al weeks later young Mrs. Studdiford wrote to Barbara that New York
was "a captured dream." "I seem to belong to it," wrote Julia, "and it
seems to belong to me! I can't tell you how it _satisfies_ me; it is good
just to look down from my window at Fifth Avenue, every morning, and say
to myself, 'I'm still in New York!' For the first two weeks Jim and I
did everything alone, like two children: the new Hippodrome, and Coney
Island, and the Liberty Statue, and the Bronx Zoo. I _never_ had such a
good time! We went to the theatres, and the museums, and had breakfast
at the Casino, and _lived_ on top of the green 'busses! But now Jim has
let some of his old college friends know we are here, and we are
spinning like tops. One is an artist, and has the most fascinating
studio I ever saw, down on Washington Square, and another is an editor,
and gave us a tea in his rooms, overlooking Stuyvesant Square, and
Barbara, everybody there was a celebrity (except us) and all so sweet
and friendly--it was a hot spring day, and the trees in the square were
all such a fresh, bright green.

"They make a great fuss about the spring here, and you can hardly blame
them. The whole city turns itself inside out; people simply stream to
the parks, and the streets swarm with children. Some of the poorer women
go bareheaded or with shawls, even in the cars--did you ever see a
bareheaded woman in a car at home? But they are all much nearer the
peasant here. And after clean San Francisco, you wouldn't believe how
dirty this place is; all the smaller stores have shops in the basements,
and enough dirt and old rags and wet paper lying around to send Doctor
Blue into a convulsion! And they use pennies here, which seems so petty,
and paper dollars instead of silver, which I hate. And you say 'L' or
'sub' for the trains, and always 'surface cars' for the regular
cars--it's all so different and so interesting.

"Tell Richie Jim is going to assist the great Doctor Cassell in some
demonstrations of bone transplanting, at Bellevue, next week--oh, and
Barbara, did I write Aunt Sanna that we met the President! My dear, we
did. We were at the theatre with the Cassells, and saw him in a box, and
Doctor Cassell, the old darling, knows him, and went to the President's
box to ask if we might be brought in and presented, and, my dear, he got
up and came back with Doctor Cassell to our box, and was simply _sweet_,
and asked me if I wasn't from the South, and I nearly