America as I saw it; or, America revisited

Front matter

NEW YORK ■ BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.

Preface

What am 1 to say to precede this cubistimpression picture of a great country ?

Odd notes at odd moments, often made at lightning speed, and under all sorts of circumstances and conditions, lie herein.

'*If you write about America and don't lay eulogy (Ml with a spoon you will never be able to set foot in the United States of America again, they will hate you so," said a friend.

I don't believe it.

Americans are older and wiser and kinder nowa- .' days, and will accept the good, and the bad, and the honesty of both, I feel sure.

My first visit to the United States was in 1900- -; 1901, on my way to Mexico to write "Mexico as I Saw It," which has run into many editions since then. Tt appeared at five dollars, with three hundred illustrations, and is now brought up to date, and published in abridged form at twenty-five cents. Chea[) sales of goods generally mean deterioration ; but cheap editions of books luckily denote the popularity of the originals.

My second visit to America was in the winter of 1904, when a telegram received in Chicago from Ex-President (jeneral Diaz invited me to return to Mexico for his seventh election. It was then vi PREFACE

I commenced "Porfirio Diaz, the Maker of Modern Mexico." After much persuasion, for he is a strangely reserved man, he suppHed diaries, maps, and private letters, and the book has been translated into other tongues.

In the autumn of 191 2, I crossed the Atlantic again — this time on pleasure bent, and to have a holiday and a good time generally after completing my thirteenth book, entitled ''Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman's Life," v/hich in a few months was in its fourth edition.

The ''New York Times" then asked me for a series of articles on America. I refused, for America has been hypersensitive and antagonistic even to friendly criticisms ; but, on consideration, I accepted the compliment, and when the publishers wished these articles enlarged for a book, finally arranged with the Macmillan Company of New York to write "America as I Saw It." ^^ * *

One day four months later a woman came into my cabin off Brazil, at Easter, 1913, and asked to see a book in the making.

The manuscript was unearthed from under the pillows which acted as paper-weights on the sofa, and as the leaves were turned over, she exclaimed, "Why, all the paper is different shapes and sizes, and all the pages different types."

She was right. It was a mighty untidy production.

PREFACE vii

"The first pages, in black letters," I explained, *Svere dictated straight to a machine beside my bed before breakfast in Chicago. This official business-paper was done from shorthand notes by a secretary in Ottawa. The small type on smaller paper was dictated at odd moments to a stenographer in New York, who took her shorthand notes away and duplicated them. These larger pages on thin paper were typed at the British Legation in Buenos Ayres, from manuscript written at sea between New York and the Argentine. I^astly, these purple pages were typed on board the Vandyck between Buenos Ayres and Southampton, from pencil scratchings made at an Argentine ranch in tropical heat in February. These untidy scribblings have been put together from rough notes during forty-nine days' voyaging, often on stormy seas. Hence this curious jumble, and now you know how a book should not be written. People who find it difficult to concentrate their thoughts at sea sufficiently to read a book may realise a tiny bit what it means to write one."

Twenty-six thousand miles alone, without a maid or a secretary, made writing a hard task.

"Is it finished V she asked.

"No, not yet. It will have to be re-typed and corrected in duplicate in England ; one copy will be posted to America to be illustrated and printed

Vlll

TRll \ci';

in tho Sr.ircs. xnIuIc the s.inio \\\\\ he ropc.ucd in I oiuion."' ^ ^. ^

It 1 h.ivc onuttt\i siibit\-ts other .uithors h>i\c nuMUuMUHl. it is piob.ibly btwuisc 1 Ii.nc puiposcU' not vc.\(\ Any book imi Aniciic.i b\ .nn onc\ not c\ cMi b\' ni(.'kcns. so wh.u 1 h.i\ c s.iid is niv own. .uul 1 .ilonc nuist t.iko .ill bl.inu\

Al.is. 1 missed ni.nu' dcAv oKl tncniis in AmcricM dining nu last \ isit. tricnds siu"h .is C'olonol John ILiv. St\"rct.ii\ ot St.itc : L\>loncl \Ki.u\^ \\ .ilkcM". Ch.iiini.m ot rlio Atchison bopck.i R.iil- \\.i\, in whose pii\ .itc *.\ir 1 ti.i\clU\l ; Mr. 1 orcn. o Johnson, Ch.iirni.m ot the Mc\i>.\in R.iilw.n. in whose pii\ .itc ».\ir I .ilso spent ni.my h.ip[\v weeks ; Or. lloi.iee llow.iid Kiirness. the i:re.it Sh.ikespe.ivi.in wiitei; Mrs. Ionise Cluindler Moiilton. the poet, .iiul others. They h.i\e uone to their long rest : but, fh.ink CuhI. 1 still ha\e ni.my friends lett in the Inited St.ites.

