a weekly newspaper called the -_Bellman_. Some one is yet to write an appreciation of the new weekly -press of America, the weekly press outside of New York, if you please, -such publications as the _Argonaut_ of San Francisco; the _Mirror_ of -St. Louis, the _Dial_ of Chicago and the _Minneapolis Bellman_. The part -that these papers are playing in the making of a broad and cultured -America will perhaps never be known; but that it is a large part no one -who reads them faithfully will ever doubt. The _Bellman_ holds its own -among this distinguished coterie. Its house is a fit temple for its -soul, and you may gain a little insight into that soul when you are -bidden to join its staff at one of its Thursday luncheons at the -dining-board of the printing-house--a fashion quickly and easily brought -from _London Punch_ halfway across the continent and into Minneapolis. - -No American of taste or appreciation would ever go to Minneapolis and -miss one wonderful shop there--no huge box-like structure rearing itself -from sidewalk edge and vulgarly proclaiming its wares through the -brilliancy of immaculate windows of plate-glass, but a shadowy -structure, set in a lawn and giving faint but unmistakable hints of the -real treasures that it holds. For it is a rare shop, indeed, and a -revelation to folk from the seaboard who may imagine that the interior -of the land is an intellectual desolation. - -It may have been one of these who dined a little time ago at a house in -one of these shaded streets of Minneapolis. After dinner the talk -drifted without apparent reason to painting, and the man from the -seaboard found his host in sharp touch with many of the new pictures. -Definitely the talk turned to Walter Graves, London's newest sensation -among the portrait painters, and the possibilities of his succeeding -Whistler. - -The Minneapolis man beckoned the guest into the hall, and pointed -silently to a picture hung there. It was a splendid portrait of -Whistler,[F] painted by Walter Graves. - -"I never expected to find a picture like that--out here," frankly -stammered the man from the seaboard. - -"You will find many things here that you do not expect," was all that -the man from Minneapolis said. - - [F] Since writing the above we have been led to believe, by - a gentleman from Rochester that a picture of Whistler by - Graves is no great prize. He says that he can buy them by - the dozen at a certain London shop. Because we claim no wit - as an art critic we take no sides in this matter. The facts - are here. You may choose for yourself. E. H. - - * * * * * - -If a town that is scarce forty years old can accomplish these things, -how long will it be before the older cities of the land will have to -look sharply as to their laurels? The new cities of America are to be a -force in her intellectual progress not to be under-estimated or -despised. - - - - -14 - -THE GATEWAY OF THE SOUTHWEST - - -There are three great cities, or rather three groups of great cities, -along the course of the Mississippi. To the north are St. Paul and -Minneapolis, while far to the south is New Orleans, to which we will -come in the due order of things. Between these St. Louis stands, close -to the business center of the land. For nearly twenty miles she sprawls -herself along the west bank of the Mississippi. Throughout her central -portion she extends for a dozen miles straight back from her once busy -levee. She is a great city, a very great city, in wealth, in industry, -in resource. And yet she is a rather unimpressive city to the eye, at -first sight and at last. - -It takes even a seasoned traveler some time to get used to that. If he -dreams of St. Louis as a French city and preserving something of the -French atmosphere, as do New Orleans and Quebec, he is doomed to utter -disappointment. Save for a few tatterdemalion cottages down in -Carondolet, at the south tip of the town, there is no trace of the -builders of the city to which they gave the name of one of their kings. -And if he has heard of the great German population and dreams of great -summer-gardens, of winter-gardens, too, with huge bands and huge steins, -he is doomed to no less disappointment. For that sort of thing you go to -Milwaukee. St. Louis has as many Germans as that brisk Wisconsin city, -and the largest brewery in the world, but she has never specialized in -beer-gardens. She is old and yet you could hardly call her quaint. -There are rows of small houses in her older streets, their green blinds -tightly closed as if seemingly to escape the almost endless bath of soot -and cinders that falls upon them, and the flat-bottomed steamboats still -are fastened at the wharf-boats along the levee. But these make a -pitiful showing nowadays when your mind compares them with the tales of -ante-bellum days when there were so many of them that they could only -put the noses of their bows against the levees. But tradition still -rules the hearts of the rivermen, and the Mississippi steamboat has lost -none of those fantastics of naval architecture that has endeared it to -every writer from Mark Twain down to the present day. - -The streets aroundabout the levee are mean and dirty, and nowadays as -silent as the Sabbath. Those convivial resorts, the Widow's Vow and the -Boatman's Thirst have long since ceased to exist. As this is being -written the Southern Hotel has closed its doors. Cobwebs are growing -through its wonderful office, and the glorious marble stair up which a -regiment might have marched is silent, save for the occasional halting -steps of a watchman. The old Planters'--than which there was no more -famous hostelry in the Mississippi valley, unless we choose to except -the St. Charles down at New Orleans--is long since gone, torn away -twenty years ago to make room for a new Planters', which has already -begun to get grimy and aged. The Lindell went its way a dozen years ago. -The St. Louis of the riverman is dead. They are tearing away the old -warehouses from the levees, and no one looks at the Mississippi any more -save when it gets upon one of its annual rampages and makes itself a -yellow sea. - -[Illustration: The entrance to the University--St. Louis] - -But do not for an instant think that St. Louis herself is dead. There -are other hotels, and far finer than those of the war-times and the -river-trade. And you have only to walk a few squares back from the levee -to find industry flourishing once again, solid squares of solid -buildings, grimy, commercial, uncompromising, but each representing -commerce. St. Louis is still the very center of the world to the great -Southwest and to her it pays its tribute, in demands for merchandise of -every sort. That is why she builds shoe-stores and dry-goods stores and -wholesale stores of almost every other conceivable sort, and builds them -for eight or ten or twelve stories in height, closely huddled together, -even through unimportant side streets. That is her reason for existence -today--when the river-trade, her first reason for growth and expansion, -is dead. But the railroad is a living, vital force, when the rivers are -frozen and dead, and railroads slip out from St. Louis in every possible -direction. Their rails are glistening from traffic, and there at the -city from whence they radiate Commerce sits enthroned. - -For you must look upon St. Louis, yesterday and today, as essentially a -commercial city. She is not a cultured city, although she has an -excellent press, including a weekly newspaper of more than ordinary -distinction. Still you will find few real bookshops in all her many -miles of streets, she has never leaned to fads or cults of any sort; but -she measures the percentage which a business dollar will earn with a -delightful accuracy. She is a commercial city. That is why she is to the -casual traveler an unimpressive city, although we think that her lack of -a dignified main street in her business section is responsible for much -of this impression. In other years Broadway--Fifth street upon her city -plan and a fearfully long thoroughfare running parallel to the -river--ranked almost as a main street and had some dignity, if little -beauty. But today St. Louis, like so many other of our American towns, -is restless and she has slipped back and away from Broadway, leaving -that thoroughfare somewhat forlorn and deserted and herself without a -single great business thoroughfare--such as Market street, San Francisco -or State street, Chicago. Her downtown streets are narrow and as much -alike as peas in a pod. - -And yet even a casual traveler can find much to interest him in St. -Louis. Let him start his inspection of the levee, let romance and -sentiment and memory work within his mind. Let his fancy see the -riverboats and then he, himself, inspect one of them. Here is one of -them, gay in her ginger-bready architecture. Her stacks rise high above -her "Texas" but they are placed ahead of her wheel-house, a fancy -peculiar to the old naval architects along the Mississippi. She is -driven by sidewheels and if our casual traveler goes upon her he will -find that each sidewheel is driven by a separate engine, a marvelous -affair painted in reds and blues and yellows. With one engine going -ahead and the other reversed a really capable Mississippi pilot--and who -shall doubt that a Mississippi river pilot, even in these decadent days, -is ever anything less than capable--could send the boat spinning like a -top upon the yellow stream. That pretty trick would hardly be possible -with one of the flat-bottomed stern wheel boats, and there still are -hundreds of these upon the Father of Waters and his tributaries, moving -slowly and serenely up and down and all with a mighty splashing of dirty -water. - -If you are a casual traveler and upon your first visit to the -Mississippi valley, you will make a mental reservation to ride upon one -of the old boats before you leave St. Louis. They may not be there so -very many more years. The steel barges have begun to show themselves, -and commerce is looking inquiringly at the idle stream to see if it -cannot be brought into real efficiency as a transportation agent. And -before you leave that levee, with the grass growing up between its -ancient stones, you will find a very small and a very dirty sidewalk -that leads from it up into and upon the great Eads bridge. - -St. Louis does not think very much of the Eads bridge these days. Yet it -was only a few years ago that it was bragging about that wonderful -conception of the engineer--who had finally spanned the lordly -Mississippi and right at his chief city. But other bridges have come, -two huge ungainly railroad structures to the north and a public bridge -to the south--that is, it will be a public bridge if the voters of St. -Louis ever cease quarreling about it. At the present time it is hardly a -bridge, only a great span over the water and for long months absolutely -unprovided with approaches because the taxpayers of St. Louis refuse to -vote the funds for its completion. So it is that the Eads bridge is -today but a single agency out of three or four for the spanning of the -river; it, too, has grown grimy in forty years and the railroad -travelers who come across through its lower deck only remember that from -it there leads under the heart of the city of St. Louis one of the -smokiest railroad tunnels in existence--and that is saying much. - -But the fact remains that it was the first structure to span the river, -and to end the importunities of the unspeakable ferry. And today it is, -with all of its grime, the one impressive feature of downtown St. Louis. -It is the only wagonway that leads from the sovereign state of Illinois -into the sovereign city of St. Louis. Across its upper deck passes at -all hours of the day and far into the night a silent parade of trolley -cars, mule teams, automobiles, farm trucks, folk of every sort and -description, on foot. It is as interesting as London bridge and a far -finer piece of architecture. But the modern St. Louis has all but -forgotten it, save when it chooses to take a motor run across the -Illinois prairies. - - * * * * * - -The casual traveler finally turns his back upon the river and its -oldest bridge, although not without some regret if any real sentiment -dwells within him. He threads his way through the narrow streets of -downtown St. Louis and finally he enters the oldest residential part, -the streets still narrow but the houses of rather a fine sort, many of -them transformed into small shops or given these days to lodgers. They -are of a type somewhat peculiar to the town. They were built high and -rather narrow and as a rule set upon a terrace and detached. Builded of -brick, the fancy of those old-time architects seemed to turn almost -invariably to a facade of marble, an unblushing and unashamed veneer to -the street, with the side walls humble and honest in dark red brick. -Steps and lintels were of marble or what must have been marble in the -beginning. A Philadelphia housewife would quail beneath the steady bath -of smoke and cinders that falls upon St. Louis. - -There are many thousands of these red-brick and white-marble houses, -finally important cross streets, such as Jefferson and Grand, and then -you come into the newer St. Louis--a residential district of which any -city might well be proud. In the newer St. Louis the houses are more -modern and more attractive perhaps, due partly to the fact that they are -farther away from the river and the great factories and railroad yards -that line it. You can trace the varying fads in American house -architecture in layers as you go back street by street in the new St. -Louis--Norman, Italian Renaissance, American Colonial, Elizabethan--all -like the slices in a fat layer-cake. Some of the more pretentious of -these houses are grouped in great parks or reservations which give to -the public streets by entrance gates and are known as Westminster place, -or Vandeventer place, or the like. They form a most charming feature of -the planning of St. Louis, and one almost as distinctive as the tidy -alleys which act as serviceways to all the houses. The houses -themselves are almost invariably set in lawns, although there are many -fine apartments and apartment hotels. The fearful monotony of the side -street of New York or Philadelphia does not exist within the town. - -At the rear of these fine streets of the newer St. Louis stands the -chief park of the town, not very distinctive and famed chiefly as the -site of the biggest World's Fair that was ever held, "considerably -larger than that Chicago affair," your loyal resident will tell you. Our -individual fancy rather turns to Tower Grove Park and the Botanical -Gardens just adjoining it. Tower Grove is in no very attractive section -of St. Louis, and as an example of landscape gardening it is rather -lugubrious, little groups of stones from the old Southern Hotel, which -was burned many years ago and was a fearful tragedy, being set here and -there. But intangibly it breathes the spirit of St. Louis, and hard by -is the Botanical Gardens that Henry Shaw gave to the city in which he -was for so many years a dominating figure. And for even a casual -traveler to go to St. Louis and never see Shaw's Gardens is almost -inconceivable. - -In the first place, it is an excellent collection of plants and of trees -and of exceeding interest to those folk who let their tastes carry them -that way. And in the second place, Henry Shaw was so typical of the old -St. Louis that you must stop for a moment and remember him. You must -think of the steady purpose of the man visiting all the great gardens of -Europe and then seeking to create one that should outrank all of them, -in the mud-bog of St. Louis. For the St. Louis of war-times, the St. -Louis to which Shaw gave his benefaction was little more than a bog. And -Americans of those days laughed at parks. True there was Fairmount Park -in Philadelphia, but the Fairmount Park of those days was a fantastic -idea and hardly to be compared with the Fairmount Park of today. Henry -Shaw went much farther than the banks of the Schuylkill, although he -must have known and appreciated John Bartram's historic gardens there. - -Shaw was only forty years of age when he retired from business. He had -saved through his keen business acumen and a decent sense of thrift, a -quarter of a million dollars--a tremendous fortune for those days. He -was quite frank in saying that he thought that $250,000 was all that a -man could honestly earn or honestly possess, and he retired to enjoy his -fortune as best it might please him to do. He traveled far and wide -through Europe, and upon one of the earliest of those trips he visited -the World's Fair of 1851, at the Crystal Palace, London; one of the very -first of these international exhibitions. He was impressed not so much -by the exhibits as by the fine park in which the Crystal Palace stood. A -little later he was a guest at Chatsworth House, that splendid English -home given by William the Conqueror to his natural son, William Peveril, -and he became a frequent visitor at Kew Gardens. It was at that time he -decided to make a botanical garden out of the place which he had just -purchased outside of St. Louis. - -[Illustration: A luxurious home in the newer St. Louis] - -Henry Shaw must have remembered his boyhood days in St. Louis and the -wonderful garden of Madame Rosalie Saugrain. In those earlier days St. -Louis was small enough in population but large enough in the material -for social enjoyment. The French element was still dominant, although -Madame Saugrain was comparatively a newcomer, an accomplished lady who -had brought the manners and tastes of Paris into the wilds of western -America. Her garden, which was then in open country beyond the -struggling town, was close to what is today Seventh street, St. Louis. -Great skyscrapers and solid warehouses have sprung up where formerly -Madame's roses and hollyhocks bloomed, and one would have to go weary -blocks to find a spear of grass, unless within some public park. - -But Shaw's Gardens still exist, although their founder lived to a ripe -old age and has now been dead a quarter of a century. Older folk of St. -Louis remember him distinctly, a vigorous and seemingly lonely man, -unmarried, but who seemed to be content to live alone in his great house -in the Gardens, giving a loving and a personal care to his flowers and -then, as dusk came on, invariably sitting in his room and reading far -into the night. They will show you his will when you go to the museum in -the Gardens, a curious old document, keenly prepared and devising to the -remaining members of his family, servants and intimates, everything from -immensely valuable real estate in the very heart of St. Louis down to -the port and sherry from his cellars. But the part that interested St. -Louis most was that part which gave the Gardens to the town, although -not without restrictions. And the old Missouri town made Shaw's Gardens -quite as much a part of its existence as its County Fair. - -The St. Louis Fair was a real institution. There have been far greater -shows of the kind in our land, but perhaps none that ever entered more -thoroughly into the hearts of the folk to whom it catered. Every one in -St. Louis used to go to the Fair. It had a social status quite its own. -When, after the hot and gruelling summer which causes all St. Louis folk -who possibly can to flee to the ocean or to the mountains, they came -home again in the joys of Indian summer there was the Fair--up under the -trees of Grand avenue in the north part of the town--to serve for a -getting together once again. It had served that way since long before -wartime. And with it ran that mighty social bulwark of St. Louis, the -Procession of the Veiled Prophet. One night in "Fair Week"--locally -known as "Big Thursday"--was annually given to this pageant, frankly -modeled upon the Mardi Gras festivities at New Orleans. Through the -streets of the town the pageant rolled its triumphal course, all St. -Louis came out to see it, and afterwards there was a ball. To be bidden -to that ball was the social recognition that the city gave you. - -But in 1904 there came that greater fair--the Louisiana Purchase -Exposition, to which the world was bidden. It was a really great fair -and it has left a permanent impress upon the town in the form of a fine -Art Gallery and the splendid group of buildings at the west edge of the -city which are being devoted to the uses of Washington University. But -the big fair spelled the doom of the smaller. The town had grown out -around its grounds and they were no longer in the country. So the career -of the old St. Louis Fair ended--brilliantly in that not-to-be-forgotten -exposition. Although some attempts have recently been made to -reestablish it in another part of the town, the older folk of St. Louis -shake their heads. They very well know that you cannot bring the old -days back by the mere waving of a wand. - -Upon a crisp October evening, the Veiled Prophet still makes his way -through the narrow streets of the town. The preparations for his coming -are hedged about with greatest secrecy, and the young girls of St. Louis -grow expectant just as their mothers and their grandmothers before them -used to grow expectant when October came close at hand. At last, -expectancy rewarded--out of the unknown an engraved summons to attend -the court of a single night--with the engraved summons some souvenir of -no slight worth; the prophet's favor is a generous one. - -Absurd, you say? Not a bit of it. It is a pity that we do not have more -of it in our land. We have been rather busy grubbing; given ourselves -rather too much to utility and efficiency, to the sordid business of -merely making money. A Veiled Prophet is a good thing for a town, a -Mardi Gras a tonic. It is an idea that is spreading across America, and -America is profiting by it. - - * * * * * - -This is a personality sketch of St. Louis and not a guide-book. If it -were the latter, it would recount the superb commercial position of the -city, each of the bulwarks of its financial fortresses. The river-trade -is dead indeed; even the most optimistic of those who are most anxious -to see it revived doubt, in their heart of hearts, if ever it can be -revived. But commerce is not dead at St. Louis. As St. Paul and -Minneapolis are gateways to the Northwest remember that she is one of -the great gateways to the Southwest. To the man in Arkansas or Oklahoma -or Texas she is another New York; she stands to him as London stands to -the folk of the English counties. And this relation she capitalizes and -so grows rich. She is solid and substantial--the old French town of the -yesterdays has taken her permanent place among the leading cities of -America. - - - - -15 - -THE OLD FRENCH LADY OF THE RIVERBANK - - -At the bend of the river she stands--this drowsy old French lady of the -long ago. They have called her the Crescent City. But the Mississippi -makes more than a single turn around the wide-spreading town. And the -results are most puzzling, even to those steadyminded folk who assert -that they are direction-wise. In New Orleans, east seems west and north -seems south. It must almost be that the Father of Rivers reverses all -the laws of Mother Nature and runs his course up-stream. - -New Orleans is upon the east bank of the Mississippi. All the -guide-books will tell you that. But in the morning the sun arises from -over across the river, and in the cool of evening his reddish radiance -is dying over Lake Ponchartrain, directly east from the river--at least, -so your direction-wise intelligence seems to tell you. But east is east -and west is west and Old Sol has made such a habit of rising and setting -these many thousand years that his reliability is not to be trusted. As -to the reliability of the Father of Waters--there is quite another -matter. - -Truth to tell, the Mississippi river is probably the most utterly -unreliable thing within the North American continent. He has shifted his -course so many times within the brief century that the white-skinned men -have known him, that the oldest of them have lost all trace of his -original course. And so to steer a vessel up and down the stream is a -doubly difficult art. The pilot does not merely have to know his -steering-marks--the range between that point and this, the thrust of -some hidden and fearfully dangerous reef, the advantage to be gained -between eddies and currents for easy running--he has to learn the entire -thing anew each time he brings a craft up or down the river. Mark Twain -has long since immortalized the ample genius of the Mississippi pilots. -The stories of the river's unreliability, of its constant tendency to -change its channel are apocryphal--almost as old as the oldest of the -houses of old New Orleans. And this is not the story of the river. - -Yet it must not be forgotten that the river almost is New Orleans, that -from the beginning it has been the source of the French lady's strength -and prosperity. Before there was even thought of a city the river was -there--pouring its yellow flood down from an unknown land to the great -gulf. Bienville, the real founder of New Orleans, saw with the prophetic -sight of a really great thinker what even a river that came to the sea -from an unexplored land might mean in years to come to the city of his -creation. His prophecy was right. When the river, with the traffic upon -its bosom, has prospered, New Orleans has prospered. And in the lean -years when the river traffic has dwindled, New Orleans has felt the loss -in her every fiber. There are old-timers in the city who shake their -heads when they tell you of the fat river-boats crowding in at the -levee, of the clipper-ships and the newer steam-propelled craft at the -deeper docks, of the crowds around the old St. Louis and the St. Charles -Hotels, the congested narrow streets, the halcyon days when the markets -of the two greatest nations in the world halted on the cotton news from -Factors Row. And New Orleans awaits the opening of the Panama canal with -something like feverish anticipation, for she feels that this mighty -nick finally cut into the thin neck of the American continents, her -wharves will again be crowded with shipping--this time with a variety of -craft plying to and from the strange ports of the Pacific. So much does -her river still mean to her. - -Factors Row still stands, rusty and somewhat grimed. No longer is it -consequential in the markets of the world. In fact, to put a bald truth -baldly, no longer is New Orleans of supreme consequence in the cotton -problem of all nations. A great cotton shipping port she still is and -will long remain. But the multiplication of railroad points and the -rapid development of such newer cotton ports as Galveston, to make a -single instance, have all worked against her preeminence. - -This is not a story of the commercial importance of New Orleans, either. -There are plenty who are willing to tell that story, with all of its -romantic traditions of the past and its brilliant prophecies for the -future. This is the story of the New Orleans of today, the city who with -an almost reverential respect for the Past and its monuments still holds -her doors open to the Present and its wonders. - -Of the Past one may know at every