Dearest Mamma,—­We are here for Sunday, but first I must tell you of the day “down town.”  We went with one of the interesting business men we have met lately, and we seemed to motor for miles along Fifth Avenue until one would think one was dreaming; all the houses seemed to be from fifteen to twenty-five stories high, and so the air rushes down the gorges the streets are, like a tornado, even if it is not a particularly windy day.  It is a mercy American women have such lovely feet and nice shapes, because when they cross to a place called the Flat Iron Building the gusts do what they please with their garments.  I am quite sure if the Roues’ Club in Piccadilly could get itself removed to a house just here, those wicked old men would spend their days glued to the windows.  Well, we passed Washington Square, which has a look of Russell or Bedford Squares, part of it, and beyond that I can’t remember the names of the streets; it all was so crowded and intent and wonderful,—­people racing and chasing after wealth, I suppose.

Finally we got to Wall Street and the Stock Exchange.  And Wall Street is quite a little narrow, ordinary street, almost as mean as our Threadneedle or Lombard Streets!  The Stock Exchange is the most beautiful building!  I don’t suppose you have ever been in one, Mamma, and I certainly shall never want to see another.  Imagine a colossal room as high as a church, with a Greek roof and a gallery at one end, and down below countless human beings—­men at highest tension dealing with stocks and shares, in a noise of hell which in groups here and there rose to a scream of exaltation or a roar of disappointment.  How anyone could keep nerves or hearing sense, after a week of it, one cannot imagine.  No wonder American men have nervous prostration, and are so often a little deaf.  The floor was strewn with bits of paper, that they had used to make calculations on, and they had a lovely kind of game of snowballing with it now and then—­I suppose to vary the monotony of shouting and screaming.  The young ones would pelt each other.  It must have been a nice change.—­Then there were a lot of partitions with glass panels at the end of the room, and into these they kept rushing like rabbits into their holes, to send telegrams about the prices, I suppose.  And all the while in a balcony half way up one of the great blank empty walls, a dear old white bearded gentleman sat and gazed in a benevolent way at the shrieking crowd below.

They told us he was there to keep order!  But no one appeared to care a pin for his presence, and as he did not seem to mind, either, what row they made, we rather wondered what the occasions could be when he would exert his authority!  Presently he went away to lunch, and as no one else took his place, they were able to make as much noise as they liked, though it did not seem any greater than before.