I love .Anierie.i, her women, hcv oysters, her grapetruit, her rivers, her roses, her express elevators v^i'i^^^' '^^1*-^ ^^^^^' qii'hnt w.iys; her eager lite, her kindness to the stranger w ithin her gates. and — dare 1 say it - her serene satist.ietivMi with all and evervthing .\nieriean.

London, km;. ^ i^- AlEC-TWFKDlb:.

N.lv It is iiueresting to note the ditterence between Knglish .md Anierie.m hununir in the illustrations.

RlJIJXTIONS

[. Noisy Ni:w York

II. Will HI AKI- Ilfl, Ml'N ? (Cm

III. OiJK Amhrican Sistkrs

V. Cl.UIJI.AND AND ClIATriiR

VI. KNTIRIAININf; IN Till. DaRK

VII. ScRAMi'.i.i. lOR Knowm;i)(;i-;

VIII. liiRii: Ij.i.ctions and Somi

IX. What is an American.''

X. I, and ()\- AssiMir.ATiON. (Amu si; mi; NTS)

XI. TRANSI'CjRrAriON .....

XII. An IOn{;lish woman's First Nk;iit on an Ami;rican Sli:i;i'ing-car

XIII. Till. OriiHR America. (Busy Boston)

XIV. Manni.rs and Customs XV. Nia(;ara Ui'-to-Datk ....

XVI. A Mississippi Darky Caki-; Walk

XIX. Hi;ri ro(,i;ni;ous .

XX. Christmas and Edison

XXI. What is it all about .f"

I

293 308

330 347 357 379 401

430 448 468

LIST OF PLATES

[he Plaza by Moonlight

Fifth Avenue ....

The Metropolitan Museum

The Chicago River

New York in Rain (Park Avenue)

A Downtown Cafion in Nevv' York

New York from the Upper Bay .

FACING PAGE

36 120'

280'''

390 420 '

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

AtTKiican Hustle is a Myth .....

How well their Daughters Icain to he Enf2;hsh Diuh

liritishers are not so Slow as then American CM)iisin

What eoiilil she do with yijoo if she wanted to see

Wilson is Wahhly on SuH iap;c ....

Why th( Pnhlie Restaurants arc so Popular

Servants nia\ Ik a Diflicidt Prohleni in England hut

ntjthing compared with America .

Men so far have had more Chances Young Men will have to he encouraged to Travel Souvemr I lunteis ......

The Motel Proprietor and the Visitor from a Foreign

Country .......

" Psychology" as an Aid in the Choice of Careers for

the Young .......

Rag-Time or Sport, Star-spangled Joy Everywhere Oualihcations necessary for an American President A Strenuous American Campaign How an American President is Made . Opening Scene at the American National Theater

All Out for the Duke

An Eugenic Wedding ......

Are the American Police really so Naughty .-* I he Men are not Putty to look Uj^on

PAGE IS

97 109 117 131

149 169 177 xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

As Terrible as Ever ....... 301

The Athenanini, Boston . . . . . -311

The Old South Cluirch, Boston 321

Wo have to concede Many Thinj^s to the American,

hut we cannot concede Manners .... 333 In London Clood Society vetoed them from the Drawing-Rooms ......... 345

A Southern Homestead 359

The Water Front, New Orleans 367

An Old Southern Church 375

^^'hy Americans Hnd London Dull .... 403

What an American Candidate has to Speak Against . 421

A Bit of Old New Orleans 435

A Hotel in the South 445

CHAPTER I Hyper-sensitivkness is an American sin

What is to be said of a |)coj)lc who resent all criticism ?

Why is fair and square comparison with other lands so often taken as personal insidt ?

Praise is distrusted, and blame resented.

Why is the universal reply to any banter, "We are still so young" .?

Qui s^ excuse s' accuse.

Even children grow up. They pass from babyhood to the days of standing up in their little "cages," and on to school and 'varsity. They grow and grow, expand and exj)an(l, and what is forgiven in the child is aggressive in the adult.