turn. North of Canal street--that -broad thoroughfare which ranks as a dividing path with Market street in -San Francisco--the city has changed but little since the Civil War. -South of Canal--still called the "new" part of the city--there has been -some really modern development. Prosperous looking skyscrapers have -lifted their lordly heads above the narrow streets and the compactly -built "squares" which they encompass; there are several modern hotels -with all the momentary glory of artificial marbles and chromatic -frescoes, department stores with show windows as brave and gay as any of -those in New York or Chicago or Boston. But even if the narrow streets -were to be widened, New Orleans would never look like Indianapolis or -Kansas City or St. Paul--any of the typical cities of the so-called -Middle West. Too many of her stout old structures of the fifties and the -sixties still remain. And hung upon these, uncompromising and -triumphant, are the galleries. - -The galleries of New Orleans! They are perhaps the most typical of the -outward expressions of a town whose personality is as distinct as that -of Boston or Charleston or San Francisco. They must have been master -workmen whose fingers and whose ancient forges worked those delicate and -lacelike traceries. And it has been many thankful generations who have -praised the practical side of their handicraft. For in the long hot -summer months of New Orleans these galleries furnish a shade that is a -delight and a comfort. On rainy days they are arcades keeping dry the -sidewalks of the heart of the town. And from the offices within, the -galleries, their rails lined with growing things, are veritable -triumphs. Once in a great while some one will rise up and suggest that -they be abolished--that they are old-fashioned and have long since -served their full purpose. That some one is generally a smart shopkeeper -who has drifted down from one of these upstart cities from the North or -East. But New Orleans is smarter still. She well knows the commercial -value of her personality. There are newer cities and showier within the -radius of a single night's ride upon a fast train. But where one man -comes to one of these, a dozen alight at the old French town by the bend -of the yellow river. - -"Give J---- a few French restaurants, some fame for its cocktails or its -gin-fizzes--just as New Orleans has--and I will bring a dozen big new -factories here within the next three years," said the secretary of the -Chamber of Commerce of a thriving Texas town the other day. He knew -whereof he spake. And now, we shall know whereof we speak. We shall -give a moment of attention to the little restaurants and the gin-fizzes. - -Let the gin-fizzes come first, for they are nearly as characteristic of -the old town as her galleries! You will find their chief habitat just -across a narrow alley from the St. Charles Hotel. There is a long bar on -the one side of the room, upon which stand great piles of ice-bound -southern oysters--twelve months of the year, for New Orleans never reads -an "R" in or out of her oyster-eating calendar. But any bar may bring -forth oysters, and only one bar in the world brings forth the real New -Orleans gin-fizz. Two enterprising young men stand behind the -bar-keepers in a perpetual shaking of the fizzes. If it is tantalizing -to shake that whereof you do not taste, they show it not. And in the -hours of rush traffic there are six of the non-bar-keeping bartenders -who give the correct amount of ague to New Orleans' most delectable -beverage. A hustler from North or East would put in electric shakers -instanter--a thousand or is it ten thousand revolutions to the minute? -He would brag of his electric shakers and the New Orleans gin-fizz would -be dead--forever. Romance and an electric shaker cannot go hand in hand. - -"The ingredients?" you breathlessly interrupt. "The manner of the -mixing?" - -Bless your heart, if the Gin Fizz House published its close-held secret -to the world, it would lose its chief excuse for existence and then -become an ordinary drinking-place. As it is, it holds its head above the -real variety of saloons, even above the polished mahogany bar of the -aristocratic hotel across the narrow street. For its product, if -delightful, is still gentle, although insidious, perhaps. It is largely -milk and barely gin. You can drink it by the barrel without the -slightest jarring of your faculties. And it is rumored that some of the -men of New Orleans use it as a breakfast-food. - -From the Gin Fizz House to the Absinthe House is a long way,--in more -meanings than one. The Absinthe House is hardly less famed, but in these -days when drinking has largely gone out of fashion and wormwood is under -the particular ban of the United States statutes, it is largely a relic -of the past. It stands in the heart of the old French town and before we -come to its broad portal, let us study the fascinating quarter in which -we are to find it. - -We have already spoken of Canal street, so broad in contradistinction to -the very narrow streets of the rest of the older parts of the town, that -one can almost see the narrow water-filled ditch that once traversed it, -as the dividing line of the city. South of Canal street, the so-called -American portion of the city, with many affectations of modernity--north -of that thoroughfare--curiously enough the down-stream side--the French -quarter, architecturally and romantically the most fascinating section -of any large city of the United States. The very names of its -streets--Chartres, Royal, Bourbon, Burgundy, Dauphine, St. -Louis--quicken anticipation. And anticipation is not dulled when one -comes to see the great somber houses with their mysterious and -moth-eaten courtyards and the interesting folk who dwell within them. - -We choose Royal street, heading straight away from Canal street as if in -shrinking horror of electric signs and moving-picture theaters. In a -single square they are behind and forgotten and, if it were not for the -trolley cars and the smartly dressed French girls, we might be walking -in Yesterday. The side streets groan under the same ugly, heavy patterns -of Belgian block pavement that have done service for nearly a century. -Originally the blocks--brought long years ago as ballast in the ships -from Europe--were in a pretty pattern, laid diagonally. But heavy -traffic and the soft sub-strata of the river-bank town have long since -worked sad havoc with the old pavements. And a new city administration -has finally begun to replace them with the very comfortable but utterly -unsentimental asphalt. - -Here is the Absinthe House, worth but a single glance, for it has -descended to the estate of an ordinary corner saloon. Only ordinary -corner saloons are not ordinarily housed in structures of this sort. You -can see houses like this in the south of France and in Spain--so I am -told. For below Canal street is both French and Spanish. Remember, if -you please, that the French of the Southland shared the same hard fate -of their countrymen in that far northern valley of the great St. -Lawrence--neglect. The French are the most loyal people on earth. Their -fidelity to their language and their customs for nearly two centuries -proves that. That faith, steadfast through the tragedy of the -indifference and neglect of their mother country, doubly proves it. And -the only difference between the Frenchman of Quebec and the Frenchman of -New Orleans was that in the South the Spaniard was injected into the -problem. But the Frenchman in the South was not less loyal than his -fellow-countryman of the North. A dissolute king sitting in the wreck of -his great family in the suburbs of Paris might barter away the title of -his lands, but no Louis could ever trade away the loyalty of the older -French of New Orleans to their land and its institutions. In such a -faith was the French quarter of the city born. In such faith has it -survived, these many years. And perhaps the very greatest episodes in -the history of the city were in those twenty days of November, 1803, -when the French flag displaced the Spanish in the old Place d'Armes, to -be replaced only by the strange banner of a newborn nation which was -given the opportunity of working out the destiny of the new France. - -So it was the Spaniard who took his part in the shaping of the French -quarter of New Orleans. You can see the impress of his architects in the -stout old houses that were built after two disastrous and wide-spread -fires in the closing years of the eighteenth century--even in the great -lion of the town; the Cabildo which rises from what was formerly the -Place d'Armes and is today Jackson square. And the old Absinthe House, -with its curiously wrought and half-covered courtyard is one of these -old-time Spanish houses. - -Now forget about the absinthe--as the rest of the French folk of the -land are beginning to forget it--and turn your attention to the -courtyards. In another old Southern city--Charleston--the oldest houses -shut the glories of their lovely-aging gardens from the sight of vulgar -passers-by upon the street by means of uncompromising high fences. The -old houses of New Orleans do more. Their gardens are shielded from the -crowded, noisy, horrid streets by the houses themselves. And he who runs -through those crowded, noisy, horrid streets, must really walk, for only -so will he catch brief glimpses of the glories of those fading courtyard -gardens. - -Sometimes, if you have the courage of your convictions and the proper -fashion of seizing opportunity by the throat you may wander into one of -the tunnel-like gateways of one of these very old houses. No one will -halt you. - -Here it is--old France in new America. The tunnel-like way from the -street is shady and cool. From it leads a stair to the right and the -upper floor of the house, a stair up which a regiment might have walked, -and down which the old figure of a Balzac might descend this moment -without ever a single jarring upon your soul. The stair ends in a great -oval hall, whose scarlet paper has long since faded but still remains a -memory of the glories of the days that were. The carved entablatures -over the doors, the bravado of cornice and rosette where the plaster has -not finally fallen, proclaim the former grandeur of this apartment. And -in some former day a great chandelier must have hung from the center of -its graceful ceiling. Today--some one of the neighboring antique stores -has reaped its reward, and a candle set in a wall-lantern is its sole -illumination. A shabby room will not bear the glories of a gay -chandelier. And the old Frenchman and his wife who live in the place -have all but forgotten. They have a parrot and a sewing-machine and what -are the glories of the past to them? - -Of course, such a house must have its courtyard. And if the huge -copper-bound tank is dry, and the water has not forced its way through -the battered fountain these many years, if the old exquisite tiles of -the house long since went to form the roof of the new garage of some -smart new American place up the river--the magnolia still blossoms -magnificently among the decay, and Madame's skill with her jessamine and -her geraniums would confound the imported tricks of those English -gardeners in the elaborate new places. - -Here then is the old France in the new land--the priceless treasure that -New Orleans wears at her very heart. And here in the very heart of that -heart is an ugly old building boarded up by offensively brilliant -advertising signs. - -[Illustration: You still see white steamboats at the New Orleans levee] - -An ugly old building did we say, with rough glance at its rusty facades? -Can one be young and beautiful forever? Rusty and beautiful--oh no, do -not scorn the old St. Louis Hotel for following the most normal of all -the laws of Nature. For within this moldering and once magnificent -tavern history was made. In one of its ancient rooms a President of the -United States was unmade, while in another chamber human life was -bought and sold with no more concern than the old Creole lady on the far -corner shows when she sells you the little statues of the Blessed -Virgin. - -These wonders are still to be seen--for the asking. The _concierge_ of -the old hotel is a courteous lady who with her servant dwells in the two -most habitable of its remaining rooms. There is no use knocking at the -hotel door for she is very, very deaf indeed, poor lady. But if you will -brave a stern "No Admittance" sign and ascend the graceful winding stair -for a single flight--such a stair as has rarely come to our sight--you -will find her--ready and willing. One by one she shows you the rooms, -faded and disreputable, for the hotel is in a fearful state of -disrepair. The plaster is falling here and there, and where it still -adheres to the lath the old-time paper hangs in long shreds, like giant -stalactites, from the ceiling. Once, for a decade in the "late -eighties," an effort was made to revive the hotel and its former -glories--a desperate and a hopeless effort--and the pitiful -"innovations" of that regime still show. But when you close your eyes -you do not see the St. Louis Hotel of that decade, but rather in those -wonderful twenty years before the coming of the cruel war. In those days -New Orleans was the gayest city in the new world, uptilting its saucy -nose at such heavy eastern towns as New York or Boston. Its wharves were -crowded with the ships of the world, the river-boat captains fought for -the opportunity of bringing the mere noses of their craft against the -overcrowded levee. Cotton--it was the greatest thing of the world. New -Orleans was cotton and cotton was the king of the world. - -No wonder then that the St. Louis Hotel could say when it was new, that -it had the finest ballrooms in the world. They still show them to you, -in piecemeal, for they were long since cut up into separate rooms. The -great rotunda was ruined by a temporary floor at the time the state of -Louisiana bought the old hotel for a capitol, and used the rotunda for -its fiery Senate sessions. - -All these things the _concierge_ will relate to you--and more. Then she -takes you down the old main-stair, gently lest its rotting treads and -risers should crumble under too stout foot-falls. Into the cavernous -bottom of the rotunda she leads you. It is encumbered with the -steam-pipes of that after era, blocked with rubbish, very dark withal. -The _concierge_, with a fine sense of the dramatic, catches up a bit of -newspaper, lights it, thrusts it ahead as a lighted torch. - -"The old slave mart," she says, in a well-trained stage whisper, and -thrusts the blazing paper up at full arm's length. As the torch goes -higher, her voice goes lower: "Beyond the auction block, the slaves' -prison." - -As a matter of real fact, the "slaves' prison" is probably nothing more -or less than the negro quarters that every oldtime southern hotel used -to provide for the slaves of its planter patrons. But the _concierge_ -does not overlook dramatic possibilities. And she is both too deaf and -too much a lady to be contradicted. She has given you full value for the -handful of pennies she expects from you. And as for you--a feeling of -something like indignation wells within you that the city of New Orleans -has permitted the stoutly built old hotel to fall into such ruin. In an -era which is doing much to preserve the monuments of the earlier -America, it has been overlooked. - -Such resentment softens a little further down. You are in Jackson square -now--the Place d'Armes of the old French days--and facing there the -three great lions that have stood confronting that open space since -almost the beginning of New Orleans. The great cathedral flanked by the -Cabilda and the Presbytery is not, of itself, particularly beautiful or -impressive. But it is interesting to remember that within it on a -memorable occasion Andrew Jackson sat at mass--interesting because he -had just fought the battle of New Orleans and ended the Second War with -England. And the _Te Deum_ that went up at that time was truly a -thankful one. The Cabilda and the Presbytery, invested as they are with -rare historical interest, are more worth while. - -But to our mind the chief delight of Jackson square are the two long -red-brick buildings that completely fill the north and south sides of -that delectable retreat. In themselves these old fellows are not -architecturally important, although by close inspection you may find in -the traceries of their gallery rails the initials of the wife of the -Spanish grandee--Madama de Pontalba--historically they are not -distinguished, unless count the fact that in one of them dwelt Jenny -Lind upon the occasion of a not-to-be-forgotten engagement in New -Orleans--but as the sides of what is perhaps the most delightful square -in the entire Southland they are most satisfying. Jackson square has -fallen from its high estate. Its gardens were once set out in formal -fashion for the elect of New Orleans, nowadays they are visited by -swarms of the cheaper French and Italian lodgers of the neighborhood, -and scrawny felines from the old Pontalba buildings use it as a -congregating place. But, even in decadent days, its fascination is none -the less. - -Beyond Jackson square rests the French market, the very index to all -that New Orleans' love of good eating that has become so closely linked -with the city. The market-scheme of the city as this is being written is -being greatly revised. Up to the present time the market-men have been -autocrats. The grocers of the city have been forbidden to sell fresh -fruits or vegetables; if a retailer be audacious enough to wish to set -out with a private market, he must be a certain considerable number of -squares distant from a public institution--and pay to the city a heavy -license fee as penalty for his audacity. Nor is that all. The consumer -is forbidden to purchase direct from the producer, even though the -producer's wagon be backed up against the market curb in most inviting -fashion. New Orleans recognizes the middleman and protects him--or has -protected him until the present time. Even peddlers have been barred -from hawking their wares through her streets until noon--when the public -markets close and the housewives have practically completed their -purchases for the day. - -But--banish the thoughts of the markets as economic problems, cease -puzzling your blessed brains with that eternal problem of the -cost-of-living. Consider the French market as a truly delectable spot. -Go to it early in the morning, when the sun is beginning to poke his way -down into the narrow streets and the shadows are heavy under the -galleries. Breakfast at the hotel? Not a bit of it. - -You take your coffee and doughnuts alongside the market-men--at long and -immaculate counters in the market-house. And when you are done you will -take your oath that you have never before tasted coffee. The coffee-man -bends over you--he is a coffee-man descended from coffee-men, for these -stalls of the famous old markets are almost priceless heritages that -descend from generation to generation. In these days they never go out -of a single family. - -"_Cafe lait?_" says the coffee-man. - -You nod assent. - -Two long-spouted cans descend upon your cup. From one the coffee, from -the other creamy milk come simultaneously, with a skill that comes of -long years of practice on the part of the coffee-man. - -That is all--_cafe lait_ and doughnuts. They make just as good doughnuts -in Boston, but New England has never known the joys of _cafe lait_. If -it had, it would never return to its oldtime coffee habits. And the -older markets of Boston do not see the fine ladies of the town coming to -them on Sunday morning, after mass, negro servants behind, to do their -marketing, themselves. - -Hours of joy in this market--the food capital of a rich land of milk and -honey. After those hours of joy--breakfast at the Madame's. - -The Madame began--no one knows just how many years ago--by serving an -eleven o'clock breakfast to the market-men, skilled in food as purveyors -as most critical of the food they eat. The Madame realized that -problem--and met it. So well did she meet it that the fame of her -cookery spread outside the confines of the market-houses, and city folk -and tourists began drifting to her table. In a few years she had -established an institution. And today her breakfast is as much a part of -New Orleans as the old City Hall or the new Court House. - -She has been dead several years--dear old gastronomic French lady--but -her institution, after the fashion of some institutions, lives after -her. It still stands at the edge of the market and it still serves one -meal each day--the traditional breakfast. It is sad to relate that it -has become a little commercialized--they sell souvenir spoons and -cook-books--but you can shut your eyes to these and still see the place -in all of its glories. - -A long, low room at the back of and above a little saloon, reached from -the side-door of the saloon by a turning and rickety stair. A meagerly -equipped table in the long, low room, from which a few steps lead up to -a smoky but immensely clean kitchen. From that kitchen--odors. Odors? -What a name for incense, the promise of preparation. You sometimes catch -glimpses of busy women, fat and uncorseted. Cooks? Perish the words. -These are artists, if artists have ever really been. - -Finally--and upon the stroke of eleven--the breakfast. It shall not be -described here in intimate detail for you, dear reader, will not be -sitting at the Madame's hospitable table as you read these lines. It is -enough for you to know that the liver is unsurpassable and the -coffee--the coffee gets its flavor from an adroit sweetening of cognac -and of sugar. What matter the souvenirs now? The breakfast has lost none -of its savor through the passing of the years. - -For here is New Orleans where it seems impossible to get a poor meal. -There is many and many an interior city of size and pretentious -marbleized and flunkeyized hotels of which that may not be said. But in -New Orleans an appreciation of good cookery is an appreciation of the -art of a real profession. And of her restaurants there is an infinite -variety--La Louisiane, Galatoire's, Antoine's, Begue's, Brasco's--the -list runs far too long to be printed here. Nor does the space of this -page permit a recountal of the dishes themselves--the world-famed -_gumbos_, the crawfish _bisque_, the red-snapper stuffed with oysters, -the crabs and the shrimps. And lest we should be fairly suspected of -trying to emulate a cook-book, turn your back upon the fine little -restaurants, where noisy orchestras and unspeakable _cabarets_ have not -yet dared to enter, and see still a little more of the streets of the -old French quarter. - -More courtyards, more old houses, a venerable hall now occupied by a -sisterhood of the Roman church but formerly gay with the "quadroon -balls" which gave spicy romance to all this quarter. And here, rising -high above the narrow thrust of Bourbon street, the French Opera, for be -it remembered that New Orleans had her opera house firmly established -when New York still regarded hers as a dubious experiment. To come into -the old opera house, builded after the impressive fashion of architects -of another time, with its real horseshoe and its five great tiers rising -within it--is again to see the old New Orleans living in the new. It is -to see the exclusive Creoles--perhaps the most exclusive folk in all -America--half showing themselves in the shadowy recesses of their boxes. -And to be in that venerable structure upon the night of Mardi Gras is to -stand upon the threshold of a fairy world. - - * * * * * - -It is not meet that the details of the greatest annual carnival that -America has ever known should be fully described here. It is enough here -and now to say that New Orleans merely exists between these great -parties at the eve of each Lent; that nearly a twelvemonth is given to -preparations for the Mardi Gras. One _festa_ is hardly done before plans -are being made for the next--rumor runs slyly up and down the narrow -streets, _costumiers_ are being pledged to inviolate secrecy, strange -preparatory sounds emerge from supposedly abandoned sheds and houses, -rumors multiply, the air is surcharged with secrecy. Finally _the_ night -of nights. Canal street, which every loyal resident of New Orleans -believes to be the finest parade street in all the world, is ablaze with -the incandescence of electricity, a-jam with humanity. For a week the -trains have been bringing the folk in from half-a-dozen neighboring -states by the tens of thousands. There is not a single parish of -venerable Louisiana without representation; and more than a fair -sprinkling of tourists from the North and from overseas. - -Finally--after Expectancy has almost given the right hand to Doubt, the -fanfare of trumpets, the outriders of Parade. From somewhere has come -Rex and The Queen and all the Great and all the Hilariously Funny and -the rest besides. From the supposedly abandoned sheds and houses, from -the _costumiers_? Do not dare to venture that, oh uncanny and worldly -minded soul! - -Fairyland never emerged from old sheds, a King may not even dream of a -_costumier_. From thin air, from the seventh sense, the land of the -Mysterious, this King and Queen and all their cavalcade. Then, too, the -Royal Palace--the historic French Opera House floored and transformed -for a night. More lights, more color, the culinary products of the best -chefs of all the land working under a stupendous energy, music, dancing, -white shirts, white shoulders, gayety, beauty--for tomorrow is Ash -Wednesday, and Catholic New Orleans takes its Lent as seriously as it -gaily takes the joyousness of its carnivals. - - * * * * * - -For three-quarters of a century these carnivals have been the outspoken -frivols of the old French lady by the bend of the yellow river. In all -that time the carnival has progressed until it today is the outward -expression of the joyousness of a joyous city. In all that time did we -say? There was an interregnum--the Four Years. In the Four Years the -little French restaurants were closed, the lights at the Opera -extinguished--there could be no Carnival, for Tragedy sat upon the -Southland. And in a great house in Lafayette square there sat a man from -Massachusetts who ruled with more zeal than kindness. And that man New -Orleans has not forgotten--not even in the half-century that has all but -healed the sores of the Four Years. - -"It is funny," you begin, "that New Orleans should make so much of the -Boston Club, when Butler came from--" - -It is not funny. You saw the Boston Club which vies for social supremacy -in the old French city with the Pickwick Club, there in Canal street, at -least you saw its fine old white house in that broad thoroughfare. It -is not funny. Your New Orleans man tells you--courteously but clearly. - -"We named our club from that game," he says. - -"Boston was a fine game, sir," he adds. "And that without ever a thought -of that town up in Massachusetts." - - * * * * * - -From a carnival to a graveyard is a far cry indeed, and yet the -cemeteries of New Orleans are as distinctive of her as her Mardi Gras -festivities. We have spoken