courage to look so far into the future as to see all his work undone,
his home turned to another use and himself and his wife afloat in the
world without a roof over their wealthy old heads.

Surely this was the Spirit of the Age in its purest expression, the more
strikingly so that he seemed to feel pride rather than anything else in
his ingenious combination.

He liked the city he had built in well enough now, but nothing proved to
him that he would like it later. He and his wife had lived in twenty
cities since they began their brave fight with Fortune, far away in a
little Eastern town. They had since changed their abode with each
ascending rung of the ladder of success, and beyond a faded daguerreotype
or two of their children and a few modest pieces of jewelry, stored away
in cotton, it is doubtful if they owned a single object belonging to
their early life.

Another case occurs to me. Near the village where I pass my summers,
there lived an elderly, childless couple on a splendid estate combining
everything a fastidious taste could demand. One fine morning this place
was sold, the important library divided between the village and their
native city, the furniture sold or given away,--everything went; at the
end the things no one wanted were made into a bon-fire and burned.

A neighbor asking why all this was being done was told by the lady, "We
were tired of it all and have decided to be 'Bohemians' for the rest of
our lives." This couple are now wandering about Europe and half a dozen
trunks contain their belongings.

These are, of course, extreme cases and must be taken for what they are
worth; nevertheless they are straws showing which way the wind blows,
signs of the times that he who runs may read. I do not run, but I often
saunter up our principal avenue, and always find myself wondering what
will be the future of the splendid residences that grace that
thoroughfare as it nears the Park; the ascending tide of trade is already
circling round them and each year sees one or more crumble away and
disappear.

The finer buildings may remain, turned into clubs or restaurants, but the
greater part of the newer ones are so ill-adapted to any other use than
that for which they are built that their future seems obscure.

That fashion will flit away from its present haunts there can be little
doubt; the city below the Park is sure to be given up to business, and
even the fine frontage on that green space w