"Still so young." What a [)aradox. Half the forbears of the American-born citizens seem to have arrived in that ever-elastic Mayflower in 1620; at least a Britisher — called :a foreigner, by the way — is continually informed so; and if that is really a fact, half of the population of the

United States is sprung from a stock established on the land three hundred years ago.

That is not so very young, is it ? And it is nearly a hundred and fifty years since England was foolish enough to make herself unpopular and lose her hold ; so for one hundred and fifty years America has not even had a foster-mother. That again does not make America a swaddling babe.

Why, in 1791, her public debt was already ^7,546,847,652.

No, no, America is not young. She is in the full force of her strength and maturity. She is a great country, and has a great people, so it is a little childish and peevish to be always sheltering herself under the cloak of babyhood. We might just as well excuse ourselves in Great Britain on the plea of senile decay ; but we are not senile, not a bit of it. We are all alive, full of faults and fancies ; napping occasionally, perhaps, but more often wide awake. Sometimes even suffering from insomnia, strange as it may seem to the American mind.

Parents and children are seldom companions. The baby is the plaything of the father and mother ; the young child has to be guided and encouraged ; the grown boy or girl has to be guarded and inspired ; the youth or maid has to be gently ridden on the snafile, as they resent restraint ; the young man or woman likes to show independence and indifference, and break away.

Not, then, till the age of twenty-five or thirty — or better still forty — does the child stand on the same footing as the parent. Then, and not till then, are they companions in the true sense of companionship. Both are fully grown, and endowed with strength.

Great Britain was the parent ; the United States was the child. Both are in the full power of maturity, of mutual respect and confidence. They are chums by habit, relatives by blood, comrades by circumstance, and allies by understanding.

"How do you like our rush.?"

"What do you think of our politics ?*' "Have you had your blood pressure taken.?" are three questions asked the stranger three times a day.

I. I do not find any particular rush; there are slow people and busy people in every land. We generally find time to do exactly what we want to do in this world ; and we all find excuses, readily enough, to leave undone all those little things which irk us. They are always talking of hustle and rush. If the people of America were not slow by nature, and slower by habit, they would not wait for hours at barbers' shops to be shaved, and loll about on sofas during the process. Men would not waste precious moments standing in queues to have their boots blacked, or sit in rows and rows and rows, at all hours of the day and night, in hotel lounges. The women are just as slow and wasteful of time over manicure, hair-drill, face massage, and general ''prinking" (titivating).

One can be busy running round a steamer's deck ; but that is only a fetish of energy.

Americans are also inclined to be unpunctual, and in their unpunctuality waste many precious moments daily. Moments are like pence, they become of inestimable value when they are collected together.

Of course, they are slow in America, and they show their slowness by not understanding how slow they really are. American hustle is a myth. It is merely false haste.

2. Reporters cannot drag opinions from me on American politics, because a hundred millions of people are divided into three camps, on their own politics, so that my opinion would be of no particular value, to give, or turn a vote ; although I did offer to become an English Woman President OF THE White House if they wanted a Fourth Party to scramble over. American politics are becoming cleaner every day, while ours are tending the other way.

3. Blood pressure has not yet disturbed my peace, but if I hear about it every day and all day for much longer, I shall begin to think mine had better be tested. It would be a pity to be so far behind the times and so unfashionable as not to be able to answer glibly : — "Oh, my blood pressure is — "

In 1900, when I first crossed to America, everyone had, was going to have, or wanted to have, appendicitis. In 1904, they were all talking Christian Science or divorces. It was quite demode not to be associated with one or another of these forms of excitement. In 191 2, the split in the Republican party, the Treachery of Roosevelt or his Godliness, the Stupidity of Taft or his Virtue, the Genius of Wilson or his Villany, were the uppermost subjects. Or — don't let us forget that all-important factor — everyone's blood pressure turned up cheerily as a spice to conversation. People have even been known to go about with little machines for testing their own and their friends' blood pressure, so important has the subject become.

Alas, no meal is complete to-day, in any land, without some sort of medical discussion and {)ersonal diagnosis, occasionally even accompanied by the weighing of food.

Each voter during many weeks of my last visit thought his man "the only man to save the country," and each voter worked himself into some kind of fever for months. Every important man feared he would he put out of oOice, while every would-be important man hoped to receive emolument ; hut the morning following the election, all was still, just as though nothing had happened. Even the stocks and shares barely moved ; only the nation's blood pressure remained to worry over.