of the river and the great part it has -played in the history of the city that rests so close to its treacherous -shore. And it is that very treacherous shore that makes it so -exceedingly difficult to arrange a cemetery in the soft and marshy soil -on which the city is built. - -So it is that the New Orleans' cemeteries are veritable cities of the -dead. For the bodies that are buried within them are placed above the -ground, not under them. Tombs and mausoleums are the rule, not the -exception, and where a family is not prosperous enough to own even the -simplest of tombs, it will probably join with other families or with -some association in the ownership of a house in the city of the dead. -And for those who have not even this opportunity there are the ovens. - -The ovens are built in the great walls that encompass the older -cemeteries and make them seem like crumbling fortresses. Four tiers -high, each oven large enough to accommodate a coffin--the sealed fronts -bear the epitaphs of those who have known the New Orleans of other days. -A motley company they are--poets, pirates, judges, planters, soldiers, -priests--around them the scarred regiments of those who lived their -lives without the haunting touch of Fame upon the shoulder--no one will -even venture a guess as to the number that have been laid away within a -single one of these cities. - -And when you are done with seeing the graves of Jean Lafitte or -Dominique You--why is it that the average mind pricks up with a more -quickened interest at the tomb of a pirate than at a preacher--the -Portuguese sexton begins plucking at the loosely laid bricks of one of -these abandoned ovens. Abandoned? He lifts out a skull, this twentieth -century Yorick and bids you peep through the aperture. Like the -_concierge_ of the old hotel, looking is made more easy from a blazing -folding copy of the morning _Picayune_. In the place are seemingly -countless skulls, with lesser bones. - -"He had good teeth, this fellow," coughs the Portuguese. - -You do not answer. Finally-- - -"Do they bury all of them this way?" - -Not at first, you find. The strict burial laws of New Orleans demand -that the body shall be carefully sealed and kept within the oven for at -least a year. After that the sexton may open the place, burn the coffin -and thrust the bones into the rear of the place. And New Orleans can see -nothing unusual in the custom. - - * * * * * - -"New Orleans is more like the old San Francisco than any other community -I have ever seen," says the Californian. Not in any architectural sense -and of course two cities could hardly be further apart in location than -the city in the flat marshlands whose trees are below the level of the -yellow river at flood-tide, and the new city that rises on mountainous -slopes from the clear waters of the Golden Gate. But there is an -intangible likeness about New Orleans and his city that was but never -again can be, that strikes to the soul of the Californian. Perhaps he -has come to know something of the real life of the Creoles--of those -strange folk who even today can say that they have lived long lives in -New Orleans and never gone south of Canal street. Perhaps he has met -some of that little company of old French gentlemen who keep their -faded black suits in as trim condition as their own good manners, and -who scrimp and save through years and months that they may visit--not -Chicago or New York--but Paris, Paris the unutterable and the -unforgettable. - -"New Orleans is more like the old San Francisco than any other community -that I have ever seen," reiterates the Californian. "It is more like the -old than the new San Francisco can ever become." - -And there is a moral in that which the San Franciscan speaks. In the -twinkling of an eye the old San Francisco disappeared--forever. Slowly, -but surely, the old New Orleans is beginning to fade away. There are -indubitable signs of this already. When it shall have gone, our last -stronghold of old French customs and manners shall have gone. One of the -most fascinating chapters in the story of our Southland will have been -closed. - - - - -16 - -THE CITY OF THE LITTLE SQUARES - - -In after years, you will like to think of it as the City of the Little -Squares. After all the other memories of San Antonio are gone--the -narrow streets twisting and turning their tortuous ways through the very -heart of the old town, the missions strung out along the Concepcion road -like faded and broken bits of bric-a-brac, the brave and militant show -of arsenal and fort--then shall the fragrance of those open plazas long -remain. The Military Plaza, with its great bulk of a City Hall facing -it, the Main Plaza, where the grave towers of the little cathedral look -down upon the palm-trees and the beggars, the newer, open -squares--always plazas in San Antonio--and then, best of all, the Alamo -Plaza, with that squat namesake structure facing it--_the_ lion of a -town of many lions. These open places are the distinctive features of -the oldest and the best of the Texas towns. They lend to it the Latin -air that renders it different from most other cities in America. They -help to make San Antonio seem far more like Europe than America. - -[Illustration: One of the little squares--and the big cathedral--San -Antonio] - -To this old town come the Texans, always in great numbers for it -is their great magnet--the focusing point that has drawn them -and before them, their fathers, their grandfathers and their -great-grandfathers--far reaching generations of Texans who have -gone before. For here is the distinct play-ground of the Lone Star -State. Its other cities are attractive enough in their several ways, -but at the best their fame is distinctly commercial--Fort Worth as a -packing-house town, Dallas as a distributing point for great wholesale -enterprises, Houston as a banking center, Galveston as the great -water-gate of Texas and the second greatest ocean port of the whole -land. San Antonio is none of these things. While the last census showed -her to be the largest of all Texas cities in point of population, it is -said by her jealous rivals and it probably is true, that nearly half of -that population is composed of Mexicans; and here is a part of our -blessed land where the Mexican, like his dollar, must be accepted at far -less than his nominal value. - -But if it were not for these Mexicans--that delicate strain of the fine -old Spanish blood that still runs in her veins--San Antonio would have -lost much of her naive charm many years ago. The touch of the old -grandees is everywhere laid upon the city. In the narrow streets, the -architecture of the solid stone structures that crowd in upon them in a -tremendously neighborly fashion shows the touch of the Spaniard in every -corner; it appears again and again--in the iron traceries of some -high-sprung fence or second-story balcony rail, or perhaps in the -lineaments of some snug little church, half hidden in a quiet place. The -Cathedral of San Fernando, standing there in the Main Plaza, looks as if -it might have been stolen from the old city of Mexico and moved bodily -north without ever having even disturbed its fortress-like walls or the -crude frescoes of its sanctuary. The four missions out along the -Concepcion road are direct fruit of Spanish days--and remember that each -of the little squares of San Antonio is a plaza, so dear to the heart of -a Latin when he comes to build a real city. - -But the impress of those troublous years when Spain, far-seeing and in -her golden age, was dreaming of Texas as a mighty principality, is not -alone in the wood and the stone of San Antonio, not even in the -delirious riot of narrow streets and little squares. The impress of a -Latin nation still not three hundred miles distant, is in the bronzed -faces of the Mexicans who fill her streets. Some of them are the old men -who sit emotionless hours in the hot sun in the narrow highways, and -vend their unspeakable sweets, or who come to affluence perhaps and -maintain the marketing of _tamales_ and _chile con carne_ at one of the -many little outdoor stands that line the business streets of San -Antonio, and make it possible for a stranger to eat a full-course -dinner, if he will, without passing indoors. These are the Mexicans of -San Antonio who are most in evidence--the men still affecting in -careless grandeur their steeple-crowned, broad-brimmed hats, even if the -rest of their clothing remain in the docile humility of blue jeans; the -women scorning such humility and running to the brilliancy of red and -yellow velvets, although of late years the glories of the American-made -hat have begun to tell sadly upon the preeminence of the mantilla. These -are the Mexicans who dominate the streets of the older part of the -town--they are something more than dominant factors in the West end of -the city, long ago known as the Chihuahua quarter. - -But there is another sort--less often seen upon the streets of San -Antonio. This sort is the Mexican of class, who has come within recent -years in increasing numbers to dwell in a city where unassuming soldiery -afford more real protection for him and for his than do all of the -brilliantly uniformed regiments with which Diaz once illuminated his gay -capital. Since our neighbor to the south entered fully upon its -troublous season these refugees have multiplied. You could see for -yourself any time within the past two years sleeping cars come up from -Laredo filled with nervous women and puzzled children. These were the -families of prosperous citizens from the south of Mexico, who in their -hearts showed no contempt for the comfortable protection of the American -flag. - - * * * * * - -A man plucks you by the sleeve as you are passing through the corridors -of one of the great modern hotels of San Antonio, hotels which, by the -way, have been builded with the profits of the cattle-trade in Texas. - -"That _hombre_," he says, "he is the uncle of Madero." - -But a mere uncle of the former Mexican President hardly counts in a town -which has the reputation of fairly breeding revolutions for the sister -land to the south; whose streets seem to whisper of rumors and -counter-rumors, the vague details of plot and counterplot. There is a -whole street down in the southwestern corner of San Antonio lined with -neat white houses, and the town will know it for many years as -"Revolutionary Row." For in the first of these houses General Bernardo -Reyes lived, and in the second of them this former governor of Nuevo -Leon planned his _coup d'etat_ by which he was to march into Mexico City -with all the glory of the Latin, bands playing, flags flying, a display -of showy regimentals. Reyes had read English history, and he remembered -that one Prince Charlie had attempted something of the very sort. In the -long run the difference was merely that Prince Charlie succeeded while -Reyes landed in a dirty prison in Mexico City. - -Here then is the very incubator of Mexican revolution. There is not an -hour in San Antonio when the secret agents of the United States and all -the governments and near-governments of our southern neighbor are not -fairly swarming in the town and alive to their responsibilities. The -border is again passing through historic days--and it fully realizes -that. It is twenty-four hours of steady riding from San Antonio over to -El Paso--the queer little city under the shadows of the mountains and -perched hard against the "silver Rio Grande," this last often so -indistinguishable that a young American lieutenant marched his men right -over and into Mexican soil one day without knowing the difference--until -he was confronted by the angry citizens of Ciudad Juarez and an _affaire -nationale_ almost created. Every mile of that tedious trip trouble is in -the air. - -And yet El Paso does not often take the situation very seriously. It is -almost an old story, and if the revolutionists will only be kind enough -to point their guns away from the U.S.A. they can blaze away as long as -they like and the ammunition lasts. In fact El Paso feels that as long -as the Mexican frontier battles have proper stage management they are -first-rate advertising attractions for the town--quite discounting mere -Mardi Gras or Portola or flower celebrations, Frontier or Round-up Days, -as well as its own simpler joys of horse-racing and bull-fighting. On -battle-days El Paso can ascend to its house-tops and get a rare thrill. -But when the atrocious marksmanship of ill-trained Mexicans does its -worst, and a few stray bullets go whistling straight across upon -American soil, El Paso grows angry. It demands of Washington if it -realizes that the U.S.A. is being bombarded--the fun of fighting dies -out in a moment. - -San Antonio is a safer breeding ground for insurrection than is El Paso. -For one thing it is out of careless rifle-shot, and for another--well at -El Paso some Mexican troopers might come right across the silver Rio -Grande in a dry season, never wetting their feet or dreaming that they -were crossing the majestic river boundary, and pick up a few erring -citizens without much effort. There is a risk at El Paso that is not -present in San Antonio. Hence the bigger town--in its very atmosphere -emitting a friendly comfort toward plottings and plannings--is chosen. - -You wish to come closer to the inner heart of the town. Very well then, -your guide leads you to the International Club which perches between the -narrow and important thoroughfare of Commerce street and one of the -interminable windings of the gentle San Antonio river. It was on the -roof of the International Club that Secretary Root was once given a -famous dinner. It is an institution frankly given "to the encouragement -of a friendly feeling between Mexico and the United States." It is -something more than that, however. It is a refuge and sort of harbor for -storm-tossed hearts and weary minds that perforce must do their thinking -in a tongue that, to us, is alien. Most of the time the newspaper men of -the town sit in the rear room of the club and look down across the tiny -river on to the quiet grounds of an oldtime monastery. They play their -pool and dominoes--two arts that seem hopelessly wedded throughout all -Texas. The International Club nods. - -Suddenly a tall bronzed man, with _mustachios_, perhaps a little group -of Mexicans will come into the place. The pool and the dominoes stop -short. There are whisperings, flashy papers from Mexico city are -suddenly produced, maps are studied. One man has "inside information" -from Washington, another lays claim to mysterious knowledge up from the -President's palace of the southern capital, perhaps from the -constitutionalists along the frontier. There is a great deal of talk, -much mystery--after all, not much real information. - -But when some real situation does develop, San Antonio has glorious -little thrills. To be the incubator of revolution is almost as exciting -as to have bull-fights or a suburban battle-field, the treasures for -which San Antonio cannot easily forgive her rival, El Paso. Each new -plot-hatching of this sort gives the big Texas town fresh thrills. -Gossip is revived in the hotel lobbies and restaurants, the cool and -lofty rooms of the International Club are filled with whisperers in an -alien tongue, out at Fort Sam Houston the cavalrymen rise in their -stirrups at the prospect of some real excitement. San Antonio does not -want war--of course not--but if it must have war--well it is already -prepared for the shock. And it talks of little else. - -"Within ten years the United States will have annexed Mexico and San -Antonio will have become a second Chicago," says one citizen in his -enthusiasm. "And what a Chicago--railroads, manufactories and the best -climate of any great city in the world." - -Even in war-times your true San Antonian cannot forget one of the chief -assets of his lovely town. - -The others say little. One is a junior officer from out at the post. He -can say nothing. But he is hoping. There is not much for an army man in -inaction and the best of drills are not like the real thing. For him -again--the old slogan--"a fight or a frolic." - - * * * * * - -Not all of San Antonio is Spanish--although very little of it is negro. -An astonishing proportion of its population is of German descent. These -are largely gathered in the east end of the town, that which was -formerly called the Alamo quarter, and like all Germans they like their -beer. The brewing industry is one of the great businesses of San -Antonio--and the most famous of all these breweries is the smallest of -them. On our first trip to "San Antone" we heard about that beer; all -the way down through Texas--"the most wonderful brew in the entire -land." - -[Illustration: San Juan Mission--a bid of faded bric-a-brac outside of -San Antonio] - -The active force of this particular Los Angeles brewery consisted of but -one man, the old German who carried his recipe with him in the top of -his head, and who had carefully kept it there throughout the years. In -the cellar of the little brewery he made the beer, upstairs and in the -garden he served it. In the mornings he worked at his cellar kettles, -in the late afternoon and the early evening he stood behind his bar -awaiting his patrons. If they wished to sit out in the shady garden they -must serve themselves. There were no waiters in the place. If a man -could not walk straight up to the bar and get his beer he was in no -condition for it. The old German was as proud of the respectability of -his place as he was of the secret recipe for the beer, which had been -handed down in his family from generation to generation. - -Only once was that secret given--and then after much tribulation and in -great confidence to an agent of the government. But he had his reward. -For the government at Washington in its turn pronounced his the purest -beer in all the land. Men then came to him with proposals that he place -it upon the market. They talked to him in a tempting way about the -profits in the business, but he shook his head. His beer was never to be -taken from the brewery. It was a rule from which San Antonians and -tourists alike had tried to swerve him, to no purpose. Of course, every -rule has its exceptions but there was only a single exception to this. -Each Saturday night Mr. Degen used to send a small keg over with his -compliments to a boyhood friend--he believed that friendship of a -certain sort can break all rules and precedents. - -All the way down through dry Texas we smacked our lips at the thought of -Degen's beer. Before we had been in San Antonio a dozen hours we found -our way to the brewery; in a quiet side street down back of the historic -Alamo. But we had no beer. - -The brewer was dead. In a neighboring street his friends were quietly -gathering for his funeral, and rumor was rife as to whether or no he had -confided his recipe to his sons. It was a great funeral, according to -the local newspapers, the greatest in the recent history of San -Antonio. It was a tribute from the chief citizens of a town to a simple -man who had lived his life simply and honestly--who in his quiet way had -builded up one of the most distinctive institutions of the place. - -Rumor was soon satisfied. The secret of the recipe of the beer had not -died. In a few days the brisk little brewery in the side street was in -action once again. The stout Germans in their shirt-sleeves were again -tramping with their paddles round and round the great vat while their -foaming product was being handed to patrons in the adjoining room. But, -alas, the traditions of the founder are gone. The beer is now bottled -and sold on the market--in a little while is will be emblazoned in -electric lights along the main streets of New York and Chicago. We are -in a commercial and a material age. Even in San Antonio they are -threatening to widen Commerce street--that narrow but immensely -distinctive thoroughfare that cuts through the heart of the -town--threatening, also, to tear down the old convent walls next the -Alamo and there erect a modern park and monument. By the time these -things are done and San Antonio is thoroughly "modernized" she will be -ready for an awakening--she is apt to find with her naive charm gone the -golden flood of tourists has ceased to stop within her walls. Truly she -will have killed the goose that laid the golden egg. - - * * * * * - -You will like to think of it as the City of the Little Squares. After -all the other memories of San Antonio are gone you will revert to -these--gay open places, filled with palms and other tropical growths, -and flanked by the crumbling architecture of yesterday elbowing the -newer constructions of today. You will like to think of those squares in -the sunny daytime with the deep shadows running aslant across the faces, -there is delight in the memory of them at eventide, when the cluster -lights burn brightly and the narrow sidewalks are filled with gaily -dressed crowds, typical Mexicans, tall Texans down from the ranches for -a really good time in "old San Antone," natives of the cosmopolitan -town, tourists of every sort and description. Then comes the hour when -the crowds are gone, the town asleep, its noisy clocks speaking midnight -hours to mere emptiness--San Antonio breathes heavily, dreams of the -days when she was a Spanish town of no slight importance, and then looks -forward to the morrow. She believes that her golden age is not yet come. -Her plans for the future are ambitious, her opportunity is yet to come. -In so far as those dreams involve the passing of the old in San Antonio -and the coming of the new, God grant that they will never come true. - - - - -17 - -THE AMERICAN PARIS - - -A great bronze arch spans Seventeenth street and bids you welcome to -Denver. For the capital of Colorado seems only second to the Federal -capital as a mecca for American tourists. She has advertised her charms, -her climate, her super-marvelous scenery cleverly and generously. The -response must be all that she could possibly wish. All summer and late -into the autumn her long stone station is crowded with travelers--she is -the focal point of those who come to Colorado and who find it the ideal -summer playground of America. - -To that great section known as the Middle West, beginning at an -imaginary line drawn from Chicago south through St. Louis and so to the -Gulf, there is hardly a resort that can even rival Colorado in popular -favor. Take Kansas, for a single instance. Kansas comes scurrying up -into the Colorado mountains every blessed summer. It grows fretfully hot -down in the Missouri bottoms by the latter part of July, and the Kansans -begin to take advantage of the low rates up to Denver and Colorado -Springs and Pueblo. And with the Kansans come a pretty good smattering -of the folk of the rest of the Middle West. They crowd the trains out of -Omaha and Kansas City night after night; at dawn they come trooping out -through the portal of the Denver Union station and pass underneath that -bronze arch of welcome. - -They find a clean and altogether fascinating city awaiting them, a city -solidly and substantially built. Eighteen years ago Denver decided that -she must discontinue the use of wooden buildings within her limits. She -came to an expensive and full realization of that. For Colorado is an -arid country nominally, and water is a precious commodity within her -boundaries. The irrigation ditches are familiar parts of the landscapes -and ever present needs of her cities. To put out fire takes water, and -Denver sensibly begins her water economy by demanding that every -structure that is within her be built of brick or stone or concrete. And -yet her parks are a constant reproach to towns within the regions of -bountiful water. They are wonderfully green, belying that arid country, -and the water that goes to make them green comes from the fastnesses of -the wonderful Rockies, a full hundred miles away. - -The brick buildings make for a substantial city, but Denver herself has -a solidity that you do not often see in a Western city. Giant office -buildings in her chief streets do not often shoulder against ill-kempt -open lots, have as unbidden neighbors mere shanties or hovels. Moreover, -she is not a "one-street town." Sixteenth and Seventeenth streets vie -for supremacy--the one with the great retail establishments, the other -with the hotels, banks and railroad offices. There are other streets of -business importance--no one street not even as a _via sacre_ of this -bustling town for the best of her homes. - - * * * * * - -The Paris of America, is what she likes to call herself and when you -come to know her, the comparison is not bad. But Paris, with all of her -charms, has not the location of Denver--upon the crest of a rolling, -treeless plain, with the Rocky Mountains, jagged and snow-capped, to -serve as a garden-wall. Belasco might have staged Denver--and then been -proud of his work. But hers is a solitary grandeur and a very great -isolation. She is isolated agriculturally and industrially, and before -long we shall see how difficult all this makes it for her commercial -interests. It makes things difficult in her social life, and Denver -must, and does, have a keen social life. - -The isolation and the altitude, constantly tending to make humans -nervous and unstrung, demands amusement, self-created amusement of -necessity. If Denver is not amused she quarrels; you can see that in her -unsettled and troubled politics, and her endless battles with the -railroads. So she is wiser when she laughs and it is that faculty of -much laughing, much fun, expressed in a variety of amusements that have -led magazine writers to call the town, the Paris of America, although -there is little about her, save the broad streets and her many open -squares and parks to suggest the real Paris. But, on the other hand, the -Seine is hardly to be compared to the majesty of the backbone of the -continent, Denver's greatest glory. - -In winter Denver society has a fixed program. On Monday night it -religiously attends the Broadway Theater, a playhouse which on at least -one night of the week blossoms out as gayly as the Metropolitan Opera -House. Denver assumes to prove herself the Paris of America by the -gayness of its gowns and its hats and a Denver restaurant on Monday -night after the play only seems like a bit of upper Broadway, Manhattan, -transplanted. On Tuesday afternoon society attends the vaudeville at the -Orpheum and perhaps the Auditorium or one of the lesser theaters that -night. By Wednesday evening at the latest the somewhat meager theater -possibilities of the place are exhausted and one wealthy man from New -York who went out there used to go to bed on Wednesday until Monday, -when the dramatic program began anew. For him it was either bed or the -"movies," and he seemed to prefer bed. - -In summer the Broadway is closed, and Elitch's Gardens, one of the -distinctive features of the town, takes its place as a Monday -rendezvous. It is a gay place, Elitch's, with a quaint foreign touch. A -cozy theater stands in the middle of an apple orchard--part of the -one-time farm of the proprietress' father. Good taste and the delicate -skill of architect and landscape gardener have gone hand in hand for its -charm. You go out there and dine leisurely, and