for bums here." This
absolute disbelief in other countries, combined with a perfect
confidence in their own, has persuaded the citizens of New York to look
down with a cold and pitiful eye upon those who are so unfortunate as to
be born under an effete monarchy. There is no bluster in their attitude,
no insistence. The conviction of superiority is far too great for that.
They belong to the greatest country upon earth; they alone enjoy the
true blessings of freedom; they alone understand the dignity of labour
and the spirit of in-dependence; and they have made up their minds
kindly but firmly that you shall not forget it.

Thus you carry away from New York a memory of a lively air, gigantic
buildings, incessant movement, sporadic elegance, and ingenuous
patronage. And when you have separated your impressions, the most vivid
and constant impression that remains is of a city where the means of
life conquer life itself, whose citizens die hourly of the rage to live.

BOSTON.

America, the country of contrasts, can show none more sudden or
striking than that between New York and Boston. In New York progress and
convenience reach their zenith. A short journey carries you back into
the England of the eighteenth century. The traveller, lately puzzled by
overhead railways and awed by the immensity of sky-scrapers, no
sooner reaches Boston than he finds himself once more in a familiar
environment. The wayward simplicity of the city has little in common
with the New World. Its streets are not mere hollow tubes, through which
financiers may be hastily precipitated to their quest for gold. They
wind and twist like the streets in the country towns of England and
France. To the old architects of Boston, indeed, a street was something
more than a thoroughfare. The houses which flanked it took their places
by whim or hazard, and were not compelled to follow a hard immovable
line. And so they possess all the beauty which is born of accident and
surprise. You turn a corner, and know not what will confront you; you
dive down a side street, and are uncertain into what century you will be
thrust. Here is the old wooden house, which recalls the first settlers;
there the fair red-brick of a later period. And everywhere is the
diversity which comes of growth, and which proves that time is a better
contriver of effects than the most skilful architect.

The constant mark of Boston is a demure gaiety. An air of quiet
festivity encompass