The United States is a vast subject, too vast a problem to discuss in little pages. It contains too many conglomerate nationalities, too many theoretical political economists, (^ne can only be superficial and give snap-shots of the things that strike a British cosmopolitan mind in that vast, progressive, wealth-producing, and often surprising cc^untry, — a land of "natural resources," as the stranger is told as repeatedly as that **the country is young" or "everyone hustles over here."

I love America. Why, of course I do, or I should not have crossed the Atlantic six times to visit her shores. We see faults most distinctly in the people we love best, and so it is with a traveller and writer in the lands they care for most.

Passion is blind and fleeting, love is reasonable and long-lived ; but it is a mixture of oil and vinegar.

Women are jealous of other women's wealth. They are covetous of material things, of popularity, and social success. Men are seldom so, but men are jealous too, a hundred-fold more jealous by nature. Jealousy is often the finger-post to ambition in youth, and a ruffled rose-leaf in possession at a greater age.

True love such as the Mother country has for America is unselfish, and true love strengthens with years. We criticise each other as we would not allow any one else to criticise either of us.

"Where do you come from, ma'am V' is a constant question put to the visitor in the States.

" From London."

"London, Canada .^"

"No, England."

"Ah, London, E7if^.f''

It really is amusing to be asked which London one has come from. To us there is only one London, our London ; the London. After all, our London is as big, aye bigger than the whole of New York and Chicago put together. We number some seven million souls. There are as many people in our London as in the vv'hole of Canada, or in the whole of the Argentine, but we don't call it "the biggest city in the world." We Britishers are content to call our London "London" without a prefix or even a suffix of "Eng."

London is dirty, London is old. It dates back 2000 years from the Roman occupation, poor, dear decrepit old London, with its trees and its shrubs and its window-boxes galore. London is

.1 (i.iuUmi (.'it\. sill ioiiiuli\l In in>lt rluhs. .iinl 1- ui'j.iiul one \A\i\c p.nlv.

\nptluM ionst.int uMU.iik t^l" .i prison. il n.itiuw in.ulf b\ 1 1 .iin-riMuliulois oi hotel st'ix.iiits, is;

'■^^■s. wli.it in.ikcs \ou think so :"

" 1 kn»."\\ It h\ \ oiii .u"-vcnt .

To .in\ oiu- \\ ho docs not t .dk C\H"knr\\ nor ^ orkshiu\ noi SonuMsct ch.iK\-t. it is sonu'w li.it .inuismi;- toluMi tlu'N h.i\ r .111 ..,-,.••;;. AnuM u.in .iiul InL^lish ,110 only .ipjMoxim.ucly the sanu' kini^u.ii^o.

rho\ Avc .ilw.ns piiUinu down in Vnu-iio.i: [Hittin;^ lip oi pulling down .i^.im.

kwcKc \(.\ns .ii;o the lu.iiul <.\Miti.il R.nlw.iy St.ition in New \oik w.is bcini; Iniilt.

"It is the bi^^est in the wimKI," people s>iui ; And the\ .ulded. "It will soon be le.uK."

l-\nir Ne.ns l.itei th.it st.ition w.is still beim;- bmlt. but "It will sovmi be done now, .ind it is the bi^^est st.ition in the woild. " the sti.incer w .is .i^.iin told.

l"ii;ht \e.ns l.itei. it w.is still beinv: bnilt.

\nd it is still "the /\-"i:i:.'.^'''' st.Hion in the world ", and is still "r.\-,;»-.y tinished ".

Well. 1 spent so nuieh time .it Christni.is. loi:, trvinc: to tind nu tr.iin. over rubble, under ho.irdinc^^ «ii">d bill-bo. irds. And .uross ser.ip-he.ips. th.it I lost it. No wonder thev luive so ni.inv b.ith-

NOISY NhVV YORK 9

chairs ahoiit ; f nciirly liircd one myself, hut n nice f|;irky [>ort(;r took rnc in li;irifl insrcaH, and steered me about midrr iron ^irrjcrs, [)ctwecn baskets of bricks and ba^^s (A sawrbjst, telling me meanwhile : —

"This is the hi^^est station in tfie world, ma'am, and it is nearly done."

y\n echo of the story of twelve years before. Victoria Station in Lonrlon took about fialf tfiat time to build, metfiinks.

flow delightful it is that America has instituted porters at last ; and what a joy that tliey fiave a hi^li platform now in a station like tfie ^^iranrf ("entral. I>et us drink to the liealth of hi^fi [)latffjrms, and fiope they may soon a[;pear over the length anri brearltfi of the land. Ifiose acrobatic crawls u]) slip[)ery ste[js into l^illman cars were not only exas[)eratin^, but dangerous.