then you cross the long -shady paths under the apples to the theater. And even if the play in -that tiny playhouse were not all that might be expected--although the -best of actors play upon its stage--one would be in a broadly generous -mood, at having dined and spent the evening in so completely charming a -spot. - -But the Parisians of Colorado are not blind to the summer joys of the -wonderful country that lies aroundabout them. They quickly become -mountaineers, in the full sense of the word. They can ride--and read -riding not as merely cantering in the park but as sitting all day in the -saddle of some cranky broncho--they can build fires, cook and live in -the open. A Denver society woman is as particular about her _khakias_ as -about her evening frocks. When these folk, experienced and -well-schooled, go off up into the great hills, they are the envy of all -the tourists. - -Do not forget that we started by showing Denver as a mecca for these -folk. When you come to see how very well the Paris of America takes care -of them you do not wonder that they return to her--many times; that they -are with her more or less the entire year round. Her hotels are big and -they are exceedingly well run. There are more side trips than a tourist -can take, using the city as a base of operations, than a man might -physically use in a month. The most of these run off into the mountains -that have been standing sentinel over Denver since first she was born. -In a day you can leave the bustling capital town, pass the foothills of -the Rockies and climb fourteen thousand feet aloft to the very backbone -of the continent. Indeed, it seems to be the very roof of the world when -you stand on a sentinel peak and look upon timber line two thousand feet -below, where the trees in another of Nature's great tragedies finally -cease their vain attempts to climb the mountain tops. - -A man recommended one of the mountain trips over a wonderfully -constructed railroad, poetically called the "Switzerland Trail." - -"You'll like that trip," he said, with the enthusiasm of the real -Denverite. "It's wonderful, and such a railroad! Why, there are -thirty-two tunnels between here and the divide." - -The tourist to whom this suggestion was made looked up--great scorn upon -his countenance. - -"That doesn't hit me," he growled, "not even a little bit. I live in New -York--live in Harlem, to be more like it, and work down in Wall -street--use the subway twelve times a week. I don't have to come to -Colorado to ride in tunnels." - -[Illustration: A broad arch spans Seventeenth Street and bids you -welcome to Denver] - -Tourists form no small portion of Denver industry. She has restaurants -and souvenir shops, three to a block; seemingly enough high-class hotels -for a town three times her size. Yet the restaurants and the hotels are -always filled, the little shops smile in the sunshine of brisk -prosperity. And as for "rubberneck wagons," Denver has as many as New -York or Washington. They are omnipresent. The drivers take you to the -top of the park system, to the Cheesman Memorial, to see the view. -All the time you are letting your eyes revel in the glories of those -great treeless mountains, the megaphone man is dinning into your ears -the excellence of his company's trips in Colorado Springs, in Manitou, -in Salt Lake City. He assumes that you are a tourist and that you will -have never had enough. - -Tourists become a prosperous industry in a town that has no particular -manufacturing importance. Great idle plants, the busy smelters of other -days, bespeak the truth of that statement. Denver, as far as she has any -commercial importance, is a distributing center. Her retail shops are -excellent and her wholesale trade extends over a dozen great western -states. Her banks are powers, her influence long reaching. But she is -not an industrial city. - -That has worried her very much, is still a matter of grave concern to -her business men. Their quarrels with the railroads have been many and -varied. Denver realizes, although she rarely confesses it, that she has -disadvantages of location. These same mountains that the tourist comes -to love from the bottom of his heart, just as the Coloradians have loved -them all these years, are a real wall hemming her in, barriers to the -growth of their capital. When the Union Pacific--the first of all the -transcontinental railroads--was built through to the coast it was -forced, by the mountains, to carry its line far to the north--a bitter -pill to the ambitious town that was just then beginning to come into its -own. Denver sought reprisals by building the narrow-gauge Denver & Rio -Grande, a most remarkable feat of railroad engineering; bending far to -the south and then to the north and west through the narrow niches of -the high mountains. But hardly had the Denver & Rio Grande assumed any -real importance in a commercial fashion and the mistake of its first -narrow-gauge tracks corrected, before it was joined at Pueblo by direct -routes to the east and Denver was again isolated from through -transcontinental traffic. She was then and still is reached by -side-lines. - -This was a source of constant aggravation to the man who was until his -death two or three years ago, Denver's first citizen--David H. Moffat. -Mr. Moffat's interest and pride in the town were surpassing. He had -grown up with it--in the later years of his life he used to boast that -he once had promoted its literature, for he had come to Denver when it -was a mere struggling mining-camp as a peddler, selling to the miners -who wanted to write home a piece of paper and a stamped envelope, for -five cents. - -Moffat saw that a number of important lines were making Denver their -western terminal--particularly the Burlington and the Kansas stems of -the Union Pacific and the Rock Island. He felt that he might pick up -traffic from these roads and carry it straight over the mountains to -Salt Lake City, a railroad center suffering the same disadvantages as -Denver. He sent surveyors up into the deep canyons and the _impasses_ of -the Rockies. When they brought back the reports of their -_reconnoissances_, practical railroad men laughed at Mr. Moffat. - -The big bankers of the East also laughed at him when he came to them -with the scheme, but the man was of the sort who is never daunted by -ridicule. He had a sublime faith in his project, and when men told him -that the summit of 10,000 feet above the sea level where he proposed to -cross the divide was an impossibility, he would retort about the number -of long miles he was going to save between the capital of Colorado and -the capital of Utah and he would tell of the single Routt county -stretch, a territory approximating the size of the state of -Massachusetts and estimated to hold enough coal to feed the furnace -fires of the United States for three hundred years. When he was refused -money in New York and Chicago he would return to Denver and somehow -manage to raise some there. The Moffat road was begun, despite the -scoffers. Its promoter made repeated trips across the continent to -secure money, and each time when he was home again he would raise the -dollars in his own beloved Denver and move the terminal of his road west -a few miles. He was at it until the day of his death and he lived long -enough to see his railroad within short striking reach of the treasures -of Routt county. - -At his death it passed into the hands of a receiver, and Denver seemed -to have awakened from its dream of being upon the trunk-line of a -transcontinental railroad. But there were hands to take up the lines -where Moffat had dropped them. Times might have been hard and loan money -scarce around Colorado, but the men who were taking up what seemed to be -the deathless project of Denver's own railroad were hardly daunted. -Instead, they boldly revised Moffat's profile and prepared to cut two -thousand feet off the backbone of the continent and shorten their line -many miles by digging a tunnel six miles long and costing some four -millions of dollars. Now a tunnel six miles long and costing $4,000,000 -is quite an enterprise, even to a road which has boasted thirty-two of -them in a single day's trip up to the divide; a particularly difficult -enterprise to a road still in the shadows of bankruptcy. But the men who -were directing the fortunes of the Denver & Salt Lake--as the Moffat -road is now known--had a plan. Would not the city of Denver lend its -credit to an enterprise so fraught with commercial possibilities for it? -Would not the city of Denver arrange a bond issue for the digging of -that tunnel--incidentally finding therein a good investment for its -spare dollars? - -Would Denver do that? Ask this man over there. He is well acquainted -with the Paris of America. - -"Of course it would," he answers. "If some one was to come along with a -scheme to expend five million dollars in building a statue to Jupiter -atop of Pikes Peak, he would find plenty of supporters and enthusiasm in -Denver. The only scheme that does not succeed out there is the one that -is practical." - -The gentleman is sarcastic--and yet not very far from the truth. For -last year when the bond issue for the railroad tunnel went to a vote it -was carried--with enthusiasm. Thereafter Denver was upon the trunk-line -railroad map. The mere facts that the nine miles of tunnel were yet to -be bored and many additional miles of the most difficult railroad -construction of the land builded to its portals were mere details. The -thin air of the Mile-High city lifts its citizens well over details. And -they are far too broad, far too generous to trouble with such minute -things. - -For in them dwells the real spirit of the West--by this time no mere -gateway--and it is a rare spirit, indeed. The town, as we have already -intimated, has a strong social tendency. She has sent her men and women, -her sons and her daughters to the East and they have won for themselves -on their own merits. The Atlantic seaboard has paid full tribute to the -measure of her training--and why not? Her schools are as good as the -best, her fine homes and her little homes together would be a credit to -any town in the land, her big clubs would grace Fifth avenue. Her whole -social organism from bottom to top is well fibered. It is charmingly -exclusive in one way, warmly democratic in many others. - -A girl tourist from Cleveland, a recent summer, essayed to make the -ascent of the capitol dome between two connecting trains. She -miscalculated distances during the hour and a half that was at her -disposal and almost missed her outbound train. She surely would have -missed it, if it had not been for the courtesy of a well-dressed Denver -woman. The girl stood at the corner of Seventeenth street and Broadway, -where a group of large hotels center, waiting for a trolley car to take -her to the station. She could see its sightly tower a long way down -Seventeenth street, but there were no cars in sight at that instant. She -spoke to the woman, who was coming out of a drug store, and asked about -the car service to the station. In the East she might have had a -perfunctory answer, if she received an answer at all. The Denver woman -began explaining, then she checked herself: - -"Better yet," she smiled, "I have my automobile here and I'll take you -down there while we are talking about it." - -The car was a big imported fellow and the girl made her train. Some time -after, she discovered that the woman who had been of such courteous -attention was one of the very biggest of Denver society leaders. -Imagine, if you can, such a thing coming to pass upon the Atlantic -seaboard--in New York, in Boston, in Philadelphia--or in Charleston! - - * * * * * - -There is still another phase of life in Denver--and that is the fact -that most of her residents, for one reason or another, have drifted out -to her from the East. Once in a long while, if you loaf over your -morning newspaper on a shady bench in the Capitol grounds, you will -become acquainted with some whiskered old fellow who will tell you that -he chased antelope where the big and showy City Park today stands, that -he remembers clearly when a nearby street was the Santa Fe Trail and -then a country road, and that two generations after him are living in -Denver; or sometimes if you go down into Larimer street, which is old -Denver, you can find a veteran who likes to prate of other days--of the -time when he used to pack down to the capital from his mountain claim, -one hundred and twenty-five miles over the mountain snows, for his -winter's bacon. But the majority of these Denverites have come from the -East. There is some old town in New England with avenues of giant trees -that is still home to them, and yet they all have a heap of affection -for the city of their adoption. - -Some of them have gone to Denver against their will, and that is the -tragic shadow of Colorado. They are expatriates--exiles, if you -please--for Colorado is the American Siberia. This dread thing, this -thing that is impartial to all low altitudes--the white plague--marks -the victims, who go shuffling their way to die among the hills--in the -gay Paris of North America. It is the gaunt tragedy of Denver, and even -though the Denverites speak lightheartedly of the "T. B.'s" who have -come to dwell among them, they themselves know best the bitter tragedy -of it all. - -Here were two girls, sisters, who worked in a restaurant. A customer -held his home newspaper spread as he supped alone. Its title, after the -fashion of country weeklies, was emblazoned that all might read; the -widespread eagle has been its feature for three-quarters of a century -now. One of the waitresses made bold to speak. - -"So you are from near Syracuse?" she said. - -It was affirmed. She beckoned to her sister to come over. The little -restaurant--Denver fashion, it made specialities of "short orders," -cream waffles and T-bone steaks--was almost deserted. She spoke to her -sister. - -"He's from Syracuse," she said. The sister was a delicate, colorless -little thing, but the blood flushed up into her pale cheeks for an -instant. - -"We're from Syracuse," she said proudly. "We used to live up on the -hill, just around the corner from the college. It was great fun to see -the students go climbing up around Mount Olympus there. It was twice as -great fun in winter, when the north wind was blowing the snow right up -into our faces." - -Exiles these. They had left their nice, comfortable home there in the -snug, New York state city to make the long dreary trek to Denver. They -were clever girls, and it seemed certain that they might find work in -some nice office in the big and growing Colorado city. They were fairly -competent stenographers, and it seemed to them that they might live in -peace and comfort in the new home. It was a change from their big -Syracuse house to a narrow hallroom in a Denver boarding house. Then -upon that came the fruitless search for a "nice place." Hundreds of -other girl stenographers, driven on the long trip West, were pressing -against them. The two Syracusans held their heads high--for a time. Then -they were glad to get the menial places as waitresses. - -The man who checks trunks at one of the biggest transfer companies -confessed that he was an exile, too. - -"Came out here a dozen years ago with a busted lung," he admitted with a -quizzical smile. "Guess I'll stay for a while longer. But I want to go -back to Baltimore. Before I am done with it I am going back to -Baltimore. I'm going to walk down Charles street once again and breathe -the fragrance of the flowers in the gardens, if it kills me." - -A girl in a boarding house leaned up against the wall of the broad and -shady piazza and said she liked Denver "really, truly, immensely." - -"Do you honestly?" - -"Honestly," she drawled gravely. "God knows, I've got to. I'm a lunger, -although they don't know it here. I've only got one lung, but it's a -good lung," she ended with a little hysterical laugh. - -Another exile. The American Siberia, in truth, save that this Siberia is -a near Paradise--a kingdom for exiles where the grass is as green as it -is back in the old East, where the trees cast welcome shade and the -strange new flowers blossom out smiles of hope. But a Siberia none the -less. The big sanitariums all about the city tell that. The keeper of -the Denver Morgue will tell it, too. The suicide rate in Denver runs -high. Desperate folk go out to Colorado to shut the door in the face of -death--and go too late. They are far from home, alone, friendless, -penniless in despair--the figures of the statisticians cannot lie. - -The East has this as a debt to pay Denver, and generally she pays it -royally. Denver does not forget the times when the Atlantic seaboard has -come to her assistance--despite the troubles of David H. Moffat in -raising capital for his railroad. Once in a business council there while -the East was getting some rather hard knocks for its "fool -conservatism"--perhaps it had been refusing to buy the bonds of the -mountain-climbing railroad--a big Denver banker got the floor. He was a -man who could demand attention--and receive it. - -"I want you to remember one thing," he said; "fifteen years ago we were -laying out and selling town-lots for a dozen miles east of Denver; we -were selling them to Easterners--for their good money. When they came -out and looked for their land what did they see? They saw plains--mile -after mile of plains--peopled by what? They were peopled by jackrabbits, -and the jackrabbits were bald from bumping their heads against the -surveyors' stakes. Until we have redeemed those lots and built our city -out to them and upon them, gentlemen, we have not redeemed our promise -to the East." - -And no one who knows Denver doubts that the time will yet come when she -will redeem that promise. Her railroad may or may not come to be a -transcontinental route of importance, manufacturing may or may not -descend upon her with its grime and industry and wealth, but her -magnificent situation there at the base of the Rockies will continue to -make her at least a social factor in the gradually lengthening roll of -really vital American cities. - - - - -18 - -TWO RIVALS OF THE NORTH PACIFIC--AND A THIRD - - -"When you get to Portland you will see New England transplanted. You -will see the most American town on the continent, bar only -Philadelphia." - -The man on the train shrieking westward down through the marvelous -valley of the Columbia spoke like an oracle. He had a little group of -oddly contorted valises that bespoke him as a traveling salesman, and -hence a person of some discrimination and judgment. He was ready to talk -politics, war to the death on railroads, musical comedy and the -condition of the markets with an equally uncertain knowledge, a fund of -priceless information that never permitted itself to undergo even the -slightest correction. - -But he was right, absolutely right, about Portland. From the cleanest -railroad station that we have ever seen, even though the building is -more than twenty years old, to the very crests of the fir-lined hills -that wall her in, here is a town that is so absolutely American, that it -seems as if she might even boast one of the innumerable George -Washington headquarters somewhere on her older streets. Her downtown -streets are conservatively narrow, her staunch Post Office suggests a -public building in one of the older cities on the Atlantic coast, and -her shops are a medley of delights, with apparently about thirty percent -of them given over to the retail vending of chocolate. Our Portland -guide was grieved when we made mention of this last fact. - -"I once went to Boston," said he, "and found it an almost continuous -piano store." - -Which was, of course, a mere evasion of the truth of our suggestion as -to the chocolate propensities of the maids of Portland. They are very -much like the girls in Hartford or Indianapolis or St. Paul or any other -bustling town across this land, attending the Saturday matinees with an -almost festal regularity; rollicking, flirting girls, grave and gay, -girls dancing and girls driving their big six-cylinder automobiles with -almost unerring accuracy up the tremendous hills of the town. - -Hills they really are and well worth the tall climb to Council Crest, -the showiest of them all. If your host does not mind tire expense and -the wear and tear on his engine, he may take you up there in his -automobile. The street car makes the same ascent, and the managers of -the local traction system who have to pay for all the repairs and -renewals to the cars do not hesitate to say that it is the least -profitable line in creation. But the final result at Council Crest is -worth a set of tires, or a six-months' ageing of a trolley car. - -You have climbed up from the heart of the busy town, past the business -section, spreading itself out as business sections of all successful -towns must continue to do, past the trim snug little white Colonial -houses--that must have been stolen from old Salem or Newburyport--all -set among the dark greens of the cedars and the firs, and belying the -Northland tales of the tree foliage by the great rose-bushes that bloom -all the year round, up on to the place where tradition says the silent -chiefs of red men used to gather.... Below you from Council Crest the -town--the town, at dusk, if you please. The arcs are showing the regular -pattern of trim streets, the shops and the big office buildings are -aglow for the night with the brilliancy of artificial illumination. It -is dark down in the town--night has closed in upon it. - -Now lift your eyes and let them carry past the town and the black gloom -of the river, over the nearest encirclings of the fir-clad hills and see -the day die in the most high place. You see it now--a peculiar pink -cloud, which is not a cloud at all, but a snow-capped cone-shaped peak -rising into the darkening heavens. Mount Hood is an asset for Portland, -because for any habitation of man it would be an inspiration. And beyond -Mount Hood--fifty miles distant--but further to the north are Mount -Adams, Mount St. Helen's and sometimes on a fine clear evening Rainier -bidding alike brilliant farewells to the dying day. - -[Illustration: Belasco might have staged Seattle] - -This then is the city into which a traveler may enter on an autumn day -to find the innumerable cedars and firs, the changing brilliancy of the -maple leaves proclaiming it North, with the gaily blossoming rose-bushes -and the home-grown strawberries of October telling a paradoxical story -and locating the Oregon metropolis to the South. The publicity experts -of the town can--and do--sound its praises in no faint terms. They will -tell you of a single day when twenty-two wheat vessels were at Portland -docks gathering the food-stuffs for a hungry Orient, they will reel off -statistics as to the shipping powers of the great lumber port in all the -world and then, without a lessening of the pride, will go further and -explain Portland's hopes for the further inland navigation of the -streams that make her an important ocean port although fifty miles -distant from the sight of the sea. The Columbia river is already -navigable for four hundred miles inland and Portland is today -cooeperating with the Canadian authorities in British Columbia for -extending the waterway's availability as a carrier for another four -hundred miles. A great work has been performed in pulling the teeth of -the mighty Columbia where it meets the sea--in building jetties at the -mouth of the river. The government with unusual energy is making new -locks at the impressive Cascades. Portland has good reason for her faith -in the future. Her railroad systems are in their infancy; a part of -Central Oregon as large as the state of Ohio is just now being reached -by through routes from Portland. What future they shall bring her no man -dares to predict. - -But we, for ourselves, shall like to continue to think of Portland as a -gentle American town set between guardian fir-clad hills and sentineled -by snow-capped peaks; we shall enjoy remembering the yellow and red -leaves of Autumn, the luxuriant roses, the strawberries and the crisp -October nights in one delightful paradoxical jumble. - - * * * * * - -To make a great seaport city out of a high-springing ridge of volcanic -origin was a truly herculean task, but Seattle sprang to it with all the -enthusiasm of her youth. "Re-grading" is what she has called it, and -because even armies of men with pick and with shovel could not work fast -enough for her own satisfaction, she borrowed a trick from the old-time -gold miners and put hose-men at work. Hydraulic science supplanted men -and teams and picks and even the big steam shovels. The splashing hose -wore down the crest of the great hills until sturdy buildings teetered -on their foundations and late moving tenants had to come and go up and -down long ladders. - -In 1881 President Hayes came to this strange little lumbering town and -spoke from the platform of the two-storied Occidental Hotel in the -center of the village to its entire population--some five hundred -persons. The Occidental Hotel was gone within ten years, to be replaced -by a hostelry that in 1890 was big and showy for any town and that in -1912, Seattle regarded almost as a relic of past ages. And stranger -still, the hills--the eternal hills, if you please--that looked upon the -Occidental Hotel only yesterday, have gone. Not that Seattle will not -always be a side-hill town, that the cable cars will not continue to -climb up Madison street from the waterfront like flies upon a -window-glass, but that a tremendous reformation has been wrought, with -the aid of engineers' skill and the famous "hard money" of the Pacific -coast. - -For here was a town that decided almost overnight to be a seaport of -world-wide reputation. She looked at her high hills ruefully. Then she -called for the hose-men. The hills were doomed. - -There was Denny hill, with a park of five acres capping it. The -surveyors set their rival stakes five hundred feet below the lowest -level of the little park and a matter of almost a million cubic yards of -earth went sploshing down the long hydraulic sluices to make the -tide-water flats at the bottom of the hills into solid footing for -future factories and warehouses. And when the "regraders" were done the -architects and the builders were upon their heels. - -Denny hill had boasted a hotel upon its summit, which in the late -eighties Seattle regarded as an architectural triumph, a wooden thing of -angles and shingles and queer Queen Anne turrets and dormers. The name -of the old hotel went to a new one which supplanted it at a proper -altitude for a city that was determined to be metropolitan--and the new -hotel was a dignified structure worthy of the best town in all this -land. - -"We had to do it," the Seattle man will tell you, without smiling. "We -have got to be ready for a population of a million or more. Our house -has got to be in order." - -It is not every day that one can see an American metropolitan city in -the making. - - * * * * * - -Back of the high-crested hills that have been suffered to remain as a -part of the topography of this remarkable town--for its residents still -like to perch their smart new houses