And finally we rolled into the central and most circular shopping quarter, as different from the Italian quarter as the Italian quarter was different from Copley Square; and its heart was occupied by a graveyard.  And here I had to rest.

The second portion of the itinerary began with the domed State Capitol, an impressive sight, despite its strange coloring, and despite its curious habit of illuminating itself at dark, as if in competition with such establishments as the “Bijou Dream,” on the opposite side of the Common.  Here I first set eyes on Beacon Street, familiar—­indeed, classic—­to the European student of American literature.  Commonwealth Avenue, I have to confess, I had never heard of till I saw it.  These interminable and gorgeous thoroughfares, where each massive abode is a costly and ceremonial organization of the most polished and civilized existence, leave the simple European speechless—­especially when he remembers the swampy origin of the main part of the ground....  The inscrutable, the unknowable Back Bay!

Here, indeed, is evidence of a society in equilibrium, and therefore of a society which will receive genuinely new ideas with an extreme, if polite, caution, while welcoming with warm suavity old ideas that disguise themselves as novelties!

It was a tremendous feat to reclaim from ooze the foundation of Back Bay.  Such feats are not accomplished in Europe; they are not even imaginatively conceived there.  And now that the great business is achieved, the energy that did it, restless and unoccupied, is seeking another field.  I was informed that Boston is dreaming of the construction of an artificial island in the midst of the river Charles, with the hugest cathedral in the world thereon, and the most gorgeous bridges that ever spanned a fine stream.  With proper deference, it is to be hoped that Boston, forgetting this infelicitous caprice, will remember in time that she alone among the great cities of America is complete.  A project that would consort well with the genius of Chicago might disserve Boston in the eyes of those who esteem a sense of fitness to be among the major qualifications for the true art of life.  And, in the matter of the art of daily living, Boston as she is has a great deal to teach to the rest of the country, and little to learn.  Such is the diffident view of a stranger.

* * * * *

Cambridge is separated from Boston by the river Charles and by piquant jealousies that tickle no one more humorously than those whom, theoretically, they stab.  From the east bank Cambridge is academic, and therefore negligible; from the west, Boston dwindles to a mere quay where one embarks for Europe.

What struck me first about Cambridge was that it must be the only city of its size and amenity in the United States without an imposing hotel.  It is difficult to imagine any city in the United States minus at least two imposing hotels, with a barber’s shop in the basement and a world’s fair in the hall.  But one soon perceives that Cambridge is a city apart.  In visual characteristics it must have changed very little, and it will never change with facility.  Boston is pre-eminently a town of traditions, but the traditions have to be looked for.  Cambridge is equally a town of traditions, but the traditions stare you in the face.