A hr^use in process of erection in the States is a curirms-lookin^ object, especially when it is thirty or forty stories hi^h. They all a[)[)ear like glorified I'j'ffel 'lowers, but, to begin with, they are notfiing more nor less than a steel frame without bricks, somewhat in the shape of a box, but quite light and airy. I' rom tfie top windows of an office one could see an erection of the kind which had already reached the tenth or twelfth story. Then came several more tiers of steel frame, naked, gaunt, ghastly, but above it all the roof — already lo AMERICA AS I SAW IT

made — crowned the summit. They had begun that house at the bottom ; they had then put on the top, and they had left out the middle bit. They certainly build on plans of their own, hard to understand, in this land of topsy-turvydom.

The early Victorian, Dickensian type of American who cherished a bitter and unenlightened animosity for all things British, is not even yet utterly extinct, though — be it said — he or she is to be found for the most part now only in the unlettered minority.

An American of this sort rebels fiercely against the mere notion of the possible merit of any country, or anything, outside of what he calls "God's own stamping ground."

His remarks of a patriotic nature, full of wholly unconscious humour, might be a source of joy to " G. B. S." or '* G. K. C." ; for instance, one of these hopeless bigots actually said in all sincerity : —

*'Why, foreigners aren't anything more than a lot of fakes, anyway, and doesn't our American money prop up the decayed thrones of Europe ? You bet — "

A lady of the same calibre, with unreliable ideas on history, informed a Britisher, "That it was only the other day that England tried to take this country, anyhow !"

This grade of American will invariably refer to English, Scotch, and Irish people as "foreigners." Even the coveted and much-pursued "EngHsh Dook" is no exception, however proudly the plutocratic States take him into their families. One must not blame the American for striving to climb ; the blame rests with the representative of some fine old European house. It is far worse to sell ancestry, blood, and traditions than to buy them ; the vendor falls from his ideals, the purchaser merely aspires to ascend.

The morality of marriage is imperative for the good of a nation. Without it, society falls to pieces. Men must avoid side-slips ; decent women should not be expected to marry indecent men. }

New Yorkers are far too busy making money, fighting for dollars, and spending them as fast as they can, to worry about small details. This rush for money may, of course, only be an incident ; it may only be the desire of the American for power, just as his endless questioning is a desire for knowledge. If America takes unto itself a coat-of-arms, that coat-of-arms should be a huge note of interrogation emblazoned on a dollar shield.

The American, God bless him, always wants to know things. He is right. We cannot know things unless we take the trouble to learn them.

"Money-making is the lowest form of intellect," said one of America's most prominent lawyers to me.

"How so?"

"Often it is mere chance; often it is merely cheap cunning that amasses wealth. The creative hrain is the real brain. The arts are the only things that really count. Amassing money becomes a disease and seldom consorts with a big brain."

I suppose I looked surprised for he continued : "A man may be a genius, but if he has not a genius for making money, he is no good in America. That is probably why the arts are so little encouraged, and why the professions generally have not the high position they have in other lands."

He was right. Money counts above and beyond everything. Money counts far beyond brains, in America.

In the United States, and in the Argentine, money is the god ; money makes and rules society, and money mars many homes. There is great similarity in the social status of men and women in Buenos Ayres and New York ; and yet, intellectually, the women of the two countries are Poles asunder.

New York sets the pace, and inaugurates fashion for the whole United States. New York is very much nearer to Wall Street than to Washington, so it is only natural that more interest should be taken in dollars than in politics, and

NOISY NKW YORK 13

that the women should imperceptibly follow the cue of the men.

New Yorkers simply throw money about, and live in magnificent restaurants and public places ; it is often a mad rush of social excitement to kill time.

The wealthy Britisher spends his money differently from the American.

lie has a beautiful country j)lace, with lovely, well-kept gardens, sweeping lawns, and greenhouses, which latter are usually his wife's hobby.

That wife knows every flower, every shrub, and she revels in her blooms and her fruit.

The man prides himself on his farm, his model dairy, his pedigree stock, lie is enthusiastic over his shooting, his horses, and his hunting, and takes pride in his forestry.