where they may command a view of -Puget Sound or the snow-capped Rainier--is as lovely a chain of lakes as -was ever given to an American city. Boston would have made the edges of -these the finest suburbs in the land; she is trying some sort of an -experiment of that kind with her dirty old Charles river. Seattle saw in -the great bowl of Lake Washington something more. - -"We can crowd into Portland a little more," said the shrewdest of her -citizens, "by making this lake into a fresh-water harbor." - -Just what the advantages of a fresh-water harbor may be to Seattle which -already possesses one of the finest deep-water harbors on the North -Pacific, may be obscure to you for the moment. Then the Seattle man -informs you that Portland has a fresh-water harbor, that the masters of -ships, still thirty days' sailing from port, make for its haven, knowing -that in fresh water the barnacles that make so great a drag upon a -vessel's progress will fall away from the hull. A fresh-water bath for a -salt-water hull is better than a drain-off in a dry dock--and a great -sight cheaper. - -Here, then, is a masterful new town seeking new points of advantage over -its rivals, piercing canals through to its backyard lakes so that it may -eventually be as completely surrounded by docks and shipping as are New -York and Boston. It is impossible to think of Seattle ever hesitating. -Seattle proceeds to accomplish. Before she has a real opportunity to -count the cost, the improvements which she has undertaken are rolling in -revenue to her coffers. - - * * * * * - -Tacoma is smaller than either Seattle or Portland--and not one whit less -vigorous than either of them. She has not undergone the wholesale -transformations of her sister to the north and still retains all the -aspects of a busy port of the Far North--long reaching wharves, busy, -dirty railroad yards reaching and serving them, fir-clad hills rising -from the water, the smell and industry of lumber--and back of all these -her mountain. It is her mountain--"The Mountain that was God" as the -Indians used to say--and if for long weeks it may stay modestly hidden -behind fog-banks, there do come days when its great snow-capped peak -gazes serenely down upon the little city. - -Do not dare to come into this town and call her mountain Rainier, after -the fashion of government "map sharps" and railroad advertisements. It -is Mount Tacoma, if you please, and woe be to any man who calls it -anything else. Former President Taft once shouldered the question upon -reaching the northwestern corner of the land like a true diplomat. At -the dinners in both Seattle and Tacoma he referred to the great guardian -peak of Washington as "the mountain" thereby offending no one and -leaving a pleasant "lady or the tiger" mystery as to which of the two -names he would use in private conversation. - -But whether the mountain be Rainier or Tacoma, it is going to be one of -the great playgrounds of the nation--and that within very few years. -Think of starting out from a brisk American city of a hundred thousand -population and within two hours standing at the foot of a giant glacier -grinding down from the heavens, a cold, dead, icy thing but still imbued -with the stubborn sort of life that stunted vegetable growths possess, a -life that makes the frozen river travel toward the sea every day of the -year. A man living in Tacoma, or Seattle, or Portland, for that matter, -can have both the dangers and the joys of Swiss mountain climbing but a -few hours distant. It takes knowledge and courage to make the ascent of -Rainier--a tedious trip which starts through the three summer months in -which it is possible at five o'clock in the morning so as to reach the -summit before the snows begin to melt to the danger point. And yet, in -the hands of skilled guides, so many women cross the crevices and climb -the steep upward trails, that the record of their ascents is no longer -kept. - -This great Swiss mountain--higher than Blanc, and vastly more impressive -from the fact that its fourteen thousand foot summit rises almost -directly from the sea--is the central feature of the newest of all the -government parks. It is in the stages of early development and already -the tourists are coming to it in increasing numbers. Given a few years -and Rainier will vie in popularity with the Yellowstone, the Yosemite -and the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. In scenic beauty of its own -inimitable sort it already ranks with these. - -The man who makes the ascent of Rainier--if poetry and imagination rest -within his soul--may truly feel that he has come near to God. He can -feel the ardor and the inspiration of the red men who gave the mountain -its mystic symbolism. He can look up into the clouds and feel that he is -at the dome of the world. He can look down, down past the timber line -off across miles of timber land and catch the silver of Puget Sound and -the distant horizon flash of the Pacific. He can see smoke to the -south--Portland--smoke to the north and west--Seattle--and nearer than -these--the brisk Tacoma that hugs this mountain to herself. - -If imagination rest within him he can now know that these cities, at the -northwest corner of America, are barely adult, just beginning to come -into their own. A great measure of growth and strength is yet to be -given to them. - - - - -19 - -SAN FRANCISCO--THE NEWEST PHOENIX - - -We came upon it in the still of an early Sunday evening--the wonderful -city of Saint Francis. Throughout that cloudless Sabbath we had -journeyed southward through California. At dawn the porter of the -sleeping car had informed us that we were in the Golden State, not to be -distinguished in its northern reaches from Oregon. Men were talking of -the wonders of the Klamath country into which the civilizing rails of -steel are being steadily pushed, the breath of tomorrow was upon the -lips of every one who boarded the train, but the land itself was wild, -half-timbered, rugged to the last degree. Through the morning grays the -volcanic cone of Shasta was showing ever and ever so faintly, and if an -acquaintance of two hours with the peak that Joaquin Miller has made so -famous did not enthuse the man behind the car-window, it must have been -that he was still a bit dazed, not surfeited, with the wonders of -Rainier. - -At the foot of Shasta our train stood for a bare ten minutes while -travelers descended and partook of the vilest tasting waters that nature -might boast in all California. Shasta spring water is supposed to be -mightily beneficial and that is probably true, for our experience with -spring waters has been that their benefits have existed in an inverse -ratio to their pleasantness of taste. But if Nature had given her -benefactions to Shasta a sort of Spartan touch, she has more than -compensated for the severity of her gifts by the beauty of their -setting. You literally descend directly upon the springs. The railroad -performs earthly miracles to land a passenger in front of them. It -descends a vast number of feet in an incredibly short length of -track--the conductor will reduce these to cold statistics--and your idea -is a quick drop on a gigantic hair-pin. At the base of the lowest leg of -this hair-pin is the spring, set in a deep glen, the mossy banks of -which are constantly adrip and seemingly one great slow-moving -waterfall, even throughout the fearfully dry seasons of California. The -whole thing is distinctly European, distinctly different--a bit of Swiss -scenery root-dug and brought to the West Coast of the United States. - -After Shasta and the springs, another of the desolate, fascinating -canyons to be threaded for many miles besides the twistings of a -melancholy river, then--of a sudden--open country, farmers growing green -things, ranch-houses, dusty county-roads, with automobiles plowing them -dustier still, little towns, more ranches--everything in California from -two to two million acres is a ranch--then a grinding of air-brakes and -your neighbor across the aisle is fumbling with his red-covered -time-table to locate the station upon it. As for you, you don't care -about what station it really may be. It is a station. You are sure of -that. There is the familiar light yellow depot, but in the well-kept -lawn that abuts it grows a giant tree. That tree is a palm, and the -palm-tree typifies California to every tingling sense of your mentality. - -This is the real California. The mountains have already become -accustomed things to you, the broad ranches were coming into their own -before you ever reached Denver, but the palm is exotic in your homeland, -a glass-protected thing. That it grows freely beside this little -unidentified railroad station proclaims to you that you are at last in a -land that bids defiance to that trinity of scourging giants--December, -January and February--and calls itself summer the whole year round. - -This palm has brought you to a sense of your location--to California. -The romance that has been spelled into you of a distant land, and of the -men who toiled that it become a great state peopled with great cities, -of Nature's lavish gifts and terrific blows laid alike upon it, came -into your heart and soul and body at the first glimpse of that tree. -Before the train is under way again your camera has been called into -action--mental processes are supplemented by a permanent record -chemically etched upon a film of celluloid. - -After that pioneer among palm-trees, more of these little yellow depots -and more of these rarely beautiful palms standing beside them. The -ranches multiply, this valley of Sacramento is a rarely fertile thing. -Growth stretches for miles, without ever a hint of undulation. -California is the flattest thing you have ever seen. And again and again -you will be declaring it the most mountainous of all our states. The -flat-lands carry you beyond daylight into dusk. The towns multiply, a -glow of arc reflection against the shadows of evening is Sacramento a -dozen miles distant. Then there is a rattle of switches, a halt at a -junction station, and mail is being gathered from the impromptu -literature makers on our train to go east. The main line is reached. And -a little later the Straits of Costa are crossed. Here is a broad arm of -the sea and if it were still lingering daylight you might declare that -Holland, not Switzerland, had been transplanted into California. The sea -laughs at bridges, and so from Benecia to Port Costa we go on a great -ferryboat, eleven Pullmans, a great ten-drivered passenger -locomotive--all of us together. For twenty minutes we slip across the -water, breathing fresh air once again and standing in the ferry's bow -looking toward the shadowy outline of a high, black hill carelessly -punctuated here and there by yellow points of light. A new land is -always mysterious and fascinating; by night doubly mysterious, doubly -fascinating. - -The ferry boat fast to its bridge, the locomotive is no longer an -impotent thing. We are making the last stage of a long trip across the -continent by rail. The little towns are multiplying. The subtle -prescience of a great city is upon us. We turn west, then south and the -suburban villages are shouldering one another all the more closely the -entire way. We skirt and barely miss Berkeley, hesitate at Oakland and -then come to a grinding final stop at the end of a pier that juts itself -far out beyond the shallow reaches of San Francisco bay. Again there is -a ferry boat--a capacious craft not unlike those craft upon which we -have ridden time and time again between Staten island and the tip of -Manhattan--and when its screws have ceased to turn we will finally be in -the real San Francisco, reached as a really great metropolis may be -reached, after an infinitude of time and trouble. It is still -October--the warmest month of the year in the city by the Golden -Gate--and the girls and their young men fill the long benches on the -open decks of the ferry. The wind blows soft from the Pacific, and -straight ahead is San Francisco--a mystery of yellow illumination rising -from the water's edge. - -As the ferry makes her course, the goal is less and less of a mystery. -Street lights begin to give some sort of half-coherent form to the high -hills that make the amphitheater site of San Francisco, they dip in even -lines to show the course of straight avenues. A great beer sign changes -and rechanges in spelling its lively message, there is a moon-faced -clock held aloft, you pinch your memory sharply, and then know that it -must be the tower of the great ferry-house, the conspicuous waterfront -land-mark of San Francisco. - -In another five minutes you are passing under that tower--a veritable -gate-keeper of the city--and facing up Market street; from the beginning -its undisputed chief thoroughfare. A taxicab is standing there. You -throw your hand-baggage into it, come tumbling after, yourself. There is -a confusion of street-lights, a momentary intimacy of a trolley car -running alongside--a little later the glare and confusion of a hotel -lobby, the fascinating fuss of getting yourself settled in a strange -town. There is a double witchery in approaching a great new city at -night. - -In the morning to tumble out of your hotel into that same strange town -in the clarity of early sunshine, to have this great street or that or -that--Market or Geary or Powell--stretching forth as if longing to -invite your explorations--here again is the fascination of travel. The -big trolley cars come rolling up Market street in quick succession, and -for an instant their appeal is strong. But over there is a car of -another sort, running on narrow-gauge tracks and with the roar of an -endless cable ever at work beneath the pavement. The little cars upon -those narrow tracks interest you. They are as gaily colored and as -bravely striped as any circus wagon of boyhood days, and when you pay -your fare you can take your choice--between the interior of a stuffy -little cabin amidships or open seats at either end arranged after the -time-honored fashion of Irish jaunting cars. San Franciscans do not -hesitate. They range themselves along the open seats of the dinky cars -and look proud as toads as the cars go clanking up the awful hills. - -The San Francisco cable car is in a transportation class by itself. It -clings tenaciously to early traditions. For in San Francisco the cable -railroad was born--and in San Francisco the cable railroad still -remains. One Andrew S. Halladie was its inventor--somewhere early in the -"seventies." Up Clay street hill, and to know and appreciate the slope -of Clay street hill one must have seen it once at least, Halladie's -first car struggled, while its passengers held their breaths just as -first-comers to San Francisco still hold their breaths as they ride up -and down the fearful hills. The telegraph told to the whole land how a -street railroad was running on a rope out in that little-known land of -marvels--California. But the telegraph could not tell what the railroad -on a rope meant to San Francisco--San Francisco encompassed and held in -by her high sand hills. The Clay street cable road had conquered one of -the meanest of these hills and they began to plan other roads of a -similar sort. Like a blossoming and growing vine the city spread, almost -overnight. Sand-dunes became building-lots of high value and a new -bonanza era was come to San Francisco. And, with the traditional -generosity of the coast, she gave her transportation idea to other -cities. In a little while St. Louis, Chicago, Washington and New York -were banishing the horse cars from their busiest streets. A new era in -city transit was begun. - -A few years later the broomstick trolley--cheaper and in many respects -far more efficient--displaced the cable-cars in many of these cities. -But San Francisco up to the present time has stuck loyally to her -old-time hill conquerors. And the nervous lever-clutch of the gripman as -he "gets the rope" is as distinctive of her as are the fantasies of her -marvelous wooden architecture. - -Some of the cable cars have disappeared--they began to go in those -wonderful years of reconstruction right after the fire, and they are -already obsolete in the city's chief thoroughfare, Market street. The -others remain. Over on Pacific avenue is a little line that the San -Franciscans dearly love, for it is particularly reminiscent of the trams -that used to clatter through Market street before the fire--a diminutive -summer-house in front and pulling an immaculate little horseless horse -car behind. Eventually all will go. One road's franchise has already -expired and upon it San Francisco is today maintaining the first -municipally operated street car line in any metropolitan city of -America. If the experiment in Geary street succeeds, and it is being -carefully operated with such a hope clearly in view, it will probably be -extended to the cable lines when their franchises expire and they revert -automatically to the city. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Where the Pacific rolls up to San Francisco] - -The distinctive mannerisms of San Francisco are changing--slowly but -very surely indeed. Some of them still remain, however, in greater or -less force. At the restaurants, in the shops and in the hotels you -receive your change in "hard money"--gold and silver coin. Your real San -Franciscan will have nothing else. There is something about the -substantial feeling of a coin, something about the tinkling of a handful -of it that runs straight to the bottom of his heart. Since the -fire--which worked ever more fearful havoc with San Francisco comforts -than with the physical structure of the city--the use of paper money has -increased. But your true Californian will have none of it. When he goes -east and they give him paper money he fusses and fumes about -it--inwardly at least. He thinks that it may slip out of that pesky -inner pocket or vest or coat. He wants gold--a handful of it in his -trousers-pocket to jingle and to stay put. And as for pennies. You who -count yourself of the East will have to come east once again before you -pocket such copper trash--they will have none of them upon the West -Coast. Small change may be anything else but it is not Western. - -"Western," did we say? - -Hold on. San Francisco is not western. California is not western. To -call either western is to commit an abomination approaching the use of -the word "Frisco." - -"California is to all purposes, practical and social--a great island," -your San Franciscan will explain to you. "To the east of us lies -another dividing sea--the broad miles of desert and of mountains, and so -broad is it that Hong Kong or Manila or Yokohama seem nearer to us than -Chicago or St. Louis. We recognize nothing west of New York and -Washington. Between is that vast space--the real West--which fast trains -and good, bridge in a little more than four days. In there is your -West--Illinois, Mississippi, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado--all the rest of -that fine family of American states. - -"In Los Angeles, now, it is different. The lady that you take out upon -your arm there is probably from Davenport or Kokomo or Indianapolis, -whether she will admit it or not. Los Angeles is western. We are not. We -are 'the Coast' and be exceeding careful, young man, how you say it." - -He has spoken the truth. Your typical San Franciscan is quite as well -versed in the streets and shops and hotels of London, Paris and Vienna, -as your typical New Yorker or Bostonian. The four days bridging across -the North American continent is no more to him than the Hudson river -ferries to the commuter from New Jersey. His city is cosmopolitan--and -he is proud of it. Her streets are cosmopolitan and so are her shops and -her great hotels. To the stately Palace reared from the site of the old, -and with a new glass-covered court rivaling the glories of its -predecessor, still come princes and diplomats, globe-trotters of every -sort and bearing in their train wondrous luggage of every sort, -prosperous miners from the North, bankers from the East, Californians -from every corner of their great state, and look with curious interest -at the elect of San Francisco sipping their high tea there in the court -yard. - -And the cosmopolitanism of the streets is still more marked. Portuguese, -Italian, sour-doughs from Alaska, hundreds of the little brown Japs who -are giving California such a tremendous worry these days, Indians, -French Kanakas, Mexicans, Chinese--the list might be run almost -interminably. Of these none are more interesting than the Chinese. You -see them in all the downtown quarters of San Francisco--the men with -that inscrutable gravity and sagacity that long centuries of -civilization seem to have given them, the women and the little girls, of -high caste or low, invariably hatless and wearing loose coat and -trousers--in many cases of brilliant colors and rare Oriental silks. And -when you come to their own city within a city--San Francisco's famous -Chinatown--they are the dominant folk upon the street. Of course the new -Chinatown is not the old--with its subterranean labyrinths of -unspeakable vileness and dirt, with danger and crime lurking in each of -its dark corners. That passed completely in the fire. But it had begun -to pass even before that great calamity. It was being exploited. Paid -guides, with a keen sense of the theatrical, were beginning to work the -damage. The "rubberneck wagons" were multiplying. - -Today Chinatown is frankly commercial. It is clean and new and clever. -Architects have brought more of the Chinese spirit into its buildings -than the old ever had. It does not lack color--by day, the treasures of -its shops, the queer folk who walk its streets, even the bright red -placards upon the door-lintels; by night the close slow-moving throngs -through Grant avenue--its chief thoroughfare--the swinging lanterns -above their heads, the radiance that comes out from brilliantly lighted -and mysterious rooms along the way--the new Chinatown of San Francisco. -But it is now frankly commercial. The paid guides and the "rubberneck -wagons" have completed the ruin. If you are taken into an opium den, you -may be fairly sure that the entire performance has been staged for the -delectation of you and yours. For the real secrets even of the new -Chinatown are not shown to the unappreciative eyes of white folk. - -At the edge of Chinatown slopes Portsmouth square and here the -cosmopolitanism of San Francisco reaches its high apex. Around it -chatters the babel of all tongues, beyond it stretches the "Barbary -Coast,"[G] that collection of vile, if picturesque resorts that -possesses a tremendous fascination for some San Franciscans and some -tourists but which has no place within the covers of this book. To -Portsmouth square come the representatives of all these little colonies -of babbling foreigners, the men who sail the seven seas--the flotsam and -the jetsam not alone of the Orient but of the whole wide world as well. -There is a little man who sits on one side of the square and who for a -very small sum will execute cubist art upon your cuticle. Among -tattooers he acknowledges but two superiors--a one-legged veteran who -plies his trade near the wharves of the Mersey, and a Hindu artist at -Calcutta. The little shops that line Portsmouth square are the little -shops of many peoples. Over their counters you can buy many things -practical, and many, many more of the most impractical things in all the -world. And the new Hall of Justice rises above the square in the precise -site of the old. - - [G] As this goes to press a "vice crusade" has swept San - Francisco and the "Barbary Coast" has been forced to close - its doors. It is not unlikely that they may be opened once - again. E. H. - -Portsmouth square has played its part in the history of San Francisco. -From it the modern city dates. It was the plaza of the old Spanish town, -and within this plaza Commodore Montgomery of the American sloop-of-war -_Portsmouth_ first raised the Stars and Stripes--in the strenuous days -of the Mexican war. After that the stirring days of gold-times with the -vigilantes conducting hangings on the flat roofs of the neighboring -houses of adobe. Portsmouth square indeed has played its part in the -history of San Francisco. - -"Portsmouth square," you begin to say, "Portsmouth square--was it not -Portsmouth square that Stevenson--" - -Precisely so. There are still some of the shop-keepers about that -ancient plaza who can recall the thin figure of the poet and dreamer who -loafed lazy days in that open space--hobnobbing with sailors and the -strange dark-skinned vagabond folk from overseas. There is a single -monument in the square today--a smooth monolith upon whose top there -rests a ship, its sails full-bellied to the wind but which never reaches -a port. Upon the smooth surface of that stone you may read: - - TO REMEMBER - ROBERT LOUIS - STEVENSON - - To be honest To be - kind--To earn a lit- - tle To spend a lit- - tle less--to make - upon the whole a - family happier for - his presence--To re- - nounce when that shall - be necessary and not - be embittered--To - keep a few friends but - these without capitula- - tion--Above all on - the same grim condition - to keep friends - with himself--Here is - a task for all that a - man has of fortitude - and delicacy - -That is the lesson that Portsmouth square gives to the wanderers who -drag themselves today to its benches--the words that come as a sermon -from one who knew and who pitied wrecked humanity. - -There are other great squares of San Francisco--and filled with -interest--perhaps none other more so than Union square, in the heart of -the fine retail section with its theaters and hotels and clubs. Of these -last there is none more famous than the Bohemian. More showy clubs has -San Francisco. The Pacific Union in its great brown-stone house upon the -very crest of Nob Hill, where in other days the bonanza millionaires -were wont to build their high houses so that they might look across the -housetops and see the highways in from the sea, has a home unsurpassed -by any other in the whole land. But the Bohemian does not get its fame -from its fine town club-house. Its "jinks" held in August in a great -cluster of giant redwood trees off in the wonderful California hills are -world-renowned. In the old days all that was necessary for a man to be a -Bohemian, beyond the prime requisite of being a good fellow, was that he -be able to sing a song, to tell a story or to write a verse. In these -days the Bohemian Club, like many other institutions that were simple in -the beginning, has waxed prosperous. Some of its members have rather -elaborate cottages in among the redwoods and go back and forth in -automobiles. But much of the old spirit remains. It is the spirit which -the San Franciscan tells you gave first American recognition to such an -artist as Luisa Tetrazzini, which many years ago gave such a welcome to -the then famous Lotta that the generous actress in a burst of generous -enthusiasm returned with the gift to the city of the Lotta fountain--at -one of the most famous of the Market street corners. It is the spirit -which makes San Francisco give to art or literature the quickest -appreciation of any city in America. It is, in fact, the same spirit -that gives to San Francisco the reputation of having the gayest night -life of any city in the world--with the possible exception of Paris. - -Night life in a city means the intoxication of many lights, the creature -comfort of good restaurants. San Francisco does not lack either. When -the last glimmer of day has disappeared out over the Golden Gate, Market -street, Powell street, all the highways and the byways that lead into -them are ablaze with the incandescent glories of electricity. Commerce -and the city's lighting boards vie with one another in the splendor of -their offerings. - -And as for the restaurants--San Francisco boasts of twelve hundred -hotels, alone. Each hotel has presumably at least one restaurant. And -some of the finest of the eating-places of the city at the Golden Gate -are solely restaurants. As a matter of real fact, San Francisco is the -greatest restaurant city on the continent--in proportion to her -population even greater than New York. In New York and more recently in -Chicago the so-called "kitchenette apartment" has come into great vogue -among tiny folks--two or three rooms, a bath and a very slightly -enlarged clothes-press in which a small gas or electric stove, a sink -and a refrigerator suffices for the preparation of light breakfasts and -lunches. Dinners are taken out. In San Francisco the "kitchenettes" are -omitted in thousands of apartments. All the meals are eaten in public -dining-rooms and the restaurants thrive wonderfully. The soft climate -does much to make this possible. - -Living in these new apartments of San Francisco is a comparatively -simple matter. Your capital investment for house-keeping may be small. A -few chairs, a table or two, some linen--you are ready to begin. - -Beds? - -Bless your soul, the builder of the apartment house solved that problem -for you. Your bed is a masterpiece of architecture which lets down from -the wall, _a la Pullman_. By day it goes up against the wall again and -an ingenious arrangement of wall-shutters enables the bedding to air -throughout the entire day. In some cases the beds will let down either -within, or without, to a sleeping-porch, for your real San Franciscan -has a healthy sort of an animal love for living and sleeping in the -open. The glories of the open California country that lie within an hour -or two of the city tempt him into it each month of the year, and he is -impeccable in his horseback riding, his fishing and his shooting. - -To return to the restaurants--a decided contrast to that rough life in -the open which he really loves--here is one, quite typical of the city. -It is gay, almost garish with color and with light. Its cabaret almost -amounts to an operatic performance and its proprietor will tell you with -no little pride that he was presenting this form of restaurant -entertainment long months before the idea ever reached New York. He will -also tell you that he changes the entire scheme of decoration each three -months--the San Franciscan mind is as volatile as it is appreciative. - -Little Jap girls pass through the crowded tables bringing you hot tea -biscuits of a most delicious sort. Other girls, this time in Neapolitan -dress, are distributing flowers. The head-waiter bends over you and -suggests the salad with which you start your dinner, for it seems to be -the fashion in San Francisco restaurants to eat your salad before your -soup. The restaurant is a gay place, crowded. Late-comers must find -their way elsewhere. And the food is surprisingly good. - -But we best remember a little restaurant just back of the California -market in Pine street--into which we stumbled of a Saturday night just -about dinner-time. It was an unpretentious place, with two musicians -fiddling for dear life in a tiny balcony. But the _table d'hote_--price -one dollar, with a bottle of California wine after the fashion of all -San Francisco _table d'hotes_--was perfection, the special dishes which -the waiter suggested even finer. _Soupe l'oignon_ that might linger in -the mind for a long time, a marvelous combination salad, chicken _bonne -femme_--which translated meant a chicken pulled apart, then cooked with -artichokes in a _casserole_, the whole smothered with a wonderful brown -gravy--there was a dinner, absolute in its simplicity yet leaving -nothing whatsoever to be wished. And a long time later we read that -Maurice Baring, author and globe-trotter, had visited the place and -pronounced its cookery the finest that he had ever tasted. - -[Illustration: The Mission Dolores--San Francisco] - -There are dozens of such little places in San Francisco--named after the -fashion of its shops in grotesque or poetic fashion--and they are almost -all of them good. There is little excuse for anything else in a town -whose very cosmopolitanism proclaims real cooks in the making, whose -wharves are rubbed by smack and schooner bringing in the food treasures -of the sea, whose farms are vast truck gardens for the land, whose -markets run riot in the richest of edibles. Your San Franciscan is -nothing if not an epicure. It is hardly fair, however, to assume that he -is a glutton or that he merely lives to eat. For he is, in reality, so -very much more--optimistic, generous, brave--and how he does delight to -experiment. California is still in the throes of what seems to be a -social and political earthquake, with each shake growing a little more -rough than its predecessor. She has just overturned most of her -political ideals for the first fifty years of her life. She delights in -politics. She really lives. San Francisco, standing between those two -great schools of thought, the University of California at Berkeley, and -Leland Stanford University at Palo Alto, prides herself upon her growing -intellectuality. From the folk who dally with advanced thought of every -sort down to those who are merely puzzled and dissatisfied, the -population of this Californian metropolis demands a new order of things. -That as much as anything else explains the recent political revolutions. -Since the great fire, the plans for those revolutions have been under -progress. - -The mention of that fire--if you make any pretense to diplomacy you must -never call it an earthquake around the Golden Gate--brings us back to -the San Francisco of today. You look up and down Market street for -traces of that fire--and in vain. The city looks modern, after the -fashion of cities of the American west, but its buildings do not seem to -have arisen simultaneously after the scourge that leveled -them--simultaneously. But turn off from Market street, to the south -through Second or Third streets or north through any of the parallel -throughfares that lead out of that same main-stem of San Francisco. - -Now the fullness of that disaster--which was not more to you at the time -than the brilliancy of newspaper dispatches--comes home to you for the -first time. In the rear of your hotel is an open square of melancholy -ruins, below it a corner plat still waste, others beyond in rapid -succession. On the side streets, fragments of "party-walls," a bit of -crumbling arch, a stout standing chimney remind you of the San Francisco -that was and that can never be again. When you go out Market street, you -may see where stood the pretentious City Hall--today a stretch of -foundation-leveled ruins with a single surviving dome still devoted to -the business of the Hall of Records. Still, to get the fullness of the -disaster you must make your way into San Francisco's wonderful Golden -Gate Park, past the single standing marble doorway of the old Towne -house--a pathetic reminder of one of the great houses of the old San -Francisco--and straight up to the crest of the high lifted Strawberry -Hill. On that hill there stood until the eighteenth of April, 1906, a -solid two-storied stone observatory. It seemed to be placed there for -all time, but today it vaguely suggests the Coliseum of Rome--a half -circle of its double row of arches still standing but the weird ruin -bringing back the most tragic five minutes that an American city has -ever spent. Or if you will go a little farther, an hour on a -quick-moving suburban train will bring you to Palo Alto and the remains -of Leland Stanford University, that remarkable institution whose museum -formerly held whole cases of Mrs. Stanford's gowns and a _papier-mache_ -reproduction of a breakfast once eaten by a member of her family. - -It must be discouraging to try to bring order out of the chaos that was -wreaked there. The great library, which was wrecked within a month of -its completion, and the gymnasium have never been rebuilt, although the -dome of the latter is still held aloft on stout steel supports. The -chapel, which was Mrs. Stanford's great pride and for which she made so -many sacrifices still rears its crossing. Nave and transepts, to say -nothing of the marvelous mosaics, were leveled in the twinkling of that -April dawn. The long vistas of arched pergolas, the triumph of the -master, Richardson, still remain. And the ruin done in that catastrophe -to the high-sprung arch he placed over the main entrance to the -quadrangle has been in part eradicated. - -For Leland Stanford University today represents one of the bravest -attempts ever made in this land to repair an all but irreparable loss. -It has never lost either faith and hope, and so the visitor to its -campus today will see the beginnings toward a complete replacement of -the buildings of what was one of the "show universities" of the land. -With a patience that must have been infinite, the stones of the old -chapel have been sorted out of the ruin--even fragments of the intricate -mosaics have been carefully saved--numbered and placed in sequence for -re-erection. Already the steel frame of nave and transepts is up again -and the tedious work of erecting the masonry walls upon it begun. Leland -Stanford has, quite naturally, caught the spirit of San Francisco--the -city that would not be defeated. - -To analyze that spirit in a sweeping paragraph is all but impossible. -Incident upon incident will show it in all its phases. For instance, -there was in San Francisco on the morning of the earthquake a -sober-minded German citizen who had put his all into a new business--a -business that had just begun to prove the wisdom of his investment. When -Nature awoke from her long sleep and stretching began to rock the city -by the Golden Gate the German rushed upstairs to where his wife and -daughter slept. He found them in one another's arms and frantic with -terror. - -"Papa! Papa!" they shrieked. "We are going to die. It is the end of the -world--the business is gone. We are going to die!" - -He smiled quietly at them. - -"Well, what of it?" he asked quietly. "We die together--and in San -Francisco." - -A keen-witted business man once boasted that he could capitalize -sentiment, express the spirit of the human soul in mere dollars and -cents. What price could he give for a love and loyalty of that sort? -That was, and still is, the affection that every San Franciscan from the -ferry-house back to the farthest crest of the uppermost hill gives to -his city--it is the thing that makes her one of the few American towns -that possess distinctive personality. - -A young matron told us of her own experience on the morning of the fire. - -"Of course it was exciting," she said, "with the smoke rolling up upon -us from downtown, and the rumors repeating themselves that the disaster -was world-wide, that Chicago was in ruins and New York swallowed by a -tidal wave, but there was nothing unreal about a single bit of it. I -bundled my children together and hurried toward the Presidio--my -knowledge of army men assured me that there could be no danger there. I -took the little tent handed me and set up my crude house-keeping in it. -It still seemed very real and not so very difficult. - -"But when those odd little newspapers--that had been printed over in -Oakland--came, and I saw the first of their head-lines 'San Francisco in -Ruins' then it came upon me that our city, my city, was no more, and it -was all over. It was all the most unreal thing in the world and I cried -all that night, not for a single loss beyond that of the San Francisco -that I had loved. But the next morning they told me how they had -telegraphed East for all the architects in sight, and that morning I -began planning a new house just as if it had been a pet idea for months -and months and months...." - - * * * * * - -Out of such men and women a great city is ever builded. San Francisco -may be wild and harum-scarum, and a great deal of its wildness is -painfully exaggerated, but it is a mighty power in itself. Your San -Franciscan is rightly proud of the progress made since the great -disaster. More than $375,000,000--a sum approximating the cost of the -Panama canal--has already been spent in rebuilding the city, and now, -like a man who has spent his last dollar on a final substantial meal, -the western metropolis calls for cake and scrapes up an additional -$18,000,000 for a World's Fair "to beat everything that has gone -before." That takes financing--of a high order. It takes something more. -It has taken a real spirit--enthusiasm and love and courage--to build a -new San Francisco that shall gradually obliterate the poignant memories -of the city that was. - - - - -20 - -BELFAST IN AMERICA - - -Concerning Toronto it may be said that she combines in a somewhat -unusual fashion British conservatism and American enterprise. Her neat -streets are lined with solid and substantial buildings such as delight -the heart of the true Briton wherever he may find them; and yet she has -among these "the tallest skyscraper of the British Empire," although the -sixteen stories of its altitude would be laughed to scorn by many a -second-class American city. - -Still, many a first-class American city could hardly afford to laugh at -the growth of Toronto, particularly in recent years. She prides herself -that she had doubled her population each fifteen years of her history -and here is a geometrical problem of growth that becomes vastly more -difficult with each oncoming twelvemonth. At the close of the second war -of the United States with England, just a century ago, Toronto was a -mere hamlet. Beyond it was an unknown wilderness. The town was known as -York in those days, and although Governor Simcoe had already chosen the -place to be the capital of Upper Canada, it was a struggling little -place. Still, it must have struggled manfully, for in 1817 it was -granted self-government and in 1834, having garnered in some nine -thousand permanent residents, it was vested with a Mayor and the other -appurtenances of a real city. Since then it has grown apace, until today -in population and in financial resource it is very close upon the heels -of Montreal, for so many years the undisputed metropolis of the -Dominion. - -But perhaps the spur that has advanced Toronto has been the knowledge -that west of her is Winnipeg, and that Winnipeg has been doubling her -population each decade. And west of Winnipeg is Calgary, west of -Calgary, Vancouver; all growing apace until it is a rash man who today -can prophesy which will be the largest city of the Dominion of Canada, a -dozen years hence. The Canadian cities have certainly been growing in -the American fashion--to use that word in its broadest sense. - -And yet the strangest fact of all is that Toronto grows--not more -American, but more British year by year. Within the past twelve or -thirteen years this has become most marked. She has grown from a -Canadian town, with many marked American characteristics, into a town -markedly English in many, many ways. Now consider for a moment the whys -and the wherefores of this. - -We have already told of the rapid progress of Toronto, now what of the -folk who came to make it? In the beginning there were the -Loyalists--"Tories" we call them in our histories; "United Empire -Loyalists," as their Canadian descendants prefer to know them--who fled -from the Colonies at the time of the Revolution and who found it quite -impossible to return. In this way some of the old English names of -Virginia have been perpetuated in Toronto, and you may find in one of -the older residential sections, a great house known as Beverly, whose -doors, whose windows, whose fireplaces, whose every detail are exact -replicas of the Beverly House in Virginia which said good-by to its -proprietors a century and a half ago. - -Those Loyalists laid the foundations of Toronto of today. The -municipality of Toronto of today is, as you shall see, most progressive -in the very fibers of its being, ranking with such cities as Des Moines -and Cleveland and Boston as among the best governed upon the North -American continent. Such civic progress was not drawn from the cities -of England or of Scotland or of Ireland. And Toronto was a well -organized and governed municipality, while Glasgow and Manchester were -hardly yet emerging from an almost feudal servility. Because in Toronto -the old New England town-meeting idea worked to its logical triumph. The -Loyalists who had left their great houses of Salem and of Boston brought -more to the wildernesses of Upper Canada than merely fine clothes or -family plate. - -To this social foundation of the town came, as stock for her growth -through the remaining three-quarters of the nineteenth century, the folk -of the north of Ireland. The southern counties of the Emerald Island -gave to America and gave generously--to New York and to Boston; to New -Brunswick and to Lower Canada. The men from the north of Ireland went to -Toronto and the nearby cities of what is now the Province of Ontario. -And when Toronto became a real city they began to call her the Belfast -of America. For such she was. She was a very citadel of Protestantism. -Her folk transplanted, found that they would worship God in their -austere churches without having the reproachful phrase of "dissenter" -constantly whipped in their faces. Toronto meant toleration. So came the -Ulster men to their new Belfast. For more than sixty years they came--a -great migrating army. And if you would know the way they took root give -heed to a single illustration. - -One of these Irishmen had founded a retail store in the growing little -city of Toronto. It thrived--tremendously. News of its success went back -to the little north-of-Ireland village from whence its owner came. - -"Timothy Eaton's doin' well in America," was the word that passed -through his old county. Timothy Eaton and those who came after him took -good care of their kith and kin. For the Eaton business did prosper. -Today the firm has two great stores--one in Toronto and one in -Winnipeg--and they are not only among the largest in North America but -among the largest in the world. - -This is but one instance of the way that Toronto has grown. And when, -after sixty years of steady immigration there was little of kith and kin -left to come from Ireland, there began a migration from the other side -of the Irish channel, a new chapter in the growth of Toronto was opened. - -No one seems to know just how the tide of English emigration started, -but it is a fact that it had its beginning about the time of the end of -the Boer war. It is no less a fact that within ten or fifteen years it -has attained proportions comparable with the sixty years of Irish -immigration. The agents of the Canadian government and of her railroads -have shown that it pays to advertise. - -There is good reason for this immigration--of course. Canada, with no -little wisdom, has given great preference to the English as settlers. -She has not wished to change her religions, her language or her customs. -The English, in turn, have responded royally to the invitation to come -to her broad acres and her great cities. The steamship piers, at Quebec -and Montreal in the summer and at Halifax and St. Johns in the winter, -are steadily thronged with the newcomers, and they do not speak the -strange tongues that one hears at Ellis island in the city of New York. -They bring no strange customs or strange religions to the growing young -nation that prides herself upon her ability to combine conservatism and -progress. - -And just as Toronto once did her part in depopulating the north of -Ireland, so today is the Province of Ontario and the country to the west -of it draining old England. It is related that one little English -village--Dove Holes is its name and it is situate in Derbyshire--has -been sadly depleted in just this fashion. Eight years ago and it -boasted a population of 1250 persons. Today 500 of that number are in -America--a new village of their own right in the city of Toronto, if you -please--and Dove Holes awaits another Goldsmith to sing of its saddened -charms. One resident came, the others followed in his trail to a land -that spelled both opportunity and elbow-room. Your real Englishman of -so-called middle class, even gentlemen of the profession or service in -His Majesty's arms, seem to have one consuming passion. It is to cross -Canada and live and die in the little West Coast city of Victoria. -Victoria stands on Vancouver island and they have begun to call -Vancouver island, "Little England." In its warm, moist climate, almost -in its very conformation, it is a replica of the motherland of an -Englishman's ideal; a motherland with everything annoying, from -hooliganism to suffragettes, removed. - -But Victoria is across a broad continent as well as a broad sea, and so -your thrifty emigrant from an English town picks Toronto as the city of -his adoption. Winnipeg he deems too American; Montreal, with her -damnable French blood showing even in the street-signs and the -car-placards, quite out of the question. But Toronto does appeal to him -and so he comes straight to her. There are whole sections of the town -that are beginning to look as if they might have been stolen from -Birmingham or Manchester or Liverpool--even London itself. The little -red-brick houses with their neat, small windows are as distinctively -British as the capped and aproned house-maids upon the street. In the -States it takes a mighty battle to make a maid wear uniform upon the -street. In Toronto it is not even a question for argument. The negro -servant, so common to all of us, is unknown. The service of the better -grade of Toronto houses is today carefully fashioned upon the British -model--even to meal hours and the time-honored English dishes upon the -table. And in less aristocratic streets of the town one may see a -distinctively British institution, taken root and apparently come to -stay. It is known as a "fish and chip shop" and it retails fried fish -and potato chips, already cooked and greasy enough to be endearing to -the cockney heart. - - * * * * * - -Remember also that the city upon the north shore of Lake Ontario is an -industrial center of great importance. You cannot measure the tonnage of -Toronto harbor as you measured the harbor of Cleveland--alongside of the -greatest ports of the world--for Ontario is the lonely sister of the -five Lakes. No busy commercial fleet treks up and down her lanes. But -Toronto is a railroad center of increasing importance; they are still -multiplying the lines out from her terminals and, as we have just -intimated, she is a great and growing manufacturing community. Her -industrial enterprises have been hungry for skilled and intelligent men. -They have gradually drafted their ranks from the less-paid trades of the -town. Into these places have come the men from the English towns. The -street cars are manned by men of delightful cockney accent, they drive -the broad flat "lourries," as an Englishman likes to call a dray, they -fit well into every work that requires brawn and endurance rather than a -high degree of intellectual effort. - -Just how this invasion will affect the Toronto of tomorrow no one seems -willing to prophesy. The men from Glasgow and from Manchester are used -to municipal street railroads and such schemes and the New England -town-meeting ideas, which were the products of Anglo-Saxon spirit, come -home to rest in English hearts. The street railroad system of Toronto -may groan under its burden--it is paying over a million dollars this -year to the city and is constantly threatened with extinction as a -private corporation. But the Englishman of that city merely grunts at -the bargains it offers--six tickets for a quarter; eight in rush-hours, -ten for school children and seven for Sabbath riding, all at the same -price--and wonders "why the nawsty trams canna' do better by a codger -that's workin' like a navvie all the day?" - -Toronto will see that they do better--that is her vision into the -future. But just how the new blood is to infuse into some of the Puritan -ideas of the town--there is another question. Here is a single one of -the new puzzling points--the temperance problem. It was not so very long -ago that Canada's chief claim for fame rested in the excellence of her -whiskey--and that despite the fact that the Canadian climate is -ill-adapted to whiskey drinking. The twelfth of July--which you will -probably recall as the anniversary of the battle of the Boyne--used to -be marked by famous fights, which invariably had marine foundations in -Canadian rye. However, during the past quarter of a century, the -temperance movement has waxed strong throughout Ontario. Many cities -have become "dry" and it is possible that Toronto herself might have -been without saloons today--if it had not been for the English invasion. -For your Englishman regards his beer as food--"skittles and beer" is -something more than merely proverbial--and he must have it. He looks -complacently upon the stern Sabbath in Toronto--Sunday in an English -city is rarely a hilarious occasion--but he must have his beer. Up to -the present time he has had it. - -But these problems are slight compared with the problem of assimilation -of alien tongues and races, such as has come to New York within the past -two decades. The Englishman is but a cousin to the Canadian after all, -and he shows that by the enthusiasm with which he enters into her -politics. He entered into Mr. Taft's pet reciprocity plan with an -enthusiasm of a distinct sort. With all of his anti-American and -pro-British ideas he leaped upon it. And when he had accomplished his -own part in throttling that idea he exulted. Whether he will exult as -much a dozen years hence over the defeat of reciprocity is an open -question. But the part that the transplanted Englishman in Canada played -in that defeat is unquestioned, just as the part he is playing in -providing her with useless Dreadnoughts for the defense of other lands -is undisputed.