He and his wife are closely interested in public affairs, in politics, in municipal government, the cottage hospital, and schools, in the welfare and individual lives of their tenantry.

There is still something of the personal interest of the old feudal baron lurking in his breast, and his wife is still the bountiful lady chatelaine who distributes soup in time of sickness.

In America such places are extremely rare; shooting and hunting are almost unknown, tenantry barely exists, the private gentleman takes no interest in politics, and his time is spent entertaining at hotels in a gorgeous fashion, or going from one smart seaside resort to another. His wife dresses more elaborately than her English sister ; he eats richer fare, and pays double what the British squire would give for her pearls and his champagne.

The lives of the wealthy are totally different in the two countries. The rich American often leaves his own shores to settle in England. He appreciates our life. The rich Englishman stays at home, and yet it was the young ambitious Britisher who made most of the great railways of America, Canada, Mexico, Argentine, and Brazil ; who carried out their tramways, and their water service, their electric light, and financed and pioneered many of the prosperous lands of to-day.

The Britisher was not asleep then, and the Britisher is not asleep now. "He does not say much, but he is a devil to do," as the Irishman said.

The Englishman has a motor-car of moderate price, but he sees that it is kept clean. The same class of American runs one that is more luxurious, costs twice as much, and is quite content to let it come to the door dirty, while he is explaining how many thousand dollars it cost.

New York had grown since I first saw it. Yes, it has grown up, inasmuch as it is more

IS sure of itself, more self-possessed, and it has grown up because its buildings are nearer the skies. The first time I saw sky-scrapers was thirteen years ago, when I thought them perfectly hideous. They merely seemed blocks of prison-like similarity, with soulless eyes of bricks and mortar.

That is all changed undoubtedly. ''The Times" Building, which was the pioneer attempt at something really architectural in the sky-scraper line, reflected Italian beauty. To-day there are many buildings that are really beautiful, and their sheer height gives a certain dignified magnificence which makes New York a much more imposing and majestic city than it was at the dawn of the century.

Fifth Avenue is certainly one of the finest streets in the world. Standing near the Central Park, and looking toward Washington Square or the Old Bowery, one cannot but be impressed by the variety of the buildings, the good taste many of them display, and the delightful sky-line they represent. Fifth Avenue is something to be proud of.

Fifth Avenue, too, has grown. Thirteen years ago many private houses were to be found "right down town" ; now they seem to be pushed farther and farther up toward Harlem, and the hotels and shops (Oh, no, one must not call them ''shops" ! that word is prohibited ; one must call them "stores") are creeping along towards the north at a tremendous pace. In another thirteen years business houses will probably have monopolized the whole of Fifth Avenue as far as Central Park.

By the bye, Bond Street must be a shock to the American visitor \vith its funny little buildings. The houses are old-fashioned, the street is very narrow, and one's patience is tried by the congestion of traffic therein. There is nothing to impress the stranger by outward view, and yet its renown is world-wide as the resort of all the smart shopping world. Old age must be the excuse for its dowdiness, and we ought to prohibit traffic or leave it to pedestrians as they do in the narrow streets of Rio de Janeiro.

Central Park is pretty. It is somewhat small and modern, and possesses one good statue ; but it would not be fair to compare it with Regent's Park, which is the most beautiful park in London, or with Hyde Park, one of the most historic spots in our country.

Nobody can help admiring the wonderful homes of New York. Mr. Carnegie, a quiet little gentleman who intends to die a poor man, lives meanwhile in a splendid, dignified, Georgian, red-brick palace. Mr. George Crocker has built a house in the style of Louis XVI ; James B. Duke has a home of simple white marble. Mr. Phipps has an Italian house. W. K. Vanderbilt, both father and son, have homes in early French Rec naissance. New York is nothing if not cosmopolitan in its tastes. It is this very versatihty in its beautiful private homes that makes the uniformity of the sky-scrapers endurable. They say the interior of Mr. Whitney's house is most charming.

Those houses of the wealthy in New York are really splendid, and American architecture to-day is perhaps the best in the world. Two of these mansions belong to two of America's most famous men. The late Mr. Pierpont Morgan's father was a rich man, and could afford to give him the best possible education as well as to bring him up in an artistic and lovely home. Mr. Andrew Carnegie began at the bottom of the ladder. Those men were the strongest factors in the States when this century dawned ; Mr. Morgan as a financial power, and Mr. Carnegie as a captain of industry.