[H] The Englishman is no small factor in Canadian -politics; he is a very great factor in the political situation in the -city of Toronto. - - [H] This plan is temporarily blocked in Canada, whose - enthusiasm for Dreadnoughts seems to be waning. E. H. - -Lest you should be bored by the politics of another land, turn your -attention to the way the Toronto people live. They have formal -entertainments a-plenty--dinners, balls, receptions--a great new castle -is being built on the edge of Rosedale for a gubernatorial residence and -presumably for the formal housing of royalty which often comes down from -Ottawa. There are theaters and good restaurants, and no matter what you -may say about her winters, the Canadian summers are delightful. For -those who must go, there are the Muskoka Lakes within easy reach, -Georgian bay and the untrod wildernesses beyond. But if we lived in -Toronto, we think we should stay at home and enjoy that wonderful lake. -There are yacht-clubs a-plenty alongside it, bathing beaches, sailing, -canoeing--the opportunity for variety of sport is wide. In the milder -seasons of the year there is golf and baseball, football, or even -cricket, and in the wintertime tobogganing and snowshoeing and -iceboating. No wonder that the cheeks of the Toronto girls are pink with -good health. - -In the autumn there is the big fair--officially the Canadian National -Exhibition--which has grown from a very modest beginning into a real -institution. Last year nearly a million persons entered its gates, -there were more than a hundred thousand admissions upon a single very -big day. Delegations of folk came from as far distant as -Australia--there were special excursion rates from all but three of the -United States. It is not only a big fair but a great fair, still growing -larger with each annual exhibition. Toronto folk are immensely proud of -it and give to it loyalty and support. And the Canadian government is -not above gaining a political opportunity from it. We remember one -autumn at Toronto three or four years ago seeing a great electric sign -poised upon one of the main buildings. It was a moving sign and the -genius of the electrician had made the semblance of a waving British -banner. Underneath in fixed and glowing letters you might read: - - ONE FLAG, ONE KING, ONE NATION - - * * * * * - -To see Toronto as a British city, however, you must go to her in May--at -the time of her spring races. The fair is very much like any of the -great fairs in the United States. The race-meet is distinctly different. -In the United States horse-racing has fallen into ill-repute, and most -of the famous tracks around our larger cities have been cut up into -building lots. The sport with us was commercialized, ruined, and then -practically forbidden. In Canada they have been wiser, although the -tendency to make the sport entirely professional and so not sport at all -has begun to show itself even over there. But in Toronto they go to -horse-races for the love of horse-racing, and not in the hopes of making -a living without working for it. - -The great spring race-meet is the gallop for the King's Guineas. It is -at the Woodbine and in addition to being the oldest racing fixture in -America it is also just such a day for Canada as Derby Day is for -England. If you go to Toronto for Plate Day--as they call that great -race-day--you will be wise to have your hotel accommodations engaged -well in advance. You will find Plate Day to be the Saturday before the -twenty-fourth of May. And, lest you should have forgotten the -significance of the twenty-fourth of May, permit us to remind you that -for sixty-four long years loyal Canada celebrated that day as the -Queen's birthday. And it is today, perhaps, the most tender tribute that -the Canadians can render Victoria--their adherence to her birthday as -the greatest of their national holidays. - -If you are wise and wish to see the English aspect of Toronto, you will -reserve your accommodations at a certain old hotel near the lakefront -which is the most intensely British thing that will open to a stranger -within the town. Within its dining-room the lion and the unicorn still -support the crown, and the old ladies who are ushered to their seats -wear white caps and gently pat their flowing black skirts. The accents -of the employes are wonderfully British, and if you ask for pens you -will surely get "nibs." The old house has an air, which the English -would spell "demeanour," and incidentally it has a wonderful faculty of -hospitality. - -From it you will drive out to the track, and if you elect you can find -seats upon a tally-ho, drawn by four or six horses, properly prancing, -just as they prance in old sporting-prints. Of course, there are -ungainly motor-cars, like those in which the country folk explore -Broadway, New York, but you will surely cling to the tally-ho. And if -your tally-ho be halted in the long and dusty procession to the track to -let a coach go flying by, if that coach be gay in gilt and color, -white-horsed, postilioned, if rumor whispers loudly, "It's the -Connaughts--the Governor-General, you know," you will forget for that -moment your socialistic and republican ideas, and strain your old eyes -for a single fleeting glimpse of bowing royalty. - -For royalty drives to Plate Day just as royalty drives to Ascot. Its -box, its manners and its footmen are hardly less impressive. And in the -train of royalty comes the best of Toronto, not the worst. Finely -dressed women, jurists, doctors, bankers--the list is a long, long one. -And in their train in turn the artisans. The plumber who tinkers with -the pipes in your hotel in the morning has a dollar up on the "plate," -so has the porter who handles your trunk, so have three-quarters of the -trolley-car men of the town--and yet they are not gamblers. The "tout" -who used to be a disagreeable and painfully evident feature of New York -racing is missing. So are the professional gamblers, the betting being -on the _pari-mutuel_ system. And the man who loses his dollar because he -failed to pick the winning horse feels that he has lost it in a -patriotic cause. It should be worth a miserable dollar to see royalty -come to the races in a coach. - - * * * * * - -From Toronto we will go to her staunch French rival, Montreal. If we are -in the midsummer season we may go upon a very comfortable steamer, down -the lonely Ontario and through the beauties of the Thousand Islands. And -at all seasons we will find the railroad ride from Toronto filled with -interest, with glimpses of lake and river, with the character of the -country gradually changing, the severe Protestant churches giving way to -great tin-roofed Roman churches, holding their crosses on high and -gathering around their gray-stone walls the houses of their little -flocks. - - - - -21 - -WHERE FRENCH AND ENGLISH MEET - - -Our hotel faces a little open square and in the springtime of the year, -when the trees are barely budding, we can still see the sober gray-stone -houses on the far side of the square, each with its brightly colored -green blinds. At one is the "Dentiste," at another the "Avocat," a third -has descended to a _pension_ with its "Chamber d'Louer." There are shiny -brass signs on the front of each of these three old houses, and every -morning at seven-thirty o'clock three trim little French Canadian maids -attack the signs vigorously with their wiping cloths. Then we know that -it is time to get up. By the same fashion we should be shaved and ready -for our marmalade and bacon and eggs as the regal carrier of the King's -mail trots down the steps of the French consulate and rings at the area -door of the neighboring "Conservatoire Musicale." In a very little time -that row of houses across the Place Viger Gardens has become a factor in -our very lives. It is the starting-point of our days. - -In the morning, when the marmalade and the bacon and eggs are finished, -we step out into the Gardens for the first breath of crisp fresh air of -the north. There is a line of wonderful cabs waiting at its edge, and a -prompt driver steps forward from each to solicit our patronage. The cab -system of Montreal is indeed wonderful--it first shows to the stranger -within that city's gates its remarkable continental character. For you -seemingly can ride and ride and ride--and then some more--and the cabby -tips his hat at a quarter or a half a dollar. He has an engaging way of -smiling at you at the end of the trip, and leaving it to you as to what -he gets. You can trust to the Montreal cabby's sense of fairness and he -seems to feel that he can trust to yours. But that is not all quite as -altruistic as it may seem at first glance. Back of the cabby's smile is -the unsmiling, sober sense of justice always existent in a British city, -and it is that which really keeps the Montreal cab service as efficient -as it really is, as cheap and as accessible. For at every one of the -almost innumerable open squares of the city, are the cab-stands, the -long line of patiently waiting carriages, and the little kiosk from -which they can be summoned. It is all quite simple and complete and an -ideal toward which metropolitan New York may be aspiring but has never -reached. - - * * * * * - -On sunny mornings we scorn the cabs and stroll across the Gardens. -Sometimes we drop for a moment on one of the clumsily comfortable -benches under the shade of the Canadian maples, and glance at the -morning paper--a ponderous sheet much given to the news of Ottawa and -London, discoursing upon the work of two Parliaments, but only granting -grudging paragraphs to the news of a home-land, scarce sixty miles -distant. That is British policy, the straining policy of trying to make -a unified nation of lands separated from one another by broad seas. That -England has done it so well is the marvel of strangers who enter her -dominions. Montreal is loyal to her mother land, despite some local -influences which we shall see in a moment. A surprising number of her -citizens go back and forth to the little island that governs her, once -or twice or three times a year. There are thousands of business men in -the metropolis of Canada who know Pall Mall or Piccadilly far more -intimately than either Wall street or Times square--and New York is -but a night's ride from Montreal. So much can carefully directed -sentiment accomplish. - -The paths that lead from the Gardens are varied and fascinating. One -stretches up a broad and sober street to Ste. Catherine's, the great -shopping promenade of the town, where the girls are all bound west -toward the big shops that stretch from Phillips to Dominion -squares--another at the opposite direction three blocks to the south and -the harbor-front, a wonderful place now in a chaos of transformation -that is going to make Montreal the most efficient port in the world. We -can remember the water-front of the old town as it first confronted us a -quarter of a century ago, after a long all-day trip down the rapids of -the upper St. Lawrence--back of the gay shipping a long stretch of sober -gray limestone buildings, accented by numerous domes, the joy of every -British architect, the long straight front of Bonsecours market, the -little spire of Bonsecours church, and the two great towers of Notre -Dame rising above it all. There was a curving wall of stone along the -quay street and it all seemed quite like the geography pictures of -Liverpool, or was it Marseilles? - -[Illustration: A church parade in the streets of Montreal] - -Nowadays that quiet prospect is gone. A great waterside elevator of -concrete rises almost two hundred and fifty feet into the air from the -quay street; there are other elevators nearly as large and nearly as -sky-scraping, a variety of grim and covered piers and the man from a -boat amidstream hardly catches even a glimpse of Notre Dame or -Bonsecours. And Montreal gave up her glimpses of the river that she -loves so passionately, not without a note of regret; the market-men -gently protested that they could no longer sit on the portico of the -Bonsecours and see the brisk activity of the harbor. But Montreal -realizes the importance of her harbor to her. She is a thousand miles -inland from "blue water" and for five months of the year her great -strength giving river is tightly frozen; despite these obstacles she has -come within the past year to be the most efficient port in the world, -and among twelve or fourteen of the greatest. And commercial power is a -laurel branch to any British city. - -There are other paths that lead from Place Viger Gardens--that lead on -and on and to no place in particular, but all of them are filled with -constant interest. The side streets of Montreal are fascinating. Their -newer architecture is apt to be fantastic, ofttimes incongruous, but -there are still many graystone houses in that simple British style that -is still found throughout the older Canada, all the way from Halifax to -the Detroit river. There are the inevitable maple trees along the curbs -that make Montreal more of a garden city than unobservant travelers are -apt to fancy it. And then there are the institutions, wide-spreading and -many-winged fellows, crowned with the inevitable domes and shielded from -the vulgarity of street traffic by high-capped walls. These walls are -distinctive of Montreal. Often uncompromising, save where some gentle -vine runs riot upon their lintels and laughs at their austerity, they -are broken here and there and again by tightly shut doors, doors that -open only to give forth on rare occasions; to let a somber file of nuns -or double one of cheaply uniformed children pass out into a sordid and -sin-filled world, and then close quickly once again lest some of its -contaminations might penetrate the gentle and unworldly place. And near -these great institutions are the inevitable churches, giant -affairs--parish churches still dominating the sky-line of a town which -is just now beginning to dabble in American skyscrapers, and standing -ever watchful, like a mother hen brooding and protecting her chicks. -These chance paths often lead to other squares than the Gardens of the -Place Viger--squares which in spring and in summer are bright green -carpets spread in little open places in the heart and length and -breadth of the city, and which are surrounded by more of the solid -graystone houses with the green blinds. When we go from Montreal we -shall remember it as a symphony of gray and green--remember it thus -forever and a day. - -But best of all we like the path that leads from the Place Viger west -through the very heart of the old city and then by strange zig-zags, -through the banking center, Victoria square, Beaver Hall Hill and smart -Ste. Catherine's to Dominion square and the inevitable afternoon tea of -the British end of the town. We turn from our hotel and the great new -railroad terminal that it shelters, twist through a narrow -street--picturesquely named the Champ d'Mars--and follow it to the plain -and big City Hall and Court House. They are uninteresting to us, but -across the busy way of Notre Dame street stands the Chateau de Ramezay, -a long, low, whitewashed building, which has had its part in the making -of Montreal. This stoutly built old house was built in 1705 by Claude de -Ramezay, Governor of Montreal, and was occupied by him for twenty years -while he planned his campaigns against both English and Indians. Then -for a time it was the headquarters of the India company's trade in furs, -and for a far longer time after 1759 the home of a succession of British -governors. Americans find their keenest interest in the Chateau de -Ramezay, in the fact that it was in its long rambling low-ceilinged -rooms that Benjamin Franklin set up his printing-press, away back during -the days of the first unpleasantness between England and this country. -After that, all was history, the Chateau was again the Government House -of the old Canada--until Ottawa and the new Dominion came into -existence. Nowadays, it faces one of the busiest streets of a busy -city--and is not of it. It is like a sleeping man by the roadside, who, -if he might awake once more, could spin at length the romances of other -days and other men. - -Beyond the Chateau de Ramezay is a broad and open market street that -stretches from the inevitable Nelson monument, that is part and pride of -every considerable British city, down to that same water-front, just now -in process of transformation. Sometimes on a Tuesday or a Friday morning -we have come to the place early enough to see the open-air market of -Montreal, one of the heritages of past to present that seems little -disturbed with the coming and the passing of the years. Shrewd shoppers -coming out of the solid stone mass of the Bonsecours pause beside the -wagons that are backed along the broad-flagged sidewalks. The country -roundabout Montreal must be filled with fat farms. One look at the -wagons tells of low moist acres that have not yet lost their fertility. -And sometimes the market women bring to the open square hats of their -own crude weaving, or little carved crosses, or even bunches of delicate -wild-flowers and sell them for the big round Canadian pennies. There is -hardly any barterable article too humble for this market-place, and with -it all the clatter of small sharp pleasant talk between a race of small, -sharp, pleasant folk. - -From the market-place leading out from before the ugly City Hall and the -uninteresting Court House, our best walk leads west through Notre Dame -street up to the nearby Place d'Armes. It is a very old street of a very -old city and even if the history of the town did not tell us that some -of the old houses, staunch fellows every one of them, high-roofed and -dormered, with their graystone walls four and five feet thick and as -rough and rugged as the times for which they were built, would convince -us, of themselves. They are fast going, these old fellows, for Montreal -has entered upon boom times with the multiplication of transcontinental -railroads across Canada. But it seems but yesterday that they could -point to us in the Place d'Armes the very house in which lived LaMothe -Cadillac, the founder of Detroit, nearby the house of Sieur Duluth. -Montreal seems almost to have been the mother of a continent. - - * * * * * - -It is in this Place d'Armes, this tiny crowded square in the center of -the modern city, hardly larger than the garden of a very modest house -indeed, that so many of the romantic memories of the old Montreal -cluster. With the great church that has thrust its giant shadow across -it for more than three quarters of a century, the Place d'Armes has been -the heart of Montreal since the days when it was a mere trading post, a -collection of huts at the foot of the lowest rapids of the mighty river. -Much of the old Montreal has gone, even the citadel at the west end of -the town gave way years ago to Dalhousie square, which in turn gave way -to the railroad yards of the Place Viger terminals. But the Place -d'Armes will remain as long as the city remains. - -At its northwest corner is the colonnaded front of the Bank of Montreal, -one of the finest banking-homes in Canada. - -"It is the great institution of this British Dominion," says a very old -Canadian, whom we sometimes meet in the little square. "It is the -greatest bank in North America." - -Offhand, we do not know as to the exact truth of that sweeping -statement, but it is a certain fact that the Bank of Montreal is the -greatest bank in all Canada, one of the greatest in the world, with its -branches and ramifications extending not only across a continent four -thousand miles in width but also over two broad seas. To Montreal it -stands as that famous "old lady of Threadneedle street" stands to -London. - -"And yet," our Canadian friend continues, "right across the Place -d'Armes here is an institution that could buy and sell the Bank of -Montreal--or better still, buy it and keep it." - -Our eyes follow his pointing hand--to a long, low building on the south -side of the little square. It is very old and exceeding quaint. Although -built of the graystone of Montreal, brought by the soot of many years to -almost a dead black, it seems of another land as well as of another -time. Its quaint belfry with delicate clock-face and out-set hands is -redolent of the south of France or Spain or even Italy. It does not seem -a part and parcel of Our Lady of the Snows--and yet it is. - -"You know--the Seminary of St. Sulpice," says our Canadian friend. "It -was the original owner of the rich island of Montreal. No one knows its -wealth today, even after it has parted with many of its fee-holds. It -still holds title to thousands of acres and no one save the Gentleman of -the Corporation of St. Sulpice, themselves, knows the wealth of the -institution. To say that it is the richest ecclesiastical institution of -the Americas is not enough, for here is an organization that for -coherency, wealth and strength surpasses Standard Oil and forms the -chief financial support of the strongest church in the world." - -And this time we feel that our acquaintance of the Place d'Armes is not -by any chance over-stepping the mark. In the quaint little Seminary that -stands in the half-day shadow of the second largest church on the -continent--a church that it easily builded in the first third of the -nineteenth century from its accumulated wealth--there centers much of -the mystery of Montreal, a mystery which to the stranger takes concrete -form in the high walls along the crowded streets, in whispered rumors of -this force or that working within the politics of the city, in the -so-called Nationalist movement, and flaunts itself in rival displays of -Union Jack and the historic Tricolor of France. There is little of -mystery in the outer form of the Seminary. The quiet folk who live -within those very, very old walls are hospitality itself--even though -their ascetic living is of the hardest, crudest sort. The only bed and -carpeted room within the building is reserved for the occasional visits -of bishop, or even higher church authority. But hidden from the street -by the earliest part of the Seminary--almost unchanged since its -erection in 1710--and enclosed by a quadrangle of the fortress-like -stone buildings of the institution, is a most delicious garden with -old-fashioned summer flowers and quaint statues of favored saints set in -its shaded place. We remember a garden of the same sort at the mission -of Santa Barbara, in California. These two are the most satisfactory -gardens that we have ever seen. And it is from the rose-bushes in the -Seminary of Montreal that one gets a full idea of the size and beauty of -the exterior of the parish church of Notre Dame. Like so many of the -cathedrals of Europe, it is so set as to have no satisfactory view-point -from the street. - -And yet Notre Dame is one of the most satisfying churches that we have -ever seen. It is not alone its size, not alone its wonderfully -appropriate location facing that historic Place d'Armes, not any one of -the interesting details of the great structure that comes to us, so much -as the thing which the parish church typifies--the intact keeping of the -customs, the language and the faith of a folk who were betrayed and -deserted by their motherland, more than a century and a half ago. One -rarely hears the word of English spoken in the shadowy and worshipful -aisles of Notre Dame. It is the babbling French that is the language of -three-quarters of the residents of Montreal. - -For there stands French, not only entrenched in the chief city of -England's chief possession, but a language that, in the opinion of -unprejudiced observers, gains rather than loses following each -twelvemonth. There are reasons back of all this, and many of them too -complicated and involved to be entered upon here. Suffice it to say here -and now that the city school taxes are divided pro rata between -Protestants and Roman Catholics for the conduct of their several schools -of every sort. And that in most of the Catholic schools French is -practically the only language taught, a half-hour a day being sometimes -given to English, whenever it is taught at all. The devotion of these -French Canadians to their language is only second to their religion, and -is closely intermingled with it. There is something pathetic and lovable -about it all that makes one understand why the _habitans_ of a little -town below Montreal tore down the English sign that the Dominion -government erected over their Post Office, a year or so ago. And the -Dominion government took the hint, made no fuss, but replaced its error -with a French sign. Remember that there are more Tricolors floating in -lower Canada than British Union Jacks. - -The signs of Montreal point the truth. Half of the street markers must -be in English, half in French, just as the city government that places -them divides its proceedings, half in one language, half in the other. -This even division runs to the street car transfers and notices, the -flaring bulletins on sign-boards and dead-walls, even so stolid a -British institution as the Harbor Commissioners giving the sides of its -brigade of dock locomotives evenly to the rival tongues. - -To attend high mass in Notre Dame is to make a memory well-nigh -ineffaceable. It is to bring back in future years recollections of a -great church, lifted from its week-day shadows by a wealth of dazzling -incandescents, to be ushered past silent, kneeling figures to a stout -pew, by a stout _Suisse_ in gaudy uniform; to look to a high altar that -stands afar and ablaze with candles, while priests and acolytes, by the -hundreds, pass before it chanting, and the Cardinal sits aloft on his -throne silent and in adoration; to hear not a word of English from that -high place or the folk who sit upon the great floor or in the two -encircling galleries, but to catch the refrain of chant and of "Te -Deum;" these are the things that seem to make religion common to every -man, no matter what his professed faith. And then, after it is all over, -to come out of the shadows of the parish church into the brilliant -sunshine of the Place d'Armes, the place where they once executed -murderers under the old French law by breaking their backs and then -their lesser bones, and to hear Gros Bourdon sing his chant over the -city from the belfry of Notre Dame--this is the old Montreal living in -the heart of the new. They do not swing the great bell any more--for -even Notre Dame grows old and its aged stones must be respected--but -they toll it rapidly, in a sort of sing-song chant. We have stood in the -west end of the town, three miles distant from the Place d'Armes, and -heard the rich, sweet tones of his deep throat come booming over the -crowded city--a warning to a half a million folk to turn from worldier -things to the thought of mighty God. - - * * * * * - -Our best path leads west again from the Place d'Armes, past the newly -reconstructed General Post Office, more stately banks here concentrating -the wealth of the strong, new Canada; smart British-looking shops and -restaurants. In these last you may drink fine ales, munch at rare -cheeses, of which Montreal is _connoisseur_, and eat rare roast beef -done to a turn, with Yorkshire pudding, six days in a week. But you will -look in vain for real French restaurants with their delectable -_cuisines_. We have looked in vain in our almost innumerable trips to -the city under the mountain. We have enlisted our friend Paul, who -avers that he knows Montreal as he knows the fingers on his hand. Paul -is a reporter on a French paper. He works not more than fourteen -consecutive hours on dull days, at a princely salary of nine dollars a -week, and the rest of the time he is our entertainment committee--and an -immense success at that. Paul has taught us a smattering of Montreal -French, and he has shown us many curious places about the old city, but -he has never found us a French restaurant that could even compare with -some we know in the vicinity of West Twenty-seventh street in the city -of New York. Sometimes he has come to us with mysterious hints of final -success and we have girded our loins quickly to go with him. But when we -have arrived it has been a place white-fronted like the dairy lunches -off from Broadway, and we have never seen one of them without the -listing of breakfast foods from Battle Creek, Michigan, mince-pie or -other typical dishes from the States. And at Paul's rarest find we -interviewed _Monsieur le proprietaire_, only to have the dashing news -that he had once served as second _chef_ in the old Burnet House, in -Cincinnati. There is, after all, a closer bond between two neighboring -nations than either Ottawa or London is willing to admit and even Paul, -loyal to his language and to his traditions, admits that. - -"Some day--some day," he dreams to us between cigarettes, "I am going -down to see the Easter parade on Fifth avenue. Last year twelve thousand -went from Montreal"--he chuckles--"and folks from Bordeaux ward looked -at the swells from Westmount and thought they were real New Yorkers." - -And a little while later, between another change of cigarettes, he adds: - -"And I may not come back on my ticket. I understand--that reporters get -fifteen or twenty dollars a week on the New York city papers." - -Paul's collar is impossible and his appetite for cigarettes fiendish, -but he has ambitions. Perhaps he shares the ambitions of the city which, -old in heart and traditions, is new in enterprise and hope, and looks -forward to being the mighty gateway of the greatest of all English great -possessions--a city filled with more than a million folk. - - * * * * * - -We pass through the splendors of Victoria square and up the steep turn -of Beaver Hall Hill into Phillips square and smart Ste. Catherine -street. In a general way, the French element have preempted the eastern -end of the city for themselves, while the English-speaking portion of -the population clings to the section north and west of Phillips square -and Ste. Catherine street right up to the first steep slopes of Mount -Royal. This part of the city looks like any smart, progressive British -town--with its fine Gothic Cathedral of the Church of England facing its -showy main street, its exclusive clubs and its great hotels. And -nowadays smart modern restaurants are also crowding upon Ste. Catherine -street, for modern Montreal will proudly tell you, and tell you again -and again, that it is more continental, far more continental than -London, which in turn is tightly bound down by the traditions of English -conservatism. Montreal is not very literary--Toronto surpassing it in -that regard--but it has a keen love of good paintings, good art of every -sort. It ranks itself next to New York and Boston and among North -American cities in this regard. - -"We are more proud of our public and private galleries," says the -citizen of the town who sips tea at five o'clock with you in the lounge -of the Windsor, "than we are of our New Yorkish restaurants that have -imported themselves across the line within the past year or two. We have -smiled at our daughters drifting in here for their tea on matinee -afternoons, but dinners and American cocktails--well there are some -sorts of reciprocity that we decidedly do not want." - -We understand. Montreal wants her personality, her rare and varied -personality, preserved inviolate and intact. That is one great reason -why she has cherished the pro-British habits of her press. New York is -well enough for a trip--Montreal delights in our metropolis, as she does -in our Atlantic City--as mere pleasure grounds, and the Easter hegira, -in which Paul is yet to join, grows each year. But New York is New York, -and Montreal must be Montreal. With her wealth of tradition, her -peculiarly unique conservatism of two languages and two great peoples -working out their problems in common sympathy, without conceding a -single heritage, one to the other, the city of the gray and green must -keep to her own path. - - - - -22 - -THE CITY THAT NEVER GROWS YOUNG - - -He stands, hat in hand, facing the city that honors his memory so -greatly. To Samuel de la Champlain Quebec has not merely given the glory -of what seems to us to be one of the handsomest monuments in America, -but here and there in her quiet streets she brings back to the stranger -within her walls recollections of the doughty Frenchman who braved an -unknown sea to find a site for the city, which for more than three -hundred years has stood as guardian to the north portal of America. -Other adventurous sea spirits of those early days went chiefly in the -quest of gold. Champlain had loftier ambitions within his heart. He -hoped to be a nation-builder. And not only Quebec, but the great -young-old nation that stands behind her, is his real monument. - -Still, the artist's creation of bronze and of marble is effective--not -alone, as we have already said, because of its own real beauty--but also -very largely because of its tremendously impressive setting at the rim -of the upper town--facing the tiny open square that as far back as two -hundred and fifty years ago was the center of its fashionable life. -Champlain in bronze looks at the tidy Place d'Armes--older residents of -Quebec still delight in calling it the Ring--with its neat pathways of -red brick and its low, splashing fountain, as if he longed to return to -flesh and blood and walk through the little square and from it down some -of the narrow streets that he may, himself, have planned in the days of -old. - -Or perhaps he would have chosen that once imposing main thoroughfare of -Upper Town, St. Louis street, which out beyond the city wall has the -even more distinctive French title of the Grande Allee. We have chosen -that main street many times ourselves, leading straight past the -castellated gateways of the Chateau, fashioned less than a score of -years ago by a master American architect--Mr. Bruce Price--and since -grown very much larger, quite like a lovely girl still in her teens. On -the other side of the street, close to the curb of the Place d'Armes, is -the ever-waiting row of Victorias and _caleches_, whose drivers rise -smilingly in their places even at the mere suggestion of a coming fare. -Beyond these patient Jehus stands the rather ordinary looking Court -House, somewhat out of harmony with the architectural traditions of the -town--and then we are plunged into the heart of as fascinating a street -as one may hope to see in North America. It is clean--immaculate, if you -please, after the fashion of all these _habitans_ of lower Canada--and -it is bordered ever and ever so tightly by a double row of clean-faced -stone houses, their single doors letting directly upon the sidewalk, -and, also after the fashion of all Quebec, surmounted by steep pitched -tin roofs and wonderfully fat chimneys, covered with tin in their turn. -Quebec seems to have a passion for tin. It is her almost universal -roofing, and in the bright sunshine, glittering with mirror-like -brilliancy of contrast against the age-darkened stone walls, it has a -charm that is quite its own. - -One of these old houses of St. Louis street sets well back from the -sidewalk in a seeming riotous waste of front lawn, and bears upon its -face a tablet denoting it as the one-time home of the Duke of Kent. This -distinguished gentleman lived in Quebec many years before he became -father of Queen Victoria. In fact, Quebec remembers him as a rather gay -young blade of a fellow who had innumerable mild affairs with the -fascinating French-Canadian girls of the town. These things have almost -become traditions among the older folk of the place. Those girls of -Quebec town seem always to have held keen attractions for young blades -from afar. When you turn down Mountain Hill and pass the General Post -Office with its quaint Golden Dog set in the _facade_, they will not -only make you re-read that fascinating romance of the old Quebec, but -they will tell you that years after the Philiberts and the Repentignys -were gone and the English were in full enjoyment of their rare American -prize, that same old inn, upon whose front the gnawing dog was so -securely set, was run by one Sergeant Miles Prentice, whose pretty -niece, Miss Simpson, so captivated Captain Horatio Nelson of His -Majesty's Ship _Albemarle_ that it became necessary for his friends to -spirit away the future hero of Trafalgar to prevent him from marrying -her. - -Beyond the old house of the Duke of Kent, St. Louis street is a narrow -path lined by severe little Canadian homes all the way to the city gate. -Many of these houses are fairly steeped in tradition. One tiny fellow -within which the ancient profession of the barber still works is the -house wherein Montcalm died. And to another, Benedict Arnold was taken -in that ill-starred American attack upon Quebec. A third was a gift two -centuries ago by the Intendant Bigot to the favored woman of his -acquaintance. Romance does creep up and down the little steps of these -little houses. They change hardly at all with the changing of the years. - -[Illustration: Lower Town, Quebec--from the Terrace] - -Here among them are the ruins of an old theater--its solid-stone facade -still holding high above the narrow run of pavement. It has been swept -within by fire--the evil enemy that has fallen upon Quebec again and -again and far more devastatingly than even the cannon that have -bombarded her from unfriendly hands. - -"Are they going to rebuild?" you may inquire, as you look at the stolid -shell of the old theater. - -"Bless you, no," exclaims your guide. "The Music Hall was burned more -than a dozen years ago. Quebec does not rebuild." - -But he is wrong. Quebec does rebuild, does progress. Quebec progresses -very slowly, but also very surely. To a man who returns after twenty -years' absence from her quiet streets, the changes are most apparent. -There are fewer _caleches_ upon the street--those quaint two-wheeled -vehicles which merge the joys of a Coney island whirly-coaster and the -benefits of Swedish massage--although the drivers of these distinctive -carriages still supply the American's keen demand for "local color" by -shouting "_marche donc_" to their stout and ugly little horses as they -go running up and down the steep side-hill streets. Nowadays most -tourists eschew the _caleche_ and turn towards trolley cars. That of -itself tells of the almost sinful modernization of Quebec. It is almost -a quarter of a century since the electric cars invaded the narrow -streets of the Upper Town, and in so doing caused the wanton demolition -of the last of the older gates--Porte St. Jean. The destruction of St. -Jean's gate was a mistake--to put the matter slightly. It came at a time -when the question was being gently raised of the replacement of the -older gates that had gone long before--Palace, Hope and Prescott. -Nowadays but two of these portals remain, the St. Louis and the Kent -gates, and these are not in architectural harmony with the solid British -fortifications. - -Indeed, that is one of the great crimes to be charged against the -modernization of Quebec. Other old towns in America have brought their -architects to a clever sense of the necessity of making their newer -buildings fit in absolute harmony with the older. They have clung -jealously to their architectural personality. Quebec has missed that -point. With the exception of the lovely Chateau which fits the -traditions of the town, as a solitaire fits a ring setting, the newer -buildings represent a strange hodge-podge of ideas. - -Quebec herself rather endures being quaint than enjoys it; for in this -day of Canadian development she has dreamed of the future after the -fashion of those insistent towns further to the west. It has not been -pleasant for her to drop from second place in Canadian commercial -importance to fourth or fifth. She has had to sit back and see such -cities as Winnipeg, for instance, come from an Indian trading-place to a -metropolitan center two or three times her size, while her own wharves -rot. It is a matter of keen humiliation to the town every time a big -ocean liner goes sailing up the river to Montreal--her river, if you are -to give ear to the protests of her citizens whom you meet along the -Terrace of a late afternoon--without halting at her wharves, perhaps -without even a respectful salute to the town which has been known these -many years as the Gibraltar of America. - -So she has given herself to the development of transcontinental railroad -projects. When one Canadian railroad decided to use her as the summer -terminal of its largest trans-Atlantic liners without sending those -great vessels further up to Montreal, Quebec saw quickly what that meant -to her in prestige and importance. When the railroads told her, as -politely as they might, that they could not develop her as a mighty -traffic center because of the broad arm of the St. Lawrence which -blocked rail access from the South, she put her wits together and set -out to bridge that arm with the greatest cantilever in the world. The -fall of the Quebec bridge five years ago with its toll of eighty lives, -was a great blow to the commercial hopes of the town. But they have -begun to arise once more. The wreckage of that tragedy is already out -of the way and the workmen are trying again, placing fresh foundations -for the slender, far-reaching span that is going to mean so very much to -the portal city of Canada. - - * * * * * - -But progress has not robbed Quebec of her charm. It seems quite unlikely -that such a brutal tragedy shall ever come. They may come as they did a -year or two ago and tear down the impressive Champlain market--one of -the very great lions of the Lower Town--but they do not understand the -_habitans_ from those back country villages around Quebec. Progress does -not come to those obscure communities--no, not even slowly. The women -still gather together at some mountain stream on wash-days and cleanse -their laundry by placing it over flat rocks by the waterside and -pounding it with wooden paddles, there are more barns roofed with thatch -than with shingles, to say nothing of farms where a horse is an unknown -luxury and men till the soil much as the soil was tilled in the days of -Christ. From those places came the _habitans_ to Champlain -market--within my memory some of them in two-wheeled carts drawn by -great Newfoundland dogs--and it was a gay place on at least two mornings -of the week. One might buy if one pleased--bartering is a fine art to -the French-Canadian and one dear to his soul--or one might pass to the -next stall. But one could never pass very many stalls, with their bright -offerings of food-stuffs or simple wearing apparels alike set in -garniture of the brilliant flowers of this land of the short warm -summer. - -And now that the sturdy Champlain market is no more--literally torn -apart, one stone from another--a few of these folk--typical of a North -American race that refuses to become assimilated even after whole -centuries of patient effort--still gather in the open square that used -to face the market-house. They do not understand. There are only a few -of them, and their little shows of wares are still individually brave, -still individually gay. But even these must see that the folk with money -no longer come to them. Perhaps they see and with stolid French-Canadian -indifference refuse to accept the fact. Such a thing would be but -characteristic of a folk, who, betrayed and forgotten by their home-land -for a little more than one hundred and fifty years, still cling not -merely to their religion, but to traditions and a language that is alien -to the land that shelters them. In Montreal the traveler from the States -first finds French all but universal, the hardy Tricolor of France -flying from more poles than boast British Union Jacks. In Quebec that -feeling is intensified. We hunted through the shops of the town for a -British standard, and in vain. But every one of the obliging -shop-keepers was quick to offer us the flag of France. And the -decorative _motif_ of the modern architecture of new Quebec lends itself -with astonishing frequency to the use of the lilies of old France. - -"It is that very sort of thing that makes Britain the really great -nation that she is," an old gentleman told us one afternoon on the -Terrace. We had been discussing this with him, and he had told us how -the city records of Quebec--a British seaport town--were kept in French, -how even the legislative proceedings in the great new parliament -building out on the Grande Allee beyond the city wall were in that same -prettily flavored tongue. "Yes, sir," he continued, "we may have a King -that is English in title and German in blood, sir, but here in Canada we -have one who through success and through defeat is more than King--Sir -Wilfred Laurier--our late premier, sir." - -We liked the old gentleman's spunk. He was typical of the old French -blood as it pulses within the new France. We liked the old gentleman, -too. To us he was as one who had just stepped from one of Honore -Balzac's stories, with his mustaches, waxed and dyed into a drooping -perfection, his low-set soft hat, his vast envelope of a faded -greatcoat, his cane thrust under his arm, as Otis Skinner might have -done it. We had first met him one morning coming out of the arched -gateway of the very ancient whitewashed pile of the Seminary; again as -he stepped from his morning devotions out through the doorway of the -Basilica into the sunlight of what was once the market-square of the -Upper Town--after that many more times. Finally we had risked a little -smile of recognition, to be answered by the salute courtly. We had -conquered. We knew that romance personified was close to him. Perhaps -our old gentleman was an army man; he must have been able to sit on the -long porch of the Garrison Club, that delectable and afternoon-teable -place that looks out upon the trim grass-carpeted court-yard, and tell -stories at least as far back as the Crimea. - -"A Frenchman?" you begin, as if attacking the very substance of our -argument of romance, "fighting the battles of the English Queen?" - -Bless your heart, yes. The Frenchmen of lower Canada have never -hesitated at helping England fight her battles. Within sixteen years -after their own disastrous defeat before the walls of the citadel city -that they loved so dearly, they were fighting alongside of their -conquerors to hold her safe from the attacks of the tremendously brave, -and half-fed little American army which ventured north through the -fearful rigors of a Canadian winter, hopelessly to essay the impossible. - -But our old gentleman was not a soldier. He was a seller of cheeses in -St. Roch ward, who had retired in the sunset of his life. He knew the -Quebec of the days when the Parliament house stood perched at the -ramparts at the Prescott gate, and the old gateways themselves were -narrow _impasses_ at which the traffic of great carts and little -_caleches_ in summer, and dancing, splendid sleighs in winter, was -forever fearfully congested; he could tell many of the romances that -still linger up this street and down that, within the stout walls of -this house or in the sheltered garden of some nunnery or half-hidden -home. He could speak English well, which, for a Frenchman in Quebec, is -a mark of uncommon education. But, best of all, he knew his Quebec. He -was in a true sense the old Quebec living in the new. - -Even among the cosmopolitan folk of the Terrace in the shady late -afternoons, you could recognize him as such. He was apart from the -throng--a motley of bare-footed, brown-cloaked friars, full-skirted -priests, white nuns and gray and black, red-coated soldiers from the -Citadel to give a sharp note of color to the great promenade of Quebec, -millionaires real and would-be from New York, tourists of every sort -from all the rest of our land, funny looking English folk from the -yellow-funnelled _Empress_, which had just pulled in from Liverpool and -even now lay resting almost under the walls of old Quebec--he was -readily distinguished. To be with him was, of itself, a matter of -distinction. - -[Illustration: Four Brethren upon the Terrace] - -To walk the staid streets of the fascinating old town with him was a -privilege. Always the excursion led to new and unexpected turns; one day -up the narrow lane and through the impressive gates of the Citadel, -where a petty officer detained our American cameras and assigned us to a -mumbling rear private for perfunctory escort around the old place. It is -no longer tenanted by British troops. The last of these left forty years -ago. These red-coats are counterfeit; raw-boned boys from Canadian farms -being put through their military paces by a distant government which may -sometimes overlook, but not always. The Citadel as a military work is -tremendously out-of-date. Even as it now stands, it is almost a century -old, and that tells the story. The guns that have so wide a sweep and so -exquisite a view from the ramparts may look fear-inspiring, but the -ramparts are of stone and would be quickly vulnerable to modern naval -ordnance. - -The gun that is unfailingly shown to Americans is a small field-piece -which is said to have been captured from us at Bunker Hill. Whereupon -our tourists, with a rare gift of repartee, always exclaim: - -"Ah, you may have the gun, but we have the hill!" - -And the military training of the young Canadian militiaman is so perfect -that he smiles politely in response. As a matter of fact, there is no -record of the fact that the gun was ever taken from the Americans, -although each little while there is a request from the States for its -return, which is always met with derision and scorn by the Canadians. -Politics in Our Lady of the Snows is almost entirely beyond the -understanding of an American. - - * * * * * - -Sometimes our friend of old Quebec led us to the churches of the -town--many of them capped with roosters upon their steeples, instead of -the Roman cross which we had believed inevitable with the Catholic -church. Since then we have been informed that many of the Swiss churches -of the same faith have that high-perched cock upon the steeple-tops. We -paused once at a new church on the rim of the town, where the very old -habit of having a nun in constant adoration of the Host is perpetuated, -paused again at the ever fascinating Notre Dame des Victoiries in Lower -Town, with its battlemented altar and its patriotic legends in French, -which a British government has been indulgent enough to overlook, stood -again and again at the wonderful Van Dyke which hangs in the clear, -cool, white and gold Basilica. From the churches, we sometimes went to -the chapels; the modern structure of the Seminary, or the fascinating -holy places of the Ursulines, where the kind-hearted Mother Superior -turned our attention from the imprisoned nuns chanting their prayers -behind an altar screen, like the decorous and constant hum of -honey-bees, to the skull of Montcalm. Then we must see his burial place -in the very spot in the chapel wall cleft open by a rampant British -shell sent to harass his army. - -"Montcalm," said our gentleman of the old Quebec. "He was, sir, the -bravest soldier and the finest that France ever sent overseas." - -And we could only remember that other fine monument of Quebec, out on -the Grande Allee toward the point where Abraham Martius's cows, chewing -their cuds on an open plain, awoke one day to find one of the world's -great battles being fought--almost over their very heads. In that -creation of marble and of bronze, the great figure of Fame is perched -aloft, reaching down to place her laurel branch upon a real French -gentleman--Montcalm--at the very hour of his death. That memorial is -something more. In a fashion somewhat unusual to monuments, it fairly -vitalizes reality. - - * * * * * - -There must be a real reason why Quebec is such a Mecca for honeymoon -journeys. You can see the grooms and the brides out on the Terrace, -summernight after summernight. Romance hovers over that high-hung place. -It sometimes saunters there of a sunshiny morning--a couple here, or a -couple there in seemingly loving irresponsibility as to the fact that -ours is a workaday world, after all. It lingers at the afternoon tea, -along the Terrace promenade. It comes into its own, night after night, -when the boys and girls of the town promenade back and forth to the -rhythmical crash of a military band, or in the intervals stand at the -rail looking down at the rough pattern of street-lights in Lower Town, -the glistening string of electrics at Levis, or listening to the rattle -of ship's winches which give a hint that, after all, there is a world -beyond Quebec. - -When night comes upon the Terrace, one may see it at its very best. He -may watch the day die over the Laurentians, the western sky fill with -pink afterglow, and the very edge of those ancient peaks sharpen as if -outlined with an engraver's steel. For a moment, as the summer day -hesitates there on the threshold of twilight and good-by, he may trace -the country road that runs its course along the north bank of the St. -Lawrence by the tiny homes of the _habitans_ that line it, he may raise -his eyes again to the sharp blue profile of the mountains. He may hear, -as we heard, the old gentleman from St. Roch, whisper as he raises his -pointing cane: - -"I come here every night and look upon the amphitheater of the gods." - -So it is the night that is the most subtle thing about Quebec. It is -night when one may hear the bells of all the churches that have been -a-jangle since early morning ring out for vespers before the many -altars, the sharp report of the evening gun speaking out from the -ramparts of the Citadel. After that, silence--the silence of waiting. -There is a surcease of the chiming bells--the Terrace becomes deserted -of the army of pleasure-seekers who a little time before were making -meaningless rotation upon it, the bandmen fall asleep in their cell-like -casements of the Citadel, the lights of Lower Town and of Levis go -snuffing out one by one. Silence--the silence of waiting. Only the -sentinels who pace the ramparts of the crumbling fortifications, the -occasional policeman in the narrow street, the white-robed sister who -sits in perpetual adoration of the Sacrament, proclaim Quebec awake. -Quebec does not sleep. She lives, like an aged belle in memory of her -triumphs of the past, keeps patiently the vigil of the lonely years, and -awaits the coming of Christ. - - - THE END - - - * * * * * - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: - -Punctuation and spelling standardized. - -Frequent inconsistent hyphenation not changed. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Personality of American Cities, by -Edward Hungerford - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERSONALITY OF AMERICAN CITIES *** - -***** This file should be named 40884.txt or 40884.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/8/8/40884/ - -Produced by David Edwards, Charlie